The Nith shall run to Corsincon, And Criffel sink in Solway, On British ground to rally. Oh, let us not, like snarling curs, The kettle o' the kirk and state, Our fathers' blood the kettle bought, The wretch that would a tyrant own, And the wretch, his true-born brother, May they be damn'd together! But while we sing "God save the king!" We'll ne'er forget the people. This song was written by Burns to the English air of " Push about the jorum," or "Touch the thing." The Scotch melody of "The barrin' of our door" was afterwards found for it. LAND OF MY FATHERS. Written by DR. JOHN LEYDEN. The music by R. A. SMITH. Nor golden apples glimmer from the tree; Proud of his laws, tenacious of his right, The charter'd freedom of the mountain swain! Then, Jedworth, though thy ancient choirs shall fade, PIBROCH OF DONUIL DHU. SIR WALTER SCOTT. Written for Mr. Thomson's Collection, on the return of the Highland regiment from Waterloo. PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu, Pibroch of Donuil, Gentles and commons! Come from deep glen and From mountain so rocky ; The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlochy. Come every hill-plaid, And true heart that wears one; Come every steel blade, And strong hand that bears one! Leave the deer, leave the steer, Come as the winds come When forests are rended; Come as the waves come When navies are stranded. Faster come, faster come, Faster and faster, Chief, vassal, page, and groom, Tenant and master. Fast they come, fast they come ; See how they gather; Wide waves the eagle plume Blended with heather. Cast your plaids, draw your blades, Forward each man set : Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, Now for the onset ! MARCH, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale; Why, my lads, dinna ye march forward in order? March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale; All the blue bonnets are over the Border. Mount and make ready, then, sons of the mountain glen; Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing; When the blue bonnets came over the Border. This spirited song, by Sir Walter Scott, was founded upon "General Leslie's march to Longmarston Moor," which appeared in Allan Ramsay's "Tea-Table Miscellany," where it is marked as ancient, and as one of which Ramsay neither knew the age nor the author. It is of little or no merit, but is inserted here as a curiosity, and as showing out of what rude materials Scott constructed the modern song, which has since become so celebrated. GENERAL LESLIE'S MARCH TO LONGMARSTON MOOR. March, march, why the deil dinna ye march? Front about, ye musketeers all, Till ye come to the English Border. Stand till't and fight like men, True gospel to maintain; The Parliament's blythe to see us a-coming. We'll purge it ilka room Frae Popish relics and a' sic innovation, There's nane in the right but we Of the auld Scottish nation. Jenny shall wear the hood, Jockie the sark of God; And the kist fu' o' whistles that maks sic a cleiro, Our pipers braw Shall hae them a'. Whate'er come on it, Busk up your plaids, my lads, Cock up your bonnets. OH, WHERE, TELL ME WHERE? MRS. GRANT of Laggan; born 1755, died 1838. Air-"The blue-bells of Scotland." gone ? О¤, where, tell me where is your Highland laddie He's gone with streaming banners where noble deeds are done, And my sad heart will tremble till he come safely home. Oh, where, tell me where did your Highland laddie stay? Oh, what, tell me what does your Highland laddie wear? m |