FORGOTTEN

Yet these have forgotten, forgotten the days of your prowess and pride,

Scotland, my Scotland,

The brave men you bred in the mountains,
The keels that you laid in the Clyde.

England! and echo cries England! and never more noble a name

Shall sound on the stairways of Duty and ring through the archways of Fame;

But on the twin shields of our honour, the land of the heath and the flood

May write the proud name that her heroes have writ on the ages in blood,

That no more forgetting, forgetting, shared camp, and shared glory and grave, Scotland, my Scotland,

The world shall stand forward and give you full guerdon for all that you gave.

WILL H. OGILVIE

Verse 3. guerdon] reward.

195

N 2

SONNET ON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE

E

ARTH has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty :

This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep

In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep;
And all that mighty heart is lying still!

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

BURIAL MARCH OF DUNDEE

SOUND

OUND the fife, and cry the slogan
Let the pibroch shake the air
With its wild triumphal music,

Worthy of the freight we bear.
Let the ancient hills of Scotland
Hear once more the battle-song
Swell within their glens and valleys
As the clansmen march along!
Never from the field of combat,
Never from the deadly fray,
Was a nobler trophy carried
Than we bring with us to-day;
Never, since the valiant Douglas
On his dauntless bosom bore
Good King Robert's heart-the priceless—
To our dear Redeemer's shore!
Lo! we bring with us the hero-

Lo! we bring the conquering Græme,
Crowned as best beseems a victor
From the altar of his fame;
Fresh and bleeding from the battle
Whence his spirit took its flight,
Midst the crashing charge of squadrons,
And the thunder of the fight!

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CIROWS

SENT.

BURIAL MARCH OF DUNDEE
Strike, I say, the notes of triumph,
As we march o'er moor and lea!
Is there any here will venture

To bewail our dead Dundee ?
Let the widows of the traitors
Weep until their eyes are dim!
Wail ye may full well for Scotland-
Let none dare to mourn for him!
See! above his glorious body

Lies the royal banner's fold--
See! his valiant blood is mingled
With its crimson and its gold.
See! how calm he looks and stately,
Like a warrior on his shield,
Waiting till the flush of morning
Breaks along the battle-field!
See-Oh never more, my comrades!
Shall we see that falcon eye
Redden with its inward lightning,
As the hour of fight drew nigh;
Never shall we hear the voice that,
Clearer than the trumpet's call,
Bade us strike for King and Country,
Bade us win the field or fall!
On the heights of Killiecrankie
Yester-morn our army lay:

Slowly rose the mist in columns
From the river's broken way;

BURIAL MARCH OF DUNDEE

Hoarsely roared the swollen torrent,
And the pass was wrapped in gloom,
When the clansmen rose together
From their lair amidst the broom.
Then we belted on our tartans,

And our bonnets down we drew,
And we felt our broadswords' edges,
And we proved them to be true;
And we prayed the prayer of soldiers,
And we cried the gathering-cry,
And we clasped the hands of kinsmen,
And we swore to do or die!

Then our leader rode before us

On his war-horse black as nightWell the Cameronian rebels

Knew that charger in the fight !— And a cry of exultation

From the bearded warriors rose; For we loved the house of Claver'se,

And we thought of good Montrose. But he raised his hand for silence'Soldiers! I have sworn a vow: Ere the evening-star shall glisten On Schehallion's lofty brow, Either we shall rest in triumph,

Or another of the Græmes

Shall have died in battle-harness

For his Country and King James!