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"Right heavily upon your head He'll lay his hand of steel; And with his trusty partizan Your absolution deal."

'Twas on a Monday morning then,

The corn was steep'd in dew, And merry maids had sickels ta'en, When the host to Sempach drew.

The stalwart men of fair Lucerne

Together have they join'd;

The pith and core of manhood sternWas none cast looks behind.

It was the Lord of Hare castle,
And to the duke he said,

"Yon little band of brethren true

Will meet us undismay'd."

"O Hare-castle, thou heart of hare !" Fierce Oxenstern replied;

"Shalt see then how the game will fare," The taunting knight replied.

There was lacing then of helmets bright, And closing ranks amain;

The peaks they hew'd from their boot-points
Might well nigh load a wain.t

And thus they to each other said,
"Yon handful down to hew
Will be no boastful tale to tell,
The peasants are so few."

The gallant Swiss confederates there,
They pray'd to God aloud,

And he display'd his rainbow fair
Against a swarthy cloud.

Then heart and pulse throbb'd more and more

With courage firm and high,

And down the good confederates bore

On the Austrian chivalry.

The Austrian liont 'gan to growl,

And toss his main and tail;

And ball, and shaft, and crossbow bolt Went whistling forth like hail.

Lance, pike, and halberd, mingled there,
The game was nothing sweet;
The boughs of many a stately tree
Lay shiver'd at their feet.

The Austrian men-at-arms stood fast,
So close their spears they laid:
It chafed the gallant Winkelried,
Who to his comrades said-

In the original, Haasenstein, or Hare-stone. This seems to allude to the preposterous fashion, during the middle ages, of wearing boots with the points or peaks turned upwards, and so long that, in some cases, they were fastened to the knees of the wearer with small chains. When they alighted to fight upon foot, it would seem that the Austrian gentlemen found it necessary to cut off these peaks, that they might move with the necessary activity.

A pun on the archduke's name, Leopold.

"I have a virtuous wife at home,

A wife and infant son;

I leave them to my country's care-
This field shall soon be won.

"These nobles lay their spears right thick, And keep full firm array,

Yet shall my charge their order break,
And make my brethren way."

He rush'd against the Austrian band,
In desperate career,

And with his body, breast, and hand,
Bore down each hostile spear.

Four lances splinter'd on his crest, Six shiver'd in his side;

Still on the serried files he press'd-
He broke their ranks, and died.

This patriot's self-devoted deed
First tamed the lion's mood,
And the four forest cantons freed
From thraldom by his blood.

Right where his charge had made a lane,
His valiant comrades burst,
With sword, and axe, and partizan,

And hack, and stab, and thrust.

The daunted lion 'gan to whine,

And granted ground amain;
The mountain bull, he bent his brows,
And gored his sides again.

Then lost was banner, spear, and shield,
At Sempach, in the flight;
The cloister vaults at Koningsfield
Hold many an Austrian knight.

It was the Archduke Leopold,

So lordly would he ride,

But he came against the Switzer churls, And they slew him in his pride.

The heifer said unto the bull,

"And shall I not complain? There came a foreign nobleman To milk me on the plain.

"One thrust of thine outrageous horn
Has gall'd the knight so sore,
That to the churchyard he is borne,
To range our glens no more."-

An Austrian noble left the stour,
And fast the flight 'gan take;
And he arrived in luckless hour
At Sempach, on the lake.

He and his squire a fisher call'd,
(His name was Hans Von Rot,)
"For love, or meed, or charity,
Receive us in thy boat."

Their anxious call the fisher heard,
And glad the meed to win,

A pun on the Urus, or wild bull, which gives name to the canton of Uri.

His shallop to the shore he steer'd,
And took the fliers in.

And while against the tide and wind
Hans stoutly row'd his way,
The noble to his follower sign'd

He should the boatman slay.

The fisher's back was to them turn'd,
The squire his dagger drew,

Hans saw his shadow in the lake,

The boat he overthrew.

He whelm'd the boat, and as they strove,
He stunn'd them with his oar;
"Now drink ye deep, my gentle sirs,
You'll ne'er stab boatman more.

"Two gilded fishes in the lake

This morning have I caught,

Their silver scales may much avail,
Their carrion flesh is naught."

It was a messenger of wo

Has sought the Austrian land; "Ah! gracious lady, evil news! My lord lies on the strand.

"At Sempach, on the battle field,

His bloody corpse lies there."
"Ah, gracious God!" the lady cried,
What tidings of despair!"

Now would you know the minstrel wight,
Who sings of strife so stern,
Albert the Souter is he hight,
A burgher of Lucerne.

A merry man was he, I wot,
The night he made the lay,
Returning from the bloody spot
Where God had judged the day.

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,

Ail as a fair maiden bewilder'd in sorrow,

Life's ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so weary,
Cleft was his helmet, and wo was his mien.

"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, benumb'd with

despair:

And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro,
For ever he set to the brave and the fair.

WAR-SONG

OF THE ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS.

Nennius. Is not peace the end of arms?

Caratach. Not where the cause implies a general con.

quest.

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 these, 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 inheritance,
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.

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 honourable Lieutenant-colonel

Sorely sigh'd to the breezes, and wept to the Dundas. The noble and constitutional measure, of

flood.

arming freemen in defence of their own rights, was

"O saints! from the mansions of bliss lowly bend-nowhere more successful than in Edinburgh, which

ing;

Sweet virgin! who hearest the suppliant's cry;
Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending,
My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die !

All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle, With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they fail,

Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's dread rattle,

And the chase's wild clamour, came loading the
gale.

Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so dreary;
Slowly approaching a warrior was seen;

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,
The bugles sound the call;
The Gallic navy stems the seas,
The voice of battle's on the breeze,
Arouse ye, one and all!

From high Dunedin's towers we come,

A band of brothers true;

Our casques the leopard's spoils surround; With Scotland's hardy thistle crown'd, We boast the red and blue.*

Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown

Dull Holland's tardy train;

Their ravish'd toys though Romans mourn, Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn, And foaming gnaw the chain;

O! had they mark'd th' avenging callt Their brethren's murder gave, Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown, Nor patriot valour, desperate grown, Sought freedom in the grave!

Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head, In freedom's temple born,

Dress our pale cheeks in timid smile, To hail a master in our isle,

Or brook a victor's scorn?

No! though destruction o'er the land Come pouring as a flood,

The sun that sees our falling day Shall mark our sabres' deadly sway, 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 tri-colour,

Or footstep of invader rude,

With rapine foul, and red with blood, Pollute our happy shore

Then farewell home! and farewell friends!
Adieu each tender tie!

Resolved, we mingle in the tide,
Where charging squadrons furious ride,
To conquer or to die.

To horse to horse! the sabres gleam;
High sounds our bugle call;
Combined by honour's sacred tie,
Our word is, Laws and Liberty!

March forward, one and all!

MAC-GREGOR'S GATHERING.

WRITTEN FOR ALBYN'S ANTHOLOGY.

Air-Thain' a Grigalach.*

THESE verses are adapted to a very wild, yet lively gathering-tune, used by the Mac-Gregors. The severe treatment of this clan, their outlawry, and the proscription of their very name, are alluded to in the ballad.

THE moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae,

And the clan has a name that is nameless by day!
Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalach!
Gather, gather, gather, &c.

Our signal for fight, that from monarchs we drew,
Must be heard but by night in our vengeful haloo !
Then haloo, Gregalach! haloo, Gregalach!
Haloo, haloo, haloo, Gregalach, &c.

Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchuirn and her towers,

Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours:

We're landless, landless, landless, Gregalach!
Landless, landless, landless, &c.

But doom'd and devoted by vassal and lord
Mac-Gregor has still both his heart and his sword!
Then courage, courage, courage, Gregalach!
Courage, courage, courage, &c.

If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles, Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the eagles!

Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Gregalach!

Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, &c.

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

Mac-Gregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever! Come then, Gregalach! come then, Gregalach! Come then, come then, come then, &c.

Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall

career,

O'er the peak of Ben Lomond the galley shall steer,

And the rocks of Craig Royston like icicles melt, Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt! Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalach! Gather, gather, gather, &c.

*The royal colours.

The allusion is to the massacre of the Swiss guards, on the fatal 10th of August, 1792. It is painful, but not useless, to remark, that the passive temper with which the Swiss regarded the death of their bravest countrymen, mercilessly slaughtered in discharge of their duty, encou raged and authorized the progressive injustice by which the Alps, once the seat of the most virtuous and free people upon the continent, have, at length, been converted into the citadel of a foreign and military despot. A state degraded is half enslaved.

MACKRIMMON'S LAMENT.

Air-Cha till mi tuille.†

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

"The Mac-Gregor is come." "We return no more."

and dangerous expedition. The minstrel was im- the head of an army superior to his own. The pressed with a belief, which the event verified, words of the set theme, or melody, to which the that he was to be slain in the approaching feud; pipe variations are applied, run thus in Gaelic: and hence the Gaelic words, " Cha till mi tuille; Piobaireachd Dhonuil, piobaireachd Dhonuil; ged thillis Macleod, cha till Macrimmon," "I shall Piobaireachd Dhonuil Duidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; never return; although Macleod returns, yet Mack-Piobaireachd Dhonuil Duidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; rimmon shall never return!" The piece is but too Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi. well known, from its being the strain with which The pipe summons of Donald the Black, the emigrants from the west highlands and isles The pipe summons of Donald the Black; usually take leave of their native shore. The war-pipe and the pennon are on the gathering-place at Inverlochy.

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Tempest clouds prolong'd the sway
Of timeless darkness over day;
Whirlwind, thunderclap, and shower,
Mark'd it a predestined hour.
Broad and frequent through the night
Flash'd the sheets of levin light;
Muskets, glancing lightnings back,
Show'd the dreary bivouack

Where the soldier lay,

Chill and stiff, and drench'd with rain,
Wishing dawn of morn again,
Though death should come with day.
"Tis at such a tide and hour,

Wizard, witch, and fiend have power,

And ghastly forms through mist and shower,
Gleam on the gifted ken;

And then th' affrighted prophet's ear
Drinks whispers strange of fate and fear,
Presaging death and ruin near

Among the sons of men.
Apart from Albyn's war-array,
'Twas then gray Allan sleepless lay;
Gray Allan, who for many a day,

Had follow'd stout and stern,
Where through battle's rout and reel,
Storm of shout and hedge of steel,
Led the grandson of Lochiel,

Valiant Fassiefern.

Through steel and shot he leads no more-
Low laid mid friends and foemen's gore-
But long his native lake's wild shore,
And Sunart rough, and high Ardgower,
And Morven long shall tell,

And proud Ben Nevis hear with awe,
How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras,
Brave Cameron heard the wild hurra
Of conquest as he fell.

Lone on the outskirts of the host,
The weary sentinel held post,

And heard, through darkness, far aloof,
The frequent clang of courser's hoof,

Where held the cloak'd patrol their course,

And spurr'd 'gainst storm the swerving horse;
But there are sounds in Allan's ear

Patrol nor sentinel may hear;
And sights before his eyes aghast
Invisible to them have pass'd,

When down the destined plain
"Twixt Britain and the bands of France,
Wild as marsh-borne meteors glance,
Strange phantoms wheel'd a revel dance,
And doom'd the future slain.-

Such forms were seen, such sounds were heard,

When Scotland's James his march prepared

For Flodden's fatal plain;

Such, when he drew his ruthless sword,

As choosers of the slain, adored

The yet unchristen'd Dane.
An indistinct and phantom band,

They wheel'd their ring-dance hand in hand,
With gesture wild and dread;

The seer, who watch'd them ride the storm,
Saw through their faint and shadowy form
The lightnings flash more red;

And still their ghastly roundelay Was of the coming battle-fray, And of the destined dead.

SONG.

Wheel the wild dance,
While lightnings glance,
And thunders rattle loud,
And call the brave

To bloody grave,

To sleep without a shroud.

Our airy feet,

So light and fleet,

They do not bend the rye,

That sinks its head when whirlwinds rave, And swells again in eddying wave,

As each wild gust blows by;

But still the corn,

At dawn of morn,

Our fatal steps that bore,

At eve lies waste,

A trampled paste

Of blackening mud and gore.

Wheel the wild dance,
While lightnings glance,
And thunders rattle loud,
And call the brave

To bloody grave,

To sleep without a shroud.

Wheel the wild dance,

Brave sons of France!

For you our ring makes room; Make space full wide For martial pride,

For banner, spear, and plume. Approach, draw near,

Proud cuirassier!

Room for the men of steel!
Through crest and plate
The broadsword's weight,

Both head and heart shall feel.

Wheel the wild dance,
While lightnings glance,

And thunders rattle loud,
And call the brave
To bloody grave,

To sleep without a shroud.

Sons of the spear!

You feel us near,

In many a ghastly dream; With fancy's eye

Our forms you spy,

And hear our fatal scream.

With clearer sight

Ere falls the night,

Just when to weal or wo

Your disembodied souls take flight
On trembling wing-each startled sprite
Our choir of death shall know.

Wheel the wild dance,
While lightnings glance,

And thunders rattle loud,

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