There are brave Duniewassals, three thousand times
Will cry Hey for the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.'
"There's brass on the target of barkened bull-hide,
There's steel in the scabbard that dangles beside
The brass shall be burnished, the steel shall flash free
At a toss of the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee.
"Then awa' to the hills, to the caves, to the rocks,
Ere I own a usurper I'll crouch with the fox;
And tremble false Whigs in the midst of your glee
Ye hae no seen the last o' my bonnet and me!'
He waved his proud hand, and the trumpets were blown,
The kettle-drums clashed and the horseman rode on,
Till on Ravelston's cliffs and on Clermiston's lea
Died away the wild war-notes of Bonnie Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
Come saddle the horses and call up the man,
Come open your gates and let me gae free,
For it's up wi' the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee.
Он, young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide border his steed was the best,
And save his good broad-sword he weapon had none,
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar
He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Eske River where ford there was none;
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, the gallant come late;
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
So boldly he entered the Netherby hall,
'Mong bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all: Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,) "Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"
"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied,
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide,
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."
The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar : "Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.
So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and
And the bride-maidens whispered, ""Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall door, and the charger
So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur: They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.
There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan :
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie lea,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like Lord Lochinvar?
PARTING OF DOUGLAS AND MARMION.
THE train from out the castle drew,
But Marmion stopped to bid adieu :-
"Though something I might plain," he said,
"Of cold respect to stranger guest,
Sent hither on your King's behest,
While in Tantallon's towers I staid,
Part we in friendship from your land,
And, noble earl, receive my hand.”
But Douglas round him drew his cloak,
Folded his arms, and thus he spoke :
"My manors, halls, and bowers shall still
Be open, at my sovereign's will
To each one whom he lists, howe'er
Unmeet to be the owner's peer.
My castles are my King's alone
From turret to foundation-stone-
The hand of Douglas is his own,
And never shall in friendly grasp
The hand of such as Marmion clasp!"
Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire,
And shook his very frame for ire,
And-"This to me!" he said-
"An 'twere not for thy hoary beard
Such hand as Marmion's had not spared
To cleave the Douglas' head!
And, first, I tell thee, haughty Peer,
He, who does England's message here,
Although the meanest in her state,
May well, proud Angus, be thy mate;
And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride,
Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,
(Nay, never look upon your lord
And lay your hands upon your sword),
I tell thee, thou'rt defied!
And if thou saidst, I am not a peer
To any lord in Scotland here,
Lowland, or Highland, far or near,
Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"
On the earl's cheek the flush of rage
O'ercame the ashen hue of age;
Fierce he broke forth-"And darest thou then
To beard the lion in his den,
The Douglas in his hall?
And hopest thou hence unscathed to go?-
No, by St. Bride of Bothwell, no!-
Up draw-bridge, grooms what, warder, ho!
Let the portcullis fall.”—
Lord Marmion turned,-well was his need, -
And dashed the rowels in his steed,
Like arrow through the archway sprung,
The ponderous grate behind him rung:
To pass there was such scanty room,
The bars, descending, razed his plume.
The steed along the draw-bridge flies,
Just as it trembled on the rise:
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