Leave untended the herd,
The flock without shelter;
Leave the corpse uninterred,
The bride at the altar;
Leave the deer, leave the steer,
Leave nets and barges:
Come with your fighting gear,
Broadswords and targes.

Come as the winds come, when

Forests are rended:

Come as the waves come, when

Navies are stranded!
Faster come, faster come,

Faster and faster

Chief, vassal, page, and groom,

Tenant and master!

Fast they come, fast they come

See how they gather!
Wide waves the eagle plume,

Blended with heather.

Cast your plaids, draw your blades,

Forward each man set!

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,

Kneel for the onset!

Walter Scott [1771-1832]

BORDER BALLAD

From "The Monastery "

MARCH, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale;

Why the de'il 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 our 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.

Walter Scott [1771-1832]

"WHEN BANNERS ARE WAVING"

WHEN banners are waving, and lances are pushing;
When captains are shouting, and war-horses rushing;
When cannon are roaring, and hot bullets flying,
He that would honor win, must not fear dying.

Though shafts fly so quick that it seems to be snowing;
Though streamlets with blood more than water are flowing;
Though with sabre and bullet our bravest are dying,
We speak of revenge, but we ne'er speak of flying.

Come, stand to it, heroes! The heathen are coming;
Horsemen are round the walls, riding and running;
Maidens and matrons all Arm! arm! are crying,
From petards the wildfire's flashing and flying.

The trumpets from turrets high loudly are braying;
The steeds for the onset are snorting and neighing;
As waves in the ocean, the dark plumes are dancing;
As stars in the blue sky, the helmets are glancing.

"

Their ladders are planting, their sabres are sweeping;
Now swords from our sheaths by the thousand are leaping;
Like the flash of the levin, ere men hearken thunder,
Swords gleam, and the steel caps are cloven asunder.

The shouting has ceased, and the flashing of cannon!
I looked from the turret for crescent and pennon:
As flax touched by fire, as hail in the river,

They were smote, they were fallen, and had melted for ever.

Unknown

THE BRITISH GRENADIERS

SOME talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules;

Of Hector and Lysander, and such great names as these; But of all the world's brave heroes, there's none that can

compare,

With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, to the British Grenadier.

Those heroes of antiquity ne'er saw a cannon ball,

Or knew the force of powder to slay their foes withal;
But our brave boys do know it, and banish all their fears,
Sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, for the British Grenadiers.

Whene'er we are commanded to storm the palisades,
Our leaders march with fusees, and we with hand grenades;
We throw them from the glacis, about the enemies' ears;
Sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, for the British Grena-

diers.

And when the seige is over, we to the town repair,

The townsmen cry "Hurra, boys, here comes a grenadier, Here comes the grenadiers, my boys, who know no doubts or fears,

Then sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, for the British Gren

adiers."

Then let us fill a bumper, and drink a health to those

Who carry cups and pouches, and wear the loupèd clothes; May they and their commanders live happy all their years, With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, for the British Grenadiers.

Unknown

HEART OF OAK

COME, cheer up, my lads! 'tis to glory we steer,
To add something more to this wonderful year:
To honor we call you, not press you like slaves;
For who are so free as the sons of the waves?

Heart of oak are our ships,
Heart of oak are our men,
We always are ready:
Steady, boys, steady!

We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.

We ne'er see our foes but we wish them to stay,
They never see us but they wish us away;

If they run, why, we follow, or run them ashore;
For if they won't fight us we cannot do more.

They swear they'll invade us, these terrible foes! They frighten our women, our children and beaux; But should their flat bottoms in darkness get o'er, Still Britons they'll find to receive them on shore.

Britannia triumphant, her ships sweep the sea;
Her standard is Justice--her watchward, "Be free."
Then cheer up, my lads! with one heart let us sing,
"Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, our King,"
David Garrick (1717-1779]

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM

OUR bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lowered,
And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky;
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered,
The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw
By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain,
At the dead of the night a sweet Vision I saw;
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array,
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track:
'Twas Autumn,-and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back

I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,

And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore
From my home and my weeping friends never to part:
My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er,
And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart.

"Stay, stay with us!-rest!-thou art weary and worn!"
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay;-
But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.
Thomas Campbell [1777-1844]

THE CAVALIER'S SONG

A STEED, a steed of matchless speed!

A sword of metal keen!

All else to noble hearts is dross,

All else on earth is mean.

The neighing of the war-horse proud,

The rolling of the drum,

The clangor of the trumpet loud,

Be sounds from heaven that come;

And oh! the thundering press of knights,
Whenas their war-cries swell,

May tole from heaven an angel bright,

And rouse a fiend from hell.

Then mount! then mount, brave gallants all,

And don your helms amain;

Death's couriers, Fame and Honor, call

Us to the field again.

No shrewish fears shall fill our eye

When the sword-hilt's in our hand-
Heart-whole we'll part, and no whit sigh

For the fairest of the land!