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But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning cf

war,

What steed to the desert flies frantic and far?
'Tis thine, O Glenullin! whose bride shall await,
Likea love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate.
A steed comes at morning: no rider is there;
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair.
Weep, Albin! to death and captivity led!
O, weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead;
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave,
Culloden that reeks with the blood of the brave

But soon the sun broke through the heath
And lighted up that field o' death,
When Bruce, wi' saul-inspiring breath,
His heralds thus addressed :·

:-

"Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has often led, Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to glorious victory!

"Now's the day, and now 's the hour;
See the front o' battle lour;
See approach proud Edward's power,
Edward! chains and slavery!

"Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?

Traitor coward! turn and flee!

"Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or freeman fa',

Caledonia! on wi' me!

"By oppression's woes and pains! By your sons in servile chains! We will drain our dearest veins,

But they shall be-shall be free!

"Lay the proud usurpers low ! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty 's in every blow!

Forward let us do, or die!"

ROBERT BURNS.

LOCHIEL'S WARNING.

WIZARD. -LOCHIEL.

WIZARD.

LOCHIEL, Lochiel! beware of the day
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array,
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight,
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight.
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and

LOCHIEL.

Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer!
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear,
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright.

WIZARD.

Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn?
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be

torn!

Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth
From his home in the dark rolling clouds of the
north!

Lo! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad;
But down let him stoop from his havoc on high!
Ah! home let him speed, - for the spoiler is nigh.
Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the
blast

Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast?
'T is the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven
From his eyry, that beacons the darkness of
heaven.

O crested Lochiel! the peerless in might,
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height,
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn;
Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return!
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it

stood,
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood.

LOCHIEL.

False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled my clan,
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one'
They are true to the last of their blood and their
breath,

And like reapers descend to the harvest of death.
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock!
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the

rock!

crown,

But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause,
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws;
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd,
Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud,

Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down!
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain,

And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. | All plaided and plumed in their tartan array

WIZARD.

– Lochiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day ;
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal,
But man cannot cover what God would reveal ;
'T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before.
I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring
With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive

king.
Lo! anointed by Heaven with the phials of wrath,
Behold where he flies on his desolate path !
Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my

sight.
Rise, rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight !
"T is finished. Their thunders are hushed on the

That knits me to thy rugged strand ?
Still, as I view each well-known scene,
Think what is

now,

and what hath been,
Seems as, to me, of all bereft,
Sole friends thy woods and streams were left;
And thus I love them better still,
Even in extremity of ill.
By Yarrow's stream still let me stray,
Though none should guide my feeble way ;
Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break,
Although it chill my withered cheek;
Still lay my head by Teviot stone,
Though there, forgotten and alone,
The bard may draw his parting groan.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

moors.

Culloden is lost, and my country deplores,

MACGREGOR'S GATHERING.
But where is the iron-bound prisoner ? Where?
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair.

Air, “THAIN' A GRIGALACH."
Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn,

[These verses are adapted to a very wild, yet lively, gathering Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and tune, used by the Macyregors. The severe treatment of this clan, torn ?

their outlawry, and the proscription of their very name, are alluded

to in the ballad.) Ah no! for a darker departure is near; The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier; The moon's on the lake, and the mist 's on the His death-bell is tolling : O mercy, dispel

brae, Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell ! And the clan has a name that is nameless by day ; Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs, Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach ! And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims. Gather, gather, gather, etc. Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet, Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to Our signal for fight, that from monarchs we drew, beat,

Must be heard but by night in our vengeful haloo ! With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale

Then haloo, Grigalach ! haloo, Grigalach !

Haloo, haloo, haloo, Grigalach, etc. LOCHIEL. - Down, soothless insulter ! I trust not the tale ; Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchurn and For never shall Albin a destiny meet,

her towers, So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat.

Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours : Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in We're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach !

Landless, landless, landless, etc.
Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore,
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains,

But doomed and devoted by vassal and lord While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, Macgregor has still both his heart and his sword ! Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low,

Then courage, courage, courage, Grigalach ! With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe!

Courage, courage, courage, etc. And leaving in battle no blot on his name, Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to

If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles, fame. THOMAS CAMPBELL.

the eagles ! Then vengeance,

vengeance, vengeance,

Grigalach !
SCOTLAND.

Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, etc.

their gore,

O CALEDONIA ! stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child !
Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood,
Land of my sires! what mortal hand
Can e'er untie the filial band

While there's leaves in the forest, and foam on

the river, Macgregor, despite them, shall flourish forever!

Come then, Grigalach ! come then, Griga

lach ! Come then, come then, come then, etc.

Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed | How, in the name of soldiership and sense, shall career,

Should England prosper, when such things, as
O'er the peak of Ben Lomond the galley shall steer, smooth
And the rocks of Craig-Royston like icicles melt, And tender as a girl, all essenced o'er
Ere our wrongs be forgot or our vengeance unfelt ! | With odors, and as profligate as sweet,

Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach ! Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath,
Gather, gather, gather, etc.

And love when they should fight, — when such as
SIR WALTER SCOTT. !

these
Presume to lay their hand upon the ark

Of her magnificent and awful cause !
ENGLAND.

Time was when it was praise and boast enough

In every clime, and travel where we might, I TRAVELLED among unknown men

That we were born her children. Praise enob In lands beyond the sea ;

To fill the ambition of a private man, Nor, England ! did I know till then

That Chatham's language was his mother tolle, What love I bore to thee.

And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own.

WILLIAM CUMPER 'T is past, that melancholy dream !

Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time, for still I seem

RULE BRITANNIA!
To love thee more and more.

When Britain first, at Heaven's command, Among thy mountains did I feel

Arose from out the azure main, The joy of my desire ;

This was the charter of the land, And she I cherished turned her wheel

And guardian angels sing the strain : Beside an English fire.

Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves!

Britons never will be slaves.
Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed,
The bowers where Lucy played ;

The nations not so blest as thee,
And thine too is the last green field

Must, in their turn, to tyrants fall ;
That Lucy's eyes surveyed.

Whilst thou shalt flourish, great and free,
The dread and envy of them all.

Rule Britannia ! etc.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

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Still more majestic shalt thou rise,
MY COUNTRY.

More dreadful from each foreign stroke ;

As the loud blasts that tear thy skies
THE TIMEPIECE."

Serve but to root thy native oak.
ENGLAND, with all thy faults, I love thee still,

Rule Britannia ! etc.
My country! and, while yet a nook is left
Where English minds and manners may be found, Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame;
Shall be constrained to love thee. Though thy All their attempts to hurl thee down
clime

Will but arouse thy generous flame,
Be fickle, and thy year most part deformed And work their woe - - but thy renown.
With dripping rains, or withered by a frost,

Rule Britannia ! etc.
I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies,
And fields without a flower, for warmer France

To thee belongs the rural reign ;
With all her vines ; nor for Ausonia's groves

Thy cities shall with commerce shine ; Of golden fruitage and her myrtle bowers.

All thine shall be the subject main, To shake thy senate, and from height sublime

And every shore encircle thine.
Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire

Rule Britannia! etc.
Upon thy foes, was never meant my task :
But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake

The Muses, still with Freedom found,
Thy joys and sorrows with as true a heart

Shall to thy happy coast repair ; As any thunderer there. And I can feel

Blest Isle ! with matchless beauty crowned, Thy follies too ; and with a just disdain

And manly hearts to guard the fair. Frown at effeminates whose very looks

Rule Britannia ! etc. Reflect dishonor on the land I love.

JAMES THSHSUN.

THE ENGLISHMAN.

| Julius Cæsar, the Roman, who yielded to no

man, THERE's a land that bears a world-known name, Came by water, — he couldn't come by land ; Though it is but a little spot ;

And Dane, Pict, and Saxon, their homes turned I say 't is first on the scroll of fame,

their backs on, And who shall aver it is not?

And all for the sake of our island. Of the deathless ones who shine and live

O, what a snug little island ! In arms, in arts, or song,

They 'd all have a touch at the island ! The brightest the whole wide world can give

Some were shot dead, some of them fled, To that little land belong.

And some stayed to live on the island. 'T is the star of earth, deny it who can, The island home of an Englishman.

Then a very great war-man, called Billy the Nor

man, There 's a flag that waves o'er every sea,

Cried, “Drat it, I never liked my land. No matter when or where ;

It would be much more handy to leave this And to treat that flag as aught but the free

Normandy, Is more than the strongest dare.

And live on your beautiful island." For the lion spirits that tread the deck

Says he, “'T is a snug little island ; Have carried the palm of the brave;

Sha' n't us go visit the island ?” And that flag may sink with a shot-torn wreck, Hop, skip, and jump, there he was plump, But never float over a slave.

And he kicked up a dust in the island. Its honor is stainless, deny it who can, And this is the flag of an Englishman.

But party deceit helped the Normans to beat ;

Of traitors they managed to buy land ; There 's a heart that leaps with burning glow By Dane, Saxon, or Pict, Britons ne'er had been The wronged and the weak to defend ;

licked, And strikes as soon for a trampled foe

Had they stuck to the king of their island. As it does for a soul-bound friend.

Poor Harold, the king of our island ! It nurtures a deep and honest love,

He lost both his life and his island. The passions of faith and pride,

That's all very true: what more could ho And yearns with the fondness of a dove

do? For the light of its own fireside.

Like a Briton he died for his island ! 'T is a rich rough gem, deny it who can, And this is the heart of an Englishman. The Spanish armada set out to invade a,

'T will sure, if they ever come nigh land. The Briton may traverse the pole or the zone, They could n't do less than tuck up Queen Bess, And boldly claim his right;

And take their full swing on the island. For he calls such a vast domain his own

O the poor queen of the island ! That the sun never sets on his might.

The Dons came to plunder the island ; Let the haughty stranger seek to know

But snug in her hive the queen was alive, The place of his home and birth,

And “buzz” was the word of the island. And a flush will pour from cheek to brow While he tells his native earth.

These proud puffed-up cakes thought to make For a glorious charter, deny it who can,

ducks and drakes Is breathed in the words “I'm an Englishman." Of our wealth ; but they hardly could spy land,

When our Drake had the luck to make their

pride duck

And stoop to the lads of the island ! THE SNUG LITTLE ISLAND.

The good wooden walls of the island ;

Devil or Don, let them come on; DADDY NEPTUNE, one day, to Freedom did say,

And see how they 'd come off the island ! If ever I lived upon dry land, The spot I should hit on would be little Britain ! Since Freedom and Neptune have hitherto kept Says Freedom, “Why, that's my own island !"

time,
0, it 's a snug little island !

In each saying, “This shall be my land" ;
A right little, tight little island ! Should the Army of England,” or all it could
Search the globe round, none can be found

bring, land,
So happy as this little island.

We'd show 'em some play for the island.

ELIZA COOK.

THOMAS DIBDIN.

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We'd fight for our right to the island ;

The Genius of our clime We'd give them enough of the island ;

From his pine-embattled steep
Invaders should just — bite once at the dust, Shall hail the guest sublime ;
But not a bit more of the island.

While the Tritons of the deep
With their conchs the kindred league shall pro-

claim.

Then let the world combine, THE LAND, BOYS, WE LIVE IN.

O'er the main our naval line

Like the Milky Way shall shine
THE MYRTLE AND THE VINE."

Bright in fame!
Since our foes to invade us have long been pre-
paring,

Though ages long have past

Since our Fathers left their home, 'T is clear they consider we've something worth

Their pilot in the blast,
sharing,

O'er untravelled seas to roam,
And for that mean to visit our shore ;
It behooves us, however, with spirit to meet 'em, Yet lives the blood of England in our veins !

And shall we not proclaim
And though 't will be nothing uncommon to

That blood of honest fame beat 'em, We must try how they 'll take it once more :

Which no tyranny can tame

By its chains ?
Sofill, fill yourglasses, be this the toast given,
Here's England forever, the land, boys, we live

While the language free and bold
in !

Which the Bard of Avon sung, So fill, fill your glasses, be this the toast given,

In which our Milton told Here's England forever, huzza !

How the vault of heaven rung Here 's a health to our tars on the wide ocean When Satan, blasted, fell with his host ;

While this, with reverence meet, ranging,

Ten thousand echoes greet, Perhaps even now some broadsides are exchanging,

From rock to rock repeat We'll on shipboard and join in the fight;

Round our coast ; And when with the foe we are firmly engaging,

While the manners, while the arts, Till the fire of our guns lulls the sea in its raging,

That mould a nation's soul, On our country we 'll think with delight.

Still cling around our hearts, – So fill, fill your glasses, etc.

Between let Ocean roll, On that throne where once Alfred in glory was Our joint communion breaking with the Sun :

Yet still from either beach seated,

The voice of blood shall reach, Long, long may our king by his people be greeted; 0, to guard him we 'll be of one mind !

More audible than speech,

“We are One." May religion, law, order, be strictly defended, And continue the blessings they first were in

tended,
In union the nation to bind !
So fill, fill your glasses, etc.

AMERICA.
O MOTHER of a mighty race,

Yet lovely in thy youthful grace !
AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN.

The elder dames, thy haughty peers,

Admire and hate thy blooming years ;
All hail ! thou noble land,

With words of shame
Our Fathers' native soil !

And taunts of scorn they join thy name.
0, stretch thy mighty hand,
Gigantic grown by toil,

For on thy cheeks the glow is spread
O'er the vast Atlantic wave to our shore !

That tints thy morning hills with red;
For thou with magic might

Thy step, — the wild deer's rustling feet
Canst reach to where the light

Within thy wools are not more fleet;
Of Phoebus travels bright

Tly hopeful eye
The world o'er !

Is bright as thine own sunny sky.

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WASHINGTON ALLSTON.

ANONYMOUS.

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