And said, "No chains shall sully thee,
Thou soul of love and bravery!

For

Home

and

Thy songs were made for the pure and free, Country They shall never sound in slavery!

THOMAS MOORE.

The Harp That Once Through Tara's Halls

The harp that once through Tara's halls

The soul of music shed,

Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls

As if that soul were fled.

So sleeps the pride of former days,

So glory's thrill is o'er,

And hearts, that once beat high for praise,
Now feel that pulse no more.

No more to chiefs and ladies bright

The harp of Tara swells:

The chord alone, that breaks at night,

Its tale of ruin tells.

Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,

The only throb she gives

Is when some heart indignant breaks,

To show that still she lives.

THOMAS MOORE.

The double, double, double beat

Of the thundering drum,

Cries, "Hark! the foes come;

Charge, charge! 'tis too late to retreat."

JOHN DRYDEN.

From "The Ode on St. Cecilia's Day."

The Cavalier's Song

A steed! a steed of matchlesse speed,

A sword of metal keene!

All else to noble heartes is drosse,

All else on earth is meane.

The neighyinge of the war-horse prowde,
The rowlinge of the drum,

The clangor of the trumpet lowde,

Be soundes from heaven that come;
And oh the thundering presse of knightes,
Whenas their war cryes swell,

May tole from heaven an angel bright,

And rouse a fiend from hell.

Then mounte! then mounte, brave gallants all,

And don your helmes amaine:

For Home

Deathe's couriers, fame and honor, call

and Country

Us to the field againe.

No shrewish teares shall fill our eye

When the sword-hilt's in our hand

Heart-whole we'll part, and no whit sighe

For the fayrest of the land;

Let piping swaine, and craven wight,

Thus weepe and puling crye;

Our business is like men to fight,

And hero-like to die!

WILLIAM MOTHERWELL.

The Old Scottish Cavalier

Come listen to another song,

Should make your heart beat high, Bring crimson to your forehead,

And the luster to your eye;

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,

All of the olden time!

He kept his castle in the north,

Hard by the thundering Spey;

For Home

and

Country

And a thousand vassals dwelt around,

All of his kindred they.

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
All of the olden time!

His father drew the righteous sword
For Scotland and her claims,
Among the loyal gentlemen

And chiefs of ancient names,
Who swore to fight or fall beneath
The standard of King James,
And died at Killiecrankie Pass
With the glory of the Græmes;
Like a true old Scottish cavalier
All of the olden time!

He never owned the foreign rule,
No master he obeyed,

But kept his clan in peace at home,
From foray and from raid;
And when they asked him for his oath,
He touched his glittering blade,

And pointed to his bonnet blue,
That bore the white cockade:
Like a leal old Scottish cavalier,
All of the olden time!

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,

Like a lion from his den,

And rode away across the hills
To Charlie and his men,

With the valiant Scottish cavaliers,
All of the olden time!

He was the first that bent the knee
When the STANDARD waved abroad,
He was the first that charged the foe
On Preston's bloody sod;
And ever, in the van of fight,
The foremost still he trod,
Until on bleak Culloden's heath,

He gave his soul to God,

Like a good old Scottish cavalier,
All of the olden time!

Oh never shall we know again
A heart so stout and true-
The olden times have passed away,
And weary are the new:

The fair white rose has faded

From the garden where it grew,

For Home

and Country