THE OLD SCOTTISH CAVALIER WILLIAM EDMONDSTOUNE AYTOUN OME listen to another song, Should make your heart beat high, Bring crimson to your forehead, It is a song of olden time, Of days long since gone by, And of a baron stout and bold As e'er wore sword on thigh! Like a brave old Scottish cavalier, He kept his castle in the north, Hard by the thundering Spey; And not a man of all that clan Had ever ceased to pray For the Royal race they loved so well, Though exiled far away From the steadfast Scottish cavaliers, His father drew the righteous sword And chiefs of ancient names, He never owned the foreign rule, But kept his clan in peace at home, And when they asked him for his oath, Like a leal old Scottish cavalier, At length the news ran through the land, The Prince had come again! That night the fiery cross was sped O'er mountain and through glen; And our old baron rose in might, And rode away across the hills With the valiant Scottish cavaliers, He was the first that bent the knee He gave his soul to God, Like a good old Scottish cavalier, O, never shall we know again A heart so stout and true, And weary are the new; The fair white rose has faded From the garden where it grew, But no fond tears save those of heaven, Of the last old Scottish cavalier, THE SEA THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES O sea, to sea! the calm is o'er, The wanton water leaps in sport, And rattles down the pebbly shore; The dolphin wheels, the sea-cows snort, And unseen Mermaids' pearly song Comes bubbling up, the weeds among. Fling broad the sail, dip deep the oar: To sea, to sea! the calm is o'er. To sea, to sea! our white-wing'd bark BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE CHARLES WOLFE OT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow! |