19. DEAD DUNDEE

SOUND 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 !
W. E. AYTOUN

Lo! we bring with us the hero—
Lo! we bring the conquering
Graeme,

Crowned as but becomes 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!
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! (The Burial March of Dundee).

21. THE WORLD'S A BUBBLE
THE World's a bubble, and the Life of Man
Less than a span:

In his conception wretched, from the womb
So to the tomb;

Curst from his cradle, and brought up to years
With cares and fears.

Who then to frail mortality shall trust,
But limns on water, or but writes in dust.

FRANCIS BACON, LORD VERULAM.

22. LUCIFER'S SONG

THOU hast more music in thy | Go, search through Heaven—the

voice

Than to the spheres is given, And more temptations on thy lips Than lost the angels Heaven. Thou hast more brightness in thine eyes

Than all the stars which burn, More dazzling art thou than the throne

We fallen dared to spurn.

sweetest smile

That lightens there is thine; And through hell's burning darkness breaks

No frown so fell as mine. One smile-'twill light, one tear'twill cool;

These will be more to me Than all the wealth of all the worlds, Or boundless power could be. P. J. BAILEY (Festus).

23. WE LIVE IN DEEDS

We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;
In feelings, not in figures on a dial.

We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives
Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.
Where imperfection ceaseth, heaven begins.

24.

P. J. BAILEY (Festus).

FISHERMAN'S SONG

No fish stir in our heaving net,

And the sky is dark and the night is wet;

And we must ply the lusty oar,

For the tide is ebbing from the shore;
And sad are they whose faggots burn,

So kindly stored for our return.

Our boat is small, and the tempest raves,
And nought is heard but the lashing waves
And the sullen roar of the angry sea
And the wild winds piping drearily;
Yet sea and tempest rise in vain,
We'll bless our blazing hearths again.

Push bravely, mates! Our guiding star
Now from its towerlet streameth far,
And now along the nearing strand,
See, swiftly moves yon flaming brand.
Before the midnight watch be past
We'll quaff our bowl and mock the blast.

JOANNA BAILLIE.

25. LIFE! I KNOW NOT WHAT THOU ART

LIFE! I know not what thou art,
But know that thou and I must part;
And when, or how, or where we met
I own to me's a secret yet.

Life! we've been long together

Through pleasant and through cloudy weather;
"Tis hard to part when friends are dear-
Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear;

-Then steal away, give little warning,

Choose thine own time;

Say not Good Night,-but in some brighter clime
Bid me Good Morning.

27. AS I LAYE A-THYNKYNGE

6

The last lines of Thomas Ingoldsby'

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,
Merrie sang the Birde as she sat upon the spraye;
There came a noble Knyghte,

With his hauberke shynynge brighte,
And his gallant heart was lyghte,
Free and gaye;

As I laye a-thynkynge, he rode upon his waye.

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,
Sadly sang the Birde as she sat upon the tree!
There seemed a crimson plain,

Where a gallant Knyghte lay slayne,
And a steed with broken rein
Ran free,

As I laye a-thynkynge, most pitiful to see!

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,
Merrie sang the Birde as she sat upon the boughe;
A lovely Mayde came bye,

And a gentil youthe was nyghe,
And he breathed many a syghe
And a vowe;

As I laye a-thynkynge, her hearte was gladsome now.

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,
Sadly sang the Birde as she sat upon the thorne ;
No more a youth was there,
But a Maiden rent her haire,
And cried in sad despaire

'That I was borne !'

As I laye a-thynkynge, she perished forlorne.

As I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge,
Sweetly sang the Birde as she sat upon the briar;
There came a lovely Childe,

And his face was meek and mild,
Yet joyously he smiled

On his sire;

As I laye a-thynkynge, a Cherub mote admire.

But I laye a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, a-thynkynge, And sadly sang the Birde as it perched upon a bier; That joyous smile was gone,

And the face was white and wan,

As the downe upon the Swan

Doth appear,

As I laye a-thynkynge-oh! bitter flowed the tear!

As I laye a-thynkynge, the golden sun was sinking,
O merrie sang that Birde as it glittered on her breast
With a thousand glorious dyes,

While, soaring to the skies,

'Mid the stars she seemed to rise,
As to her nest;

As I laye a-thynkynge, her meaning was exprest :-
Follow, follow me away,

It boots not to delay',
'Twas so she seemed to saye,
'HERE IS REST!'

R. H. BARHAM.

28. AULD ROBIN GRAY

WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, when the cows come hame, And a' the weary warld to quiet rest are gane,

The woes of my heart fa' in showers frae my ee

Unkenned by my gudeman, who soundly sleeps by me.

Young Jamie loo'd me weel, and sought me for his bride;
But saving ae crown-piece he'd naething else beside.

To make the crown a pound, my Jamie gaed to sea;

And the crown and the pound, oh! they were baith for me!

Before he had been gane a twelvemonth and a day,
My father brak his arm, our cow was stown away;
My mother she fell sick-my Jamie was at sea-
And Auld Robin Gray, oh! he came a-courting me.

My father cou'dna work-my mother cou'dna spin;
I toiled day and night, but their bread I cou'dna win,
Auld Rob maintained them baith, and wi' tears in his ee
Said, 'Jenny, oh! for their sakes, will you marry me?'

My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back;
But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack;
His ship it was a wrack! Why didna Jenny dee?
Or, wherefore am I spared to cry out, Woe is me?

My father argued sair-my mother didna speak,
But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break;
They gied him my hand, but my heart was in the sea;
And so Auld Robin Gray, he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been his wife a week but only four,
When mournfu' as I sat on the stane at my door,
I saw my Jamie's ghaist—I cou’dna think it he,

Till he said: 'I'm come hame, my love, to marry thee!'