Whence his spirit took its flight,
ist the crashing charge of squadrons,
And the thunder of the fight!
ke, I say, the notes of triumph,
As we march o'er moor and lea!
here any here will venture
To bewail our dead Dundee?
the widows of the traitors
Weep until their eyes are dim!
il ye may full well for Scotland-
et none dare to mourn for him!
! above his glorious body
ies the royal banner's fold-
! his valiant blood is mingled-
With its crimson and its gold-
how calm he looks, and stately,
ike a warrior on his shield,
iting till the flush of morning
reaks along the battle-field!
-Oh never more, my comrades,
hall we see that falcon eye
lden with its inward lightning,
As the hour of fight drew nigh,
ver shall we hear the voice that,
learer than the trumpet's call,
de us strike for King and Country
Bade us win the field, or fall!
the heights of Killiecrankie Yester-morn our army lay: owly rose the mist in columns From the river's broken way; oarsely roared the swollen torrent, And the Pass was wrapt in gloom, When the clansmen rose together From their lair amidst the broom. 'hen we belted on our tartans, And our bonnets down we drew, and we felt our broadswords' edges,
He flung it from him far ahead,
And never spake he more,
But-"Pass thee first, thou dauntless heart,
As thou wert wont of yore! "
The roar of fight rose fiercer yet.
And heavier still the stour,
Till the spears of Spain came shivering in,
And swept away the Moor.
"Now praised be God the day is won!
They fly o'er flood and fell-
Why dost thou draw the rein so hard,
Good knight, that fought so well?"
"Oh, ride ye on, Lord King!" he said,
"And leave the dead to me;
For I must keep the dreariest watch
That ever I shall dree!
"There lies above his master's heart,
The Douglas, stark and grim ;
And woe, that I am living man,
Not lying there by him!
"The world grows cold, my arm is ola, And thin my lyart hair,
And all that I loved best on earth
Is stretched before me there.
"O Bothwell banks, that bloom so bright Beneath the sun of May!
The heaviest cloud that ever blew
Is bound for you this day.
"And, Scotland, thou may'st veil thy head In sorrow and in pain:
The sorest stroke upon thy brow
Hath fallen this day in Spain!
"We'll bear them back unto our ship,
We'll bear them o'er the sea,
And lay them in the hallowed earth,
Within our own countrie.
"And be thou strong of heart, Lord King, For this I tell thee sure,
The sod that drank the Douglas' blood
Shall never bear the Moor!"
The King he lighted from his horse,
He flung his brand away,
And took the Douglas by the hand,
So stately as he lay.
"God give thee rest, thou valiant soul!
That fought so well for Spain;
I'd rather half my land were gone,
So thou wert here again!"
We lifted thence the good Lord James,
And the priceless heart he bore;
And heavily we steered our ship
Towards the Scottish shore.
No welcome greeted our return,
Nor clang of martial tread,
But all were dumb and hushed as death,
Before the mighty dead.
We laid our chief in Douglas Kirk,
The heart in fair Melrose;
And woeful men were we that day-
God grant their souls repose!
THE BURIAL-MARCH OF 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!
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!
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;
Hoarsely roared the swollen torrent,
And the Pass was wrapt 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,
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