CXXXV THE OUTCAST BREATHES there the man, with soul so dead, Who never to himself hath said, This is my own, my native land! From wandering on a foreign strand! Sir Walter Scott. CXXXVI FLODDEN FIELD By this, though deep the evening fell, That to King Charles did come, When Rowland brave, and Olivier, On Roncesvalles died! Such blast might warn them, not in vain, To quit the plunder of the slain, And turn the doubtful day again, While yet on Flodden side, And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies, But as they left the dark'ning heath, That fought around their king. But yet, though thick the shafts as snow, The stubborn spearmen still made good Each stepping where his comrade stood, No thought was there of dastard flight; Till utter darkness closed her wing O'er their thin host and wounded king. Led back from strife his shattered bands; As mountain-waves, from wasted lands, Then did their loss his foemen know; Their king, their lords, their mightiest low, They melted from the field as snow, When streams are swoln and south winds blow, Dissolves in silent dew. Tweed's echoes heard the ceaseless plash, While many a broken band, Disorder'd, through her currents dash, To gain the Scottish land; To town and tower, to down and dale, When shiver'd was fair Scotland's spear, CXXXVII Sir Walter Scott. GATHERING-SONG OF DONALD THE BLACK PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu, Come from deep glen and True heart that wears one, Leave untended the herd, Come as the winds come when Come as the waves come when Chief, vassal, page and groom, Fast they come, fast they come; Cast your plaids, draw your blades, Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, Knell for the onset! Sir Walter Scott. CXXXVIII OVER THE BORDER MARCH, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order? March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border. Many a banner spread, Flutters above your head, Many a crest that is famous in story; Mount and make ready then, Sons of the mountain glen, Fight for the Queen and the old Scottish glory! Come from the hills where the hirsels are grazing, Come from the glen of the buck and the roe; Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow. Trumpets are sounding, War-steeds are bounding, Stand to your arms then, and march in good order, England shall many a day Tell of the bloody fray, When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border! Sir Walter Scott. CXXXIX BONNIE DUNDEE To the Lords of Convention 'twas Claver'se who spoke, Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke; So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me, Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street, The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dundee !' As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow, Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonnie Dundee. With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket was crammed, As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged; There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e'e, As they watched for the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee. These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears, And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers; But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway was free, At the toss of the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee. |