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MARCH, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale!
Why, my lads, dinna ye march forward in order?
All the blue bonnets are over the Border.
Mount and make ready, then, sons of the mountain glen
Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing;
When the blue bonnets came over the Border.
The above spirited song, by Sir Walter Scott, was founded upon "General Leslie's march to Longmarston Moor," which appeared in Allan Ramsay's "Tea-Table Mircellany," where it is marked as ancient, and as one of which Ramsay neither knew the age nor the author. The old song is of little or no merit, but is inserted here as
a curiosity, and as showing out of what rude materials Scott constructed the modern song, which has since become so celebrated.
GENERAL LESLIE'S MARCH TO LONGMARSTON MOOR.
March, march, why the deil dinna ye march?
Till ye come to the English Border.
Stand till't and fight like men,
True gospel to maintain;
The Parliament's blythe to see us a-coming.
When to the kirk we come,
We'll purge it ilka room
Frae Popish relics and a' sic innovation,
That a' the world may see
There's nane in the right but we
Of the auld Scottish nation.
Jenny shall wear the hood,
Jockie the sark of God;
And the kist fu' o' whistles that maks sic a cleiro,
Our pipers braw
Shall hae them a'.
Whate'er come on it,
Busk up your plaids, my lads,
Cock up your bonnets.
OH, WHERE, TELL ME WHERE?
MRS. GRANT of Laggan; born 1755, died 1838. Air-"The blue-bells of Scotland."
Oн, where, tell me where is your Highland laddie gone? Oh, where, tell me where is your Highland laddie gone? gone with streaming banners where noble deeds are done, my sad heart will tremble till he come safely home.
Oh, where, tell me where did your Highland laddie stay?
Oh, what, tell me what does your Highland laddie wear?
Suppose, ah, suppose, that some cruel, cruel wound
Should pierce your Highland laddie, and all your hopes confound. The pipe would play a cheering march, the banners round him fly, The spirit of a Highland chief would lighten in his eye.
But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland's bonnie bounds,
This song, founded on a more ancient one with the same title, was written for the collection of Mr. George Thomson after the death of Burns. The subject was the departure for the Continent, with his regiment, of the Marquis of Huntly in 1799.
THE BATTLE OF VITTORIA.
WILLIAM GLEN. Air-"Whistle o'er the lave o't."
SING, a' ye bards, wi' loud acclaim,
Let blust'rin' Suchet crously crack,
If e'er they meet their worthy king,
Gi'e truth an' honour to the Dane,
But aye in sic a cause as Spain,
Gi'e Britons a Vittoria.
The English Rose was ne'er sae red,
Loud was the battle's stormy swell,
The Paris maids may ban them a’,
Wi' quakin' heart and tremblin' knees,
While the "meteor-flag" floats to the breeze,
Peace to the spirits o' the brave,
There let eternal laurels bloom,
Ye Caledonian war-pipes, play;
Shout to the heroes-swell ilk voice
Our leader fell,—so died the brave,
I was denied a sodger's grave,
For I am safe come back again.
It's true they've ta’en frae me a leg ;
But wha for that would mak' a maen ? Cheer up your heart, my bounie Meg,
I've brought a leal heart back again.
And though the wound it carried smart, And twitch'd me sair wi' rackin' pain, Wi' honour's scars I wadna part,
Nor yet my leg take back again.
Cheer up your heart since I am here,
Wi' smiles your cheek gae deck again;
Cheer up, my lass, an' dinna fear,
Your Donald's safe come back again. Though mony a rattlin' blast has blawn, There's plenty in the stack again;
My wee lock siller's a' your ain
Now sin' I'm safe come back again.
Now may the wars for ever cease,
Your heart nae mair to rack again ; And may we live in love and peace, Sin' Donald's safe come back again. But should my country call me forth, Her freedom to protect again, Claymore in hand I'd leave the North,
If I should ne'er come back again.