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THE FORAY

1830

Set to music by John Whitefield, Mus. Doc. Cam.

THE last of our steers on the board has been spread, And the last flask of wine in our goblet is red;

Up! up, my brave kinsmen! belt swords and begone, There are dangers to dare and there's spoil to be won.

The eyes that so lately mixed glances with ours
For a space must be dim, as they gaze from the towers,
And strive to distinguish through tempest and gloom,
The prance of the steed and the toss of the plume.

The rain is descending; the wind rises loud;

And the moon her red beacon has veiled with a cloud; 'Tis the better, my mates! for the warder's dull eye Shall in confidence slumber nor dream we are nigh.

Our steeds are impatient! I hear my blithe Grey!
There is life in his hoof-clang and hope in his neigh;
Like the flash of a meteor, the glance of his mane
Shall marshal your march through the darkness and

rain.

The drawbridge has dropped, the bugle has blown; One pledge is to quaff yet - then mount and begone! To their honour and peace that shall rest with the slain; To their health and their glee that see Teviot again!

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INSCRIPTION

FOR THE MONUMENT OF THE REV. GEORGE SCOTT

1830

To youth, to age, alike, this tablet pale
Tells the brief moral of its tragic tale.
Art thou a parent? Reverence this bier,
The parents' fondest hopes lie buried here.
Art thou a youth, prepared on life to start,
With opening talents and a generous heart;
Fair hopes and flattering prospects all thine own?
Lo! here their end- a monumental stone.

But let submission tame each sorrowing thought,

Heaven crowned its champion ere the fight was fought.

SONGS FROM THE DOOM OF DEVORGOIL

Published in 1830

I

'THE SUN UPON THE LAKE'

THE Sun upon the lake is low,
The wild birds hush their song,

The hills have evening's deepest glow,
Yet Leonard tarries long.

Now all whom varied toil and care
From home and love divide,
In the calm sunset may repair
Each to the loved one's side.

The noble dame, on turret high
Who waits her gallant knight,
Looks to the western beam to spy

The flash of armour bright.

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The village maid, with hand on brow

The level ray to shade,

Upon the footpath watches now

For Colin's darkening plaid.

Now to their mates the wild swans row,

By day they swam apart;

And to the thicket wanders slow

The hind beside the hart.

The woodlark at his partner's side
Twitters his closing song -

All meet whom day and care divide,
But Leonard tarries long.

II

'WE LOVE THE SHRILL TRUMPET'

We love the shrill trumpet, we love the drum's rattle,
They call us to sport, and they call us to battle;
And old Scotland shall laugh at the threats of a stranger,
While our comrades in pastime are comrades in danger.

If there's mirth in our house, 't is our neighbour that shares it

If peril approach, 't is our neighbour that dares it;
And when we lead off to the pipe and the tabour,
The fair hand we press is the hand of a neighbour.

Then close your ranks, comrades, the bands that combine them,

Faith, friendship, and brotherhood, joined to entwine

them;

And we'll laugh at the threats of each insolent stranger, While our comrades in sport are our comrades in danger.

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