MONCONTOUR.

For we trampled on the throng of the haughty

and the strong, O, WEEP for Moncontour ! O, weep for the hour Who sate in the high places and slew the saints When the children of darkness and evil had

of God. power ; When the horsemen of Valois triumphantly trod It was about the noon of a glorious day of June On the bosoms that bled for their rights and That we saw their banners dance and their their God.

cuirasses shine,

And the man of blood was there, with his long O, weep for Moncontour! 0, weep for the slain essenced hair, Who for faith and for freedom lay slaughtered in And Astley, and Sir Marmaduke, and Rupert of vain !

the Rhine. O, weep for the living, who linger to bear The renegade's shame or the exile's despair ! Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and

his sworil, One look, one last look, to the cots and the The General rode along us to form us for tlie fight; towers,

When a murmuring sound broke out, and swelled To the rows of our vines and the beds of our into a shout flowers ;

Among the godless horsemen upon the tyrant's To the church where the bones of our fathers right.

decayed, Where we fondly had deemed that ourown should And hark ! like the roar of the billows on the be laid.

shore,

The cry of battle rises along their charging line: Alas! we must leave thee, dear desolate home, For God! for the cause ! for the Church! for the To the spearmen of Uri, the shavelings of Rome , laws! To the serpent of Florence, the sultan of Spain; For Charles, king of England, and Rupert of the To the pride of Anjou, and the guile of Lorraine.

Rhine !

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY.

Farewell to thy fountains, farewell to thy shades, The furious German comes, with his clarions and To the song of thy youths, the dance of thy

his drums, maids;

His braroes of Alsatia and pages of Whitehall; To the breath of thy gardens, the hum of thy They are bursting on our fanks! Grasp your bees,

pikes ! Close your ranks ! And the long waving line of the blue Pyrenees ! For Rupert never comes but to conquer, or to

fall. Farewell and forever! The priest and the slave May rule in the halls of the free and the brave; They are here, — they rush on, — we are broken, Our hearths we abandon, --- ourlands we resign,

we are gone, But, Father, we kneel to no altar but thine.

Our left is borne before them like stubble on the

blast. O Lord, put forth thy might ! O Lord, defend

the right!

Stand back to back, in God's name and fight NASEBY.

it to the last ! O, WIIEREFORE come ye forth in triumph from Stout Skippen hath a wound, — the centre hath the north,

given ground. With your hands, and your feet, and your rai- Hark ! hark! what means the trampling ment all red ?

of

1

B.INNOCKBURY.

At Bannockburn the English lay,
The Scots they were na far away,
But waited for the break o' day

That glinted in the east.

But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of

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 lel!
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 !

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

“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 !

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 iode
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. () 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

stool, Anda wild mother scream o'er herfamishing brool

LOCHIEL.

WIZARD.

LOCHIEL'S WARNING.

False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled myclan,
WIZARD. - LOCHIEL.

Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one
They are true to the last of their blood and their

breath, LOCHuel, Lochiel ! beware of the day

And like reapers descend to the harvest of death, When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array, Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock! For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on th= And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight. rock! They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, crown,

When Albin her claymore indignantly draws; Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down! When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, Proud ('nmberland prances, insulting the slain, Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the prouil And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. | All plaided and plumed in their tartan arra

WIZARD.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

That knits me to thy rugged strand ?

Still, as I view each well-known scene, - Lochiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day ; For, dark and despairing, my sight I may scal,

Think what is now, and what hath been, But man cannot cover what God would reveal ;

Seems as, to me, of all bereft, "T is the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,

Sole friends thy woods and streams were left;

And thus I love them better still,
And coming events cast their shadows before.
I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring

Even in extremity of ill.
With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive

By Yarrow's stream still let me stray, king.

Though none should guide my feeble way; Lo! anointed by Heaven with the phials of wrath,

Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break, Behold where he flies on his desolate path !

Although it chill my withered cheek ; Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my

Still lay my head by Teviot stone, sight.

Though there, forgotten and alone, Rise, rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight !

The bard may draw his parting groan. *T is finished. Their thunders are hushed on the

moor's. Culloden is lost, and my country deplores, But where is the iron-bound prisoner ? Where?

MACGREGOR'S GATHERING. For the red eye of battle is shut in despair.

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

I These verses are adapted to a very wild, yet lively, gathering Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and tune, used by the Macgregors. 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 muflled, and black is the bier; THE moon's on the lake, and the mist 's on the His death-bell is tolling : 0 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.

the eagles !
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance,

Grigalach !
SCOTLAND.

Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, etc.

their gore,

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

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.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed | How, in the name of soldiership and sens, 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

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 enough 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 tongue, What love I bore to thee.

And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own.

WILLIAM COWPER. *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.

FROM

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 tiash 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 crotoned, 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 THMSON.