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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 head against a slight commotion, After a day of blood, peace might he 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.


The following War song was written during the apprehension of an invasion. The corps of volunteers, to which it was addressed, was raised in 1707, consisting of gentlemen, mounted and armed at their own expense. It 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 frcemen in defence of their own rights, was nowhere more succes ful than in Edinburgh, which furnished a force of 3ooo armed and disciplined volunteers, including a regiment of cavalry, from the city and county, and two corps of artillery, each capable of serving twelve guns. To such 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.

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;–

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* 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 lowed scene, To join the dim choir of the bards who have been; With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the Old, And sage Telessin, high harping to hold.

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


O, low shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro,
And weak were the whispers that waved the dark
All as a fair maiden, bewilder'd in sorrow,
Sorely sigh'd to the breezes, and wept to the flood.
* 0, 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
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 bravellenry is lying;
And fast through the woodland approaches the foe. a-
Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow,
And scarce could she hear them, benumb'd with de-
And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro,
For ever he set to the brave and the fair.


In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Hellvellyn. were not discovered till three months afterwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier-bitch, his constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland.

I climb'd the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn,
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty and
All was still, save by fits when the eagle was yelling,
And starting around me the echoes replied.
On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was
And Catchedicam its left verge was defending,
One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending,
When I mark'd the sad spot where the wanderer had
Dark green was the spot mid the brown mountain
heather, -
Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretch'd in decay,
Like the corpse of an outcast abandon'd to weather,
Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay.
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended,
For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended,
The much-loved remains of her master defended,
. And chased the hill-fox and the raven away.

How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber?
When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou
start 2
How many long days and long weeks didst thou number,
Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart?
And, oh! was it meet, that, no requiem read o'er him,
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him,
And thou, little guardian, alone stretch'd before him,
Unhonour'd the Pilgrim from life should depart?

When a prince to the fate of the peasant has yielded,
The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall;
With scutch cons of silver the coffin is shielded,
And pages stand mute by the canopied pall:
Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are
In the proudly-arched chapel the banners are beaming;
Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming,
Lamenting a chief of the people should fall.
But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,
To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb;
When, wilderd, he drops from some cliff huge in
stature, -
And draws his last sob by the side of his dam.
And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying,
Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying,
With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying,
In the arms of Helivellyn and Catchedicam.

The first stanza of this ballad is ancient. His remains

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. - Ain-A Border Melody.

The others were written for Mr Campbell's Albyn's Anthology.

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* ------------

* - Sleep on till day." These words, adapted to a melody somewhat different from the original, are sung in ": friend Mr Terry's drama of Guy Mannering.

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| The Pibroch of Donald the Black.

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* - The Mae-Gregor is come.” • Caird signifies Tinker.

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