Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on the mountain, The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade. Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow; Menteith and Breadalbane, then, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!' Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin, Long shall lament our aid, Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with wo; Shake when they hear again, Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the highlands! Worthy such noble stem, Honored and blessed in their shadow might grow! Loud should Clan-Alpine then Ring from the deepmost glen, Boderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" SIR WALTER SCOTT SEA-SONG. A WET sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast And fills the white and rustling sail And bends the gallant mast, my boys, While, like the eagle free, Away the good ship flies, and leaves O for a soft and gentle wind! But give to me the snoring breeze, And white waves heaving high; There's tempest in yon hornèd moon, And lightning in yon cloud; The wind is piping loud, my boys, The lightning flashes free, While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea. ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.1 1 ALLAN CUNNINGHAM, born in Scotland in 1785, was the son of a gardener. In 1810 he removed to London, where he wrote for the press, and in 1814 obtained the position of clerk to Sir Francis Chantrey, the celebrated sculptor, with whom he remained until 1841 He wrote romances, some poems of considerable length, and many beautiful and spirited songs. He died in 1842. SONG. O, BRIGNAL banks are wild and fair, A maiden on the castle wall “O, Brignal banks are fresh and fair, "If, maiden, thou wouldst wend with me, To leave both tower and town, Thou first must guess what life lead we, That dwell by dale and down. And if thou canst that riddle read, As read full well you may, Then to the greenwood shalt thou speed. Yet sung she, " Brignal banks are fair, "I read you, by your bugle horn, I read you for a ranger sworn, To keep the king's greenwood." "A ranger, lady, winds his horn, of light; And 't is at peep His blast is heard at merry morn, Yet sung she, "Brignal banks are fair, I would I were with Edmund there, "With burnished brand and musquetoon, So gallantly you come, I read you for a bold dragoon, That lists the tuck of drum." "And O! though Brignal banks be fair, And Greta woods be gay, Yet mickle must the maiden dare, "Maiden! a nameless life I lead, A nameless death I'll die; The fiend whose lantern lights the mead Were better mate than I! And when I'm with my comrades met, What once we were we all forget, "Yet Brignal banks are fresh and fair, And Greta woods are green, And you may gather garlands there, SIR WALTER SCOTT. SONG. "A WEARY lot is thine, fair maid, To pull the thorn, thy brow to braid, A doublet of the Lincoln green, No more of me you knew, My love! No more of me you knew. "The morn is merry June, I trow, But she shall bloom in winter snow, He turned his charger as he spake, his bridle reins a shake, Said, "Adieu for evermore, My love! And adieu for evermore." SIR WALTER SCOTT. |