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Some said to hill, and some to glen,
Their wondrous course had been;
Again was Thomas seen.
WAR SONG OF THE ROYAL EDINBURGH
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 expense. It still subsists, as the Right Troop of the Royal Mid-Lothian Light Cavalry, commanded by the Hon. Lieutenant-Colonel 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, mch 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 ;
Arouse ye, one and all!
A band of brothers true;
We boast the red and blue.
Dull Holland's tardy train;
And, foaming, gnaw the chain;
Their brethren's murder gave,
Sought freedom in the grave !
In Freedom's temple born,
Or brook a victor's scorn?
Come pouring as a flood,
The sun, that sees our falling day,
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 tricolor,
Pollute our happy shore,-
Adieu each tender tie !
To conquer, or to die.
High sounds our bugle call ;
March forward, one and all!
In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of a most ami. able disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Hellvellyn His remains 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 Westmorland.
I OLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn,
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide ; All was still, save, by fits, when the eagle was yelling,
And starting around me the echoes replied.
When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died.
Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretched in decay,
Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay.
And chased the hill-fox and the raven away.
When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start ? How many long days and long nights didst thou number,
Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart?
Unhonoured 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 scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded,
And pages stand mute by the canopied pall : Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming, 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,
And draws his last sob by the side of his dam.
In the arms of Hellvellyn and Catchedicain.
THE MAID OF TORO.
0, 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, bewildered in sorrow,
Sorely sighed 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;
My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die!”.
With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they fail,
And the chase’s wild clamour, came loading the gale.
Slowly approaching a warrior was seen ;
Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien.
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, benumbed with despair : And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro,
For ever he set to the Brave, and the Fair.
“ O OPEN the door, some pity to show;
Keen blows the northern wind,
And the path is hard to find.
From chasing the king's deer,
Might claim compassion here.
A weary Palmer, worn and weak,
I wander for my sin;
A pilgrim's blessing win!
And reliques from o'er the sea, -
Yet open for charity.
The hart beside the hind;
No shelter can I find.
You hear the Ettricke's sullen roar,
Dark, deep, and strony is he,
Unless you pity me.
The iron gate is bolted hard,
At which I knock in vain;
Who hears me thus complain.
Farewell, farewell ! and Mary grant,
When old and frail you be,
That's now denied to me.
The Ranger on his couch lay warm,
And heard him plead in vain;
He'll hear that voice again.
Morn shone on Ettricke fair,
The Palmer weltered there.
ALL joy was bereft me the day that you left me,
yon O weary betide it ! I wandered beside it,
And banned it for parting my Willie and me. Far o'er the wave hast thou followed thy fortune ;
Oft fought the squadrons of France and of Spain; Ae kiss of welcome worth twenty at parting,
Now I hae got my Willie again.