THE FORAY.

(1830.)

THE last of our steers on the board has been spread,

And the last flask of wine in our goblet is red;

Up, up, my brave kinsmen! belt swords and begone,

There are dangers to dare, and there's spoil to be won.

The eyes, that so lately mix'd glances with ours,

For a space must be dim, as they gaze from the towers,

And strive to distinguish through tempest and gloom The prance of the steed and the toss of the plume.

The rain is descending; the wind rises loud;

And the moon her red beacon has veil'd with a cloud;

'Tis the better, my mates! for the warder's dull eye

Shall in confidence slumber, nor dream we are nigh.

Our steeds are impatient! I hear my blithe Grey!

There is life in his hoof-clang, and hope in his neigh;

Like the flash of a meteor, the glance of his mane

Shall marshal your march through the darkness and rain.

The drawbridge has dropp'd, the bugle has blown ;

One pledge is to quaff yet-then mount and begone!— To their honour and peace, that shall rest with the slain; To their health and their glee, that see Teviot again!

INSCRIPTION

FOR THE MONUMENT OF THE REV. GEORGE SCOTT.

(1830.)

To youth, to age, alike, this tablet pale Tells the brief moral of its tragic tale. Art thou a parent? Reverence this bier, The parents' fondest hopes lie buried

here.

Art thou a youth, prepared on life to start,

With opening talents and a generous heart,

Fair hopes and flattering prospects all

thine own?

Lo! here their end-a monumental

stone.

But let submission tame each sorrow. ing thought,

Heaven crown'd its champion ere the fight was fought.

LINES ON FORTUNE, A SKILFUL

MECHANIST.

(1831.)

FORTUNE, my Foe, why dost thou frown on me?

And will my Fortune never better be?

Wilt thou, I say, for ever breed my pain?

And wilt thou ne'er return my joys again?

(No! let my ditty be henceforth — ) Fortune, my Friend, how well thou favourest me!

A kinder Fortune man did never see!

Thou propp'st my thigh, thou ridd'st my knee of pain,

I'll walk, I'll mount-I'll be a man again.

WAR-SONG OF THE ROYAL EDIN

BURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS.

P. 701.

'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 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 chese, 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 inherit

ance,

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.'

Bonduca.

This 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 expense. It still subsists, as the Right Troop of the Royal Mid-Lothian Light Cavalry, commanded by the Honourable LieutenantColonel Dundas. The noble and constitutional measure of arming freemen in defence of their own rights was nowhere more successful 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 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. 1812.

The song originally appeared in the Scots Magazine for 1802.-LOCKHART.

2 Now Viscount Melville (1831).

FAREWELL TO MACKENZIE.
P. 722.

The original verses are arranged to a beautiful Gaelic air, of which the chorus is adapted to the double pull upon the oars of a galley, and which is therefore distinct from the ordinary jorrams, or boat-songs They were composed by the Family Bard upon the departure of the Earl of Seaforth, who was obliged to take refuge in Spain, after an unsuccessful effort at insurrection in favour of the Stuart family, in the year 1718.

PIBROCH OF DONUIL DHU.
P. 731.

This is a very ancient pibroch belonging to Clan MacDonald, and supposed to refer to the expedition of Donald Balloch, who, in 1431, launched from the Isles with a considerable force, invaded Lochaber, and at Inverlochy defeated and put to flight the Earls of Mar and Caithness, though at the head of an army superior to his own. The words of the set, theme, or melody, to which the pipe variations are applied, run thus in Gaelic:'Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonull; Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhoout; Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonu Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi' 'The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, The war-pipe and the pennon are on the gatheringplace at Inverlochy."

MACKRIMMON'S LAMENT.
P. 744.

Mackrimmon, hereditary piper to the Laird of Macleod, is said to have composed this Lament when the Clan was about to depart upon a distant and dangerous expedition. The Minstrel was impressed with a belief, which the event verified, that he was to be slain in the approaching feud; and hence the Gaelic words, Cha till mi tuille; ged thillis Macleod, cha till Mackrimmon, I shall never return; although Macleod returns, yet Mackrimmon shall never return!' The piece is but too well known, from its being the strain with which the emigrants from the West Highlands and Isles usually take leave of their native shore.

LINES BY CAPTAIN WAVERLEY

ON RECEIVING HIS COMMISSION IN
COLONEL GARDINER'S REGIMENT.

LATE, when the autumn evening fell
On Mirkwood-Mere's romantic dell,
The lake return'd, in chasten'd gleam,
The purple cloud, the golden beam:
Reflected in the crystal pool,
Headland and bank lay fair and cool;
The weather-tinted rock and tower,
Each drooping tree, each fairy flower,
So true, so soft, the mirror gave,
As if there lay beneath the wave,
Secure from trouble, toil, and care,
A world than earthly world more fair.

But distant winds began to wake,
And roused the Genius of the Lake!
He heard the groaning of the oak,
And donn'd at once his sable cloak,
As warrior, at the battle cry,
Invests him with his panoply :
Then, as the whirlwind nearer press'd,
He 'gan to shake his foamy crest
O'er furrow'd brow and blacken'd
cheek,

And bade his surge in thunder speak.
In wild and broken eddies whirl'd,
Flitted that fond ideal world;
And, to the shore in tumult tost,
The realms of fairy bliss were lost.

Yet, with a stern delight and strange,
I saw the spirit-stirring change.
As warr'd the wind with wave and
wood,

Upon the ruin'd tower I stood,
And felt my heart more strongly bound,
Responsive to the lofty sound,
While, joying in the mighty roar,
I mourn'd that tranquil scene no more.

So, on the idle dreams of youth
Breaks the loud trumpet-call of truth,
Bids each fair vision pass away,
Like landscape on the lake that lay,

As fair, as flitting, and as frail,
As that which fled the autumn gale-
For ever dead to fancy's eye
Be each gay form that glided by,
While dreams of love and lady's charms
Give place to honour and to arms!
Chap. v.

DAVIE GELLATLEY sings:FALSE love, and hast thou play'd me this

In summer among the flowers? I will repay thee back again

In winter among the showers. Unless again, again, my love,

Unless you turn again; As you with other maidens rove, 'I'll smile on other men.

THE Knight's to the mountain
His bugle to wind;
The Lady's to greenwood

Her garland to bind.
The bower of Burd Ellen

Has moss on the floor, That the step of Lord William Be silent and sure.

Chap. IX.

SCENE-Luckie Macleary's Tavern. BARON BRADWARDINE sings:MON cœur volage, dit-elle,

N'est pas pour vous, garçon; Mais pour un homme de guerre, Qui a barbe au menton.

Lon, Lon, Laridon.

Qui porte chapeau à plume, Soulier à rouge talon, Qui joue de la flûte,

Aussi du violon.

Lon, Lon, Laridən.