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XLIII.

<< The young bridegroom hath youthful bride, The old bridegroom the old, Whose faith was kept till term and tide

So punctually were told;

But blessings on the warder kind
That oped my castle-gate,
For had I come at morrow-tide,
I came a day too late.>>

Miscellanies.

WAR-SONG

OF THE ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS.

Nennius. Is not peace the end of arms?

Caratach. Not where the cause implies a general conquest.

Had we a difference with some petty isle,

Or with our neighbours, Britons, for our landmarks,

The taking in of some rebellious lord,

Or making bead against a slight commotion,

After a day of blood, peace might be argued :

But where we grapple for the land we live on,
The liberty we hold more dear than life,

The gods we worship, and, next these, our honours,
And, with those, swords, that know no end of battle-
Those men, beside themselves, allow no neighbour,
Those minds, that, where the day is, claim inheritance,
And, where the sun makes ripe the fruit, their harvest,
And, where they march, but measure out more ground
To add to Rome-

It must not be.-No! as they are our foes,

Let's use the peace of honour-that's fair dealing;
But in our hands our swords. The hardy Roman, .
That thinks to graft himself into my stock,
Must first begin his kindred under ground,
And be allied in ashes.

pense.

Bonduca,

THE following War-song was written during the apprehension of an invasion. The corps of volunteers, to which it was addressed, was raised in 1797, consisting of gentlemen, mounted and armed at their own exIt still subsists, as the Right Troop of the Royal Mid-Lothian Light Cavalry, commanded by the Honourable Lieutenant-Colonel Dundas. The noble and constitutional measure, of arming freemen in defence of their own rights, was nowhere more succes-ful than in Edinburgh, which furnished a force of 3000 armed and disciplined volunteers, including a regiment of cavalry, from the city and county, and two corps of tillery, each capable of serving twelve guns. a force, above all others, might, in similar circumstances, be applied the exhortation of our ancient Galgacus: « Proinde ituri in aciem, et majores vestros et posteros cogitate.»

To horse! to horse! the standard flies,
The bugles sound the call;

The Gallic navy stems the seas,
The voice of Battle 's on the breeze,
Arouse ye, one and all!

From high Dunedin's towers we come,
A band of brothers true;

Our casques the leopard's spoils surround,
With Scotland's hardy thistle crown'd;
We boast the red and blue.'

The Royal Colours.

ar

To such

Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown
Dull Holland's tardy train;

Their ravish'd toys though Romans mourn;
Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn,

And, foaming, gnaw the chain;

O! had they mark'd the avenging call' Their brethren's murder gave, Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown, Nor patriot valour, desperate grown, Sought freedom in the grave!

Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head,
In Freedom's temple born,
Dress our pale cheek in timid smile,
To hail a master in our isle,

Or brook a victor's scorn?

No! though destruction o'er the land
Come pouring as a flood,
The sun, that sees our falling day,
Shall mark our sabres' deadly sway,
And set that night in blood.

For gold let Gallia's legions fight,

Or plunder's bloody gain; Unbribed, unbought, our swords we draw, To guard our King, to fence our Law, Nor shall their edge be vain.

If ever breath of British gale
Shall fan the tri-color,

Or footstep of invader rude,

With rapine foul, and red with blood, Pollute our happy shore,

Then farewell home! and farewell friends!
Adieu each tender tie!

Resolved, we mingle in the tide,
Where charging squadrons furious ride,
To conquer, or to die.

To horse! to horse! the sabres gleam; High sounds our bugle call;

The allusion is to the massacre of the Swiss Guards, on the fata! 10th August, 1792. It is painful, but not useless, to remark, that the passive temper with which the Swiss regarded the death of their Iravest countrymen, mercilessly slaughtered in discharge of their duty, encouraged and authorized the progressive injustice by which the Alps, once the s at of the most virtuous and free people upon the Continent, have, at length, been converted into the citadel of a foreign and military despot. A state degraded is half enslaved.

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From Chepstow's towers, ere dawn of morn,
Was heard afar the bugle-horn;

And forth, in banded pomp and pride,
Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride.

They swore their bauners broad should gleam,
In crimson light, on Rymny's stream;
They vow'd, Caerphili's sod should feel
The Norman charger's spurning heel.

And sooth they swore-the sun arose,
And Rymny's wave with crimson glows;
For Clare's red banner, floating wide,
Roll'd down the stream to Severn's tide!
And sooth they vow'd-the trampled green
Show'd where hot Neville's charge had been:
In every sable hoof-tramp stood

A Norman horseman's curdling blood!

Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil
That arm'd stout Clare for Cambrian broil;
Their orphans long the art may rue,
For Neville's war-horse forged the shoe.
No more the stamp of armed steed
Shall dint Glamorgan's velvet mead;
Nor trace be there, in early spring,
Save of the fairies' emerald ring.

THE LAST WORDS OF CADWALLON. AIR-Dafydd y Garreg-wen,

THERE is a tradition that Dafydd y Garreg-wen, a famous Welsh Bard, being on his death-bed, called for

1 David of the white Rock.

his harp, and composed the sweet melancholy air to which these verses are united, requesting that it might be performed at his funeral.

DINAS EMLINN, lament, for the moment is nigh,
When mute in the woodlands thine echoes shall die;
No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall rave,
And mix his wild notes with the wild dashing wave.

In spring and in autumn, thy glories of shade
Unhonour'd shall flourish, unhonour'd shall fade;
For soon shall be lifeless the eye and the tongue,
That view'd them with rapture, with rapture that sung.
Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in their pride,
And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's side;
But where is the harp shall give life to their name?
And where is the bard shall give heroes their fame?
And oh, Dinas Emlinn! thy daughters so fair,
Who heave the white bosom, and wave the dark hair;
What tuneful enthusiast shall worship their
eye,
When half of their charms with Cadwallon shall die?
Then adieu, silver Teivi! I quit thy loved scene,
To join the dim choir of the bards who have been;
With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the Old,
And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold.

And adieu, Dinas Emlinn! still green be thy shades,
Unconquer'd thy warriors, and matchless thy maids!
And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can tell,
Farewell, my loved harp! my last treasure, farewell!

THE MAID OF TORO.

O, Low shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro,

And weak were the whispers that waved the dark wood,

All as a fair maiden, bewilder'd in sorrow,

Sorely sigh'd to the breezes, and wept to the flood. « O, saints! from the mansions of bliss lowly bending; Sweet Virgin! who hearest the suppliant's cry; Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending, My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die!

All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle, With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they fail, Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's dread rattle,

And the chase's wild clamour, came loading the gale. Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so dreary; Slowly approaching a warrior was seen; Life's ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so weary, Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien.

« O, save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying!
O, save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low!
Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave Henry is lying;
And fast through the woodland approaches the foe.»-
Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow,

And scarce could she hear them, benumb'd with despair:

And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro,
For ever he set to the brave and the fair.

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PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu,
Pibroch of Donuil,
Wake thy wild voice anew,
Summon Clan-Conuil.
Come away, come away,

Hark to the summons!
Come in your war array,
Gentles and commons.

Come from deep glen, and
From mountain so rocky,
The war-pipe and pennon
Are at Inverlochy:
Come every hill-plaid, and

True heart that wears one, Come every steel blade, and Strong hand that bears one.

Leave untended the herd,

The flock without shelter; Leave the corpse uninterr'd, The bride at the altar; Leave the deer, leave the steer,

Leave nets and barges; Come with your fighting gear, Broadswords and targes.

Come as the winds come, when Forests are rended;

Come as the waves come, when Navies are stranded:

The Pibroch of Donald the Black.

faster come,

Faster and faster,

Chief, vassal, page, and groom, Tenant and master.

Fast they come, fast they come;
See how they gather!
Wide waves the eagle plume,

Blended with heather.

Cast your plaids, draw your blades,
Forward each man set!
Pibroch of Donnil Dhu,
Knell for the onset!

NORA'S VOW.

Written for Albyn's Anthology.

AIR-Cha teid mis a chaoidh.'

that she will not go with the Red Earl's son until the IN the original Gaelic, the lady makes protestations swan should build in the cliff, and the eagle in the lake -until one mountain should change places with another, and so forth. It is but fair to add, that there is no authority for supposing that she altered her mindexcept the vehemence of her protestation.

HEAR what Highland Nora said,
«The Earlie's son I will not wed,
Should all the race of nature die,
And none be left but he and I.
For all the gold, for all the gear,
And all the lands both far and near,
That ever valour lost or won,

I would not wed the Earlie's son.>>

<< A maiden's vows,» old Callum spoke,
« Are lightly made, and lightly broke;
The heather on the mountain's height
Begins to bloom in purple light;
The frost-wind soon shall sweep away
That lustre deep from glen and brae;
Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone,
May blithely wed the Earlie's son.»

<< The swan,» she said, « the lake's clear breast
May barter for the eagle's nest;
The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn,
Ben-Cruaichan fall, and crush Kilehurn,
Our kilted clans, when blood is high,"
Before their foes may turn and fly;
But I, were all these marvels done,
Would never wed the Earlie's son.>>

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