Parnassus

BANNOCKBURN.

ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS

ARMY.

SCOTS, wha hae wi' Wallace bled; Scots, wham Bruce has aften led; Welcome to your gory bed,

Or to victorie.

Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lower;
See approach proud Edward's power:
Chains and slaverie!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?

Let him turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or freeman fa'?
Let him follow me!

By oppression's woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,

But they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!

Let us do, or die!
BURNS.

CROMWELL AND KING CHARLES.

'Tis maduess to resist or blame The force of angry heaven's flame;

And if we would speak true, Much to the man is due, Who from his private gardens, where He lived reservèd and austere, As if his highest plot To plant the bergamot, Could by industrious valor climb To ruin the great work of Time, And cast the kingdoms old, Into another mould. What field of all the civil war, Where his were not the deepest scar?

And Hampton shows what part He had of wiser art; Where, twining subtile fears with hope,

SCOTLAND.

I MIND it weel, in early date, When I was beardless, young, and blate,

And first could thresh the barn; Or haud a yokin' at the pleugh; An' though forfoughten sair eneugh, Yet unco proud to learn!

Even then, a wish (I mind its power), A wish that to my latest hour

Shall strongly heave my breastThat I for poor auld Scotland's sake Some usefu' plan or book could make,

Or sing a sang at least.

The rough burr-thistle spreading wide

Amang the bearded bear,

I turned the weedin'-heuk aside,
An' spared the symbol dear.

BURNS.

Like the hurricane eclipse Of the sun. —

Again! again! again!
And the havoc did not slack,
Till a feeble cheer the Dane
To our cheering sent us back; —
Their shots along the deep slowly
boom:-

Then ceased-and all is wail,
As they strike the shattered sail;
Or, in conflagration pale,
Light the gloom.—

Outspoke the victor then,

As he hailed them o'er the wave,
"Ye are brothers! ye are men!
And we conquer but to save:-
So peace instead of death let us
bring.

But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,
With the crews, at England's feet,
And make submission meet
To our king." —

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

YE mariners of England!
That guard our native seas;
Whose flag has braved a thousand
years

The battle and the breeze:

Your glorious standard launch again,
To match another foe!

And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

The spirit of your fathers
Shall start from every wave!
For the deck it was their field of fame,
And ocean was their grave;
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

Britannia needs no bulwark,
No towers along the steep;

Her march is o'er the mountain

waves,

Her home is on the deep.

With thunders from her native oak
She quells the flood below,
As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy tempests blow;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.

The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn,

Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace return.
Then, then, ye ocean warriors,
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow.
CAMPBELL.

THOUGHT OF A BRITON ON THE SUBJUGATION OF SWITZERLAND.

Two voices are there, -one is of the sea,

One of the mountains, each a mighty voice;

In both from age to age, thou didst rejoice,

They were thy chosen music, Liberty!

There came a tyrant, and with holy glee

Thou foughtst against him, but hast vainly striven;

Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven,

Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee.

Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft:

Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left;

For, high-souled maid, what sorrow would it be