HIGHLAND WAR-SONG.

-

111

Does a name startle you? the name of Alexander? Let girls and cowards stand in awe of it! Imprudent, reckless, absurd, our own irresolution, and not his courage, has been the cause of his successes hitherto. Nothing that is not built on moderation can last. His prosperity has reached its height, and punishment now awaits his presumption.

By our guardian deities, O soldiers! by the eternal fire carried before us on our altars; by the dazzling sun which rises within the limits of my dominions; by the immortal memory of Cyrus, who transferred the empire from the Medes and Lydians to the Persians; by your hopes of freedom and your scorn of oppression, I con-jure' you to vindicate your name and nation from the last disgrace! In your own right hands you carry liberty, power, and every future reliance. Whoever despises death, escapes it. Follow me, then, for home and country, family and freedom,

VIII.

follow me to the field!

QUINTUS CURTIUS (paraphrase from).

HIGHLAND WAR-SONG.

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 uninterred, 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 :
Faster come, 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 Donuil Dhu, knell for the onset!

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

A pibroch (pronounced pi'brok) is a martial air played with the bagpipe.

Donuil, pronounce Don'nil.

SOLDIERS and friends! we soon shall reach the ground
Where your poor country waits the sacrifice,
The holiest offering of her children's blood!
Here have we come, not for the lust of conquest,
Not for the booty of the lawless plunderer;
No, friends, we come to tell our proud invaders
That we will use our strength to purchase freedom!
Freedom-prime blessing of this fleeting life!
Is there a man that hears thy sacred name,
And thrills not to the sound with loftiest hope,
With proud disdain of tyrant whips and chains?
Much-injured friends, your slavish hours are past!
Conquest is ours! not that your German swords
Have keener edges than the Roman falchions;
Not that your shields are stouter, nor your armor
Impervious to the swift and deadly lance;
Not that your ranks are thicker than the Roman;
No, no; they will outnumber you, my soldiers;
But that your cause is good! They are poor slaves
Who fight for hire and plunder, pampered ruffians,
Who have no souls for glory. We are Germans;
Who here are bound, by oaths indissoluble,
To keep your glorious birthrights or to die!
This is a field where beardless boys might fight,
And, looking on the angel Liberty,

Might put such mettle in their tender arms

That veteran chiefs would ill ward off their blows.

I say no more, my dear and trusty friends!
Your glorious rallying-cry has music in it,
To rouse the sleepiest spirit from his trance,
For Freedom and Germania!

MURPHY.

X.- POLAND.

Is Freedom's latest struggle o'er? Is Poland fallen to rise no more? Is Kosciusko's name forgotten? Is the spirit fled, that once to deathless glory led, and never lessening fame? No! though the imperial Russ decree Poland shall never more be free, - she yet shall burst her chain, again the sword of Freedom wield, and in the blood-red battle-field her arch foe meet again.

-

Who, but the driveling despots, dream, all silent though

HENRY V. TO HIS SOLDIERS.

118

Sarmatia seem, her noble spirit filed? She sleeps a short and troubled sleep-but, when she wakes, let despots weep!-0, Poland is not dead! Still, still, in Tyranny's despite, fair Liberty's all quenchless light shall stronger, brighter shine! Fresh blood shall rush through Poland's veins, and Russia's self throw off her chains, and hail the maid divine!

Was Ostrolenska's fight in vain,-in vain the blood on Grochow's plain, like water freely poured? And still must Kosciusko's land be crushed beneath the withering hand of a barbarian lord? Perish the thought! our dawning day shall yet see Poland spurn the sway of Moscow's haughty czar. Till all the world shall own her free, or Time itself shall cease to be, her cry shall still be-WAR!

XI. - SAUL BEFORE HIS LAST BATTLE.

WARRIORS and chiefs! should the shaft or the sword
Pierce me in leading the hosts of the Lord,
Heed not the corse, though a king's, in your path:
Bury your steel in the bosoms of Gath!

Thou who art bearing my buckler and bow,
Should the soldiers of Saul look away from the foe,
Stretch me that moment in blood at thy feet!
Mine be the doom, which they dared not to meet.
Farewell to others, but never we part,
Heir to my royalty, son of my heart!
Bright is the diadem, boundless the sway,
Or kingly the death, which awaits us to-day!

BYRON.

XII.

- HENRY V. TO HIS SOLDIERS AT THE SIEGE OF

HARFLEUR.

ONCE more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead!

In

peace, there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:

But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favored rage:
Then lend the eye a terrible aspéct;
Let it pry through the portage of the head,
Like the brass cannon.

Now set the teeth, and stretch the nostril wide;
Hold hard the breath, and bend up every spirit
To its full height! On, on, you noblest English,
Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war proof!
Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders,

Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought,
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot;
Follow your spirit: and, upon this charge,
Cry-God for Harry! England! and St. George!

SHAKSPEARE.

XIII. GUSTAVUS VASA TO THE DALECARLIANS. Christian II., King of Denmark, having made himself master of Sweden, confined Gustavus at Copenhagen; but he, making his escape, contrived to reach the Dalecarlian mountains, where he worked at the mines like a common slave. Having seized a favorable opportunity, he declared himself to the miners and peasants, whom he incited to join his cause. Fortune befriended him, and in the year 1527 he gained the throne of Sweden. SWEDES! countrymen! behold at last, after a thousand dangers past, your chief, Gustavus, here! Long have I sighed 'mid foreign bands, long have I roamed in foreign lands; —at length, 'mid Swedish hearts and hands, I grasp a Swedish spear! Yet, looking forth, although I see none but the fearless and the free, sad thoughts the sight inspires; for where, I think, on Swedish ground, save where these mountains frown around, can that best heritage be found. the freedom of our sires? Yes, Sweden pines beneath the yoke; the galling chain our fathers broke is round our country now! On perjured craft and ruthless guilt his power a tyrant Dane has built, and Sweden's crown, all blood-bespilt, rests on a foreign brow.

On you your country turns her eyes-on you, on you, for aid relies, scions of noblest stem! The foremost place in rolls of fame, by right your fearless fathers claim; yours is the glory of their name 't is yours to equal them. As rushing down, when winter reigns, resistless to the shaking plains, the torrent tears its way, and all that bars its onward course sweeps to the sea with headlong force, so swept your sires the Dane and Norse : can ye do less than they?

Rise! reässert your ancient pride, and down the hills a living tide of fiery valor pour. Let but the storm of battle lower, back to his den the foe will cower; then, then shall Freedom's

glorious hour strike for our land once more! What! silent

GERMANICUS TO HIS MUTINOUS TROOPS.

115

motionless, ye stand? Gleams not an eye? Moves not a hand? Think ye to fly your fate? Or till some better cause be given, wait ye?—Then wait! till, banished, driven, ye fear to meet the face of Heaven; - till ye are slaughtered, wait!

But no! your kindling hearts gainsay the thought. Hark! Hear that bloodhound's bay! Yon blazing village see! Rise, countrymen! Awake! Defy the haughty Dane! Your battlecry be Freedom! We will do or die! On! Death or victory!

XIV.-GERMANICUS TO HIS MUTINOUS TROOPS.

Can I call you arms the son of Citizens, can I

A. D. 14, the Roman soldiers on the lower Rhine mutinied on receiving the news of the death of the Emperor Augustus, and the accession of Tiberius. According to Tacitus, the following speech, by German'icus, the consul, recalled the mutinous troops to their duty, and restored discipline. To this audience what name shall I give? soldiers? Soldiers! you who have beset with your emperor-confined him in your trenches? call you? you who have trampled under your feet the authority of the Senate; who have violated the most awful sanctions, even those which hostile states have ever held in respect the rights of ambassadors and the laws of nations?

Julius Cæsar, by a single word, was able to quell a mutiny: he spoke to the men who resisted his authority: he called them Romans, and they returned to their allegiance. Augustus showed himself to the legions who fought at Actium, and the majesty of his countenance awed them into submission. The distance between myself and these illustrious characters I know is great; and yet, descended from them, with their blood in my veins, I should resent with indignation a parallel outrage from the soldiers of Syria or of Spain; and will you, men of the first and the twentieth legions, the former enrolled by Tiberius himself, the other his constant companions in so many battles, and by him enriched with so many bounties, - will you thus requite his benefits?

-

From every other quarter of the empire Tiberius has received none but joyful tidings; and must I wound his ears with the news of your revolt? Must he hear from me, that neither the soldiers raised by himself, nor the veterans who fought under him, are willing to own his authority? Must he be told that neither exemptions from service, nor money lavishly bestowed, can appease the fury of ungrateful men? Must 1 tell him that here centurions are butchered, trib'unes expelled, ambassadors