Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can,
Come saddle the horses and call up the

men;

Come open your gates and let me gae free,
For it's up with the bonnets of Bonny

Dundee !

1825. 1830.

52

Sir Walter Scott.

THE SOLDIER'S DREAM

OUR bugles sang truce,- for the night-cloud had lowered,

And the sentinel stars set their watch in the

sky;

And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered,

The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die.

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain;

At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it

again.

Methought from the battle-field's dreadful

array,

Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track:

8

'T was autumn,-and sunshine arose on the

way

To the home of my fathers, that welcomed
me back.

12

I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young;

I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn

reapers sung.

16

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I

swore,

From my home and my weeping friends never to part;

My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart.

"Stay, stay with us,-rest, thou art weary and worn!"

And fain was their war-broken soldier to

stay;

20

But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted

away.

1800.

Thomas Campbell.

24

HOHENLINDEN

ON Linden, when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow;
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

But Linden saw another sight,

When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast array'd
Each horseman drew his battle-blade,
And furious every charger neigh'd

To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven;
Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven;
And louder than the bolts of Heaven,
Far flash'd the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall glow
On Linden's hills of stained snow,
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

8

12

16

20

'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank, and fiery Hun,

Shout in their sulph'rous canopy.
The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
Who rush to glory, or the grave!
Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave,
And charge with all thy chivalry!

Few, few shall part, where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

1800.

Thomas Campbell.

24

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32

THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC

OF Nelson and the North,

Sing the glorious day's renown,

When to battle fierce came forth

All the might of Denmark's crown,

And her arms along the deep proudly shone;

By each gun the lighted brand,

In a bold determined hand,

And the Prince of all the land

Led them on.—

Like leviathans afloat,

Lay their bulwarks on the brine;

While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line:

66

It was ten of April morn by the chime:
As they drifted on their path,

There was silence deep as death;
And the boldest held his breath
For a time.-

But the might of England flush'd
To anticipate the scene;

And her van the fleeter rush'd

O'er the deadly space between.

Hearts of oak!" our captains cried, when

each gun

From its adamantine lips

Spread a death-shade round the ships,

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 shatter'd sail;

Or, in conflagration pale,

Light the gloom.

Out spoke the victor then,

As he hail'd them o'er the wave:

"Ye are brothers! ye are men! And we conquer but to save:

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27

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