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Some said to hill, and some to glen,
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, 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,
From high Dunedin's towers we come,
Our casques the leopard's spoils surround,
Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown
O! had they marked the avenging call
Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head,
No! though destruction o'er the land
The sun, that sees our falling day,
For gold let Gallia's legions fight,
If ever breath of British gale
Or footstep of invader rude,
Then farewell home! and farewell friends!
Resolved, we mingle in the tide,
To horse! to horse! the sabres gleam
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 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 CLIMBED 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.
On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending,
When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died.
Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown mountain-heather,
Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay.
How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber?
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? And, O! 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 stretched before him,Unhonoured the Pilgrim from life should depart
When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded,
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,
But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,
To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb,
THE MAID OF TORO.
O, 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.
My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die!
All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle,
Slowly approaching a warrior was seen;
"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 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;
The glen is white with the drifted snow;
No Outlaw seeks your castle-gate,
A weary Palmer, worn and weak,
I'll give you pardons from the pope,
The hair is crouching in her form,
You hear the Ettricke's sullen roar,
The iron gate is bolted hard,
Farewell, farewell! and Mary grant,
The Ranger on his couch lay warm,
For lo, when, through the vapours dank,
A corpse amid the alders rank,
ALL joy was bereft me the day that you left me, And climbed the tall vessel to sail yon wide sea; 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.