No More Learning

I sleep on straw and he on down-
What of that?
And he's the king and I'm the clown --
What of that?
If happy I, and wretched he,
Perhaps the king would change with me.
CHARLES MACKAY.


## p. 16422 (#122) ##########################################

16422
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
COM
STONEWALL JACKSON'S WAY
OME, stack arms, men! Pile on the rails,
Stir up the camp-fire bright;
No growling if the canteen fails,
We'll make a roaring night.
Here Shenandoah brawls along,
There burly Blue Ridge echoes strong,
To swell the brigade's rousing song
Of Stonewall Jackson's way. ”
We see him now- the queer slouched hat
Cocked o'er his eye askew;
The shrewd, dry smile; the speech so pat,
So calm, so blunt, so true.
The Blue-Light Elder » knows 'em well:
Says he, “That's Banks — he's fond of shell;
Lord save his soul! we'll give him — » Well!
That's “Stonewall Jackson's way. ”
Silence! ground arms! kneel all! caps off!
old Blue Light's goin' to pray.
Strangle the fool that dares to scoff!
Attention! it's his way.
Appealing from his native sod,
In forma pauperis to God:
“Lay bare thine arm; stretch forth thy rod!
Amen! ) That's Stonewall Jackson's way. ”
He's in the saddle now. Fall in!
Steady! the whole brigade!
Hill's at the ford, cut off; we'll win
His way out, ball and blade!
What matter if our shoes are worn ?
What matter if our feet are torn ?
“Quick step! we're with him before morn! »
That's “Stonewall Jackson's way. ”
(
The sun's bright lances rout the mists
Of morning, and, by George!
Here's Longstreet, struggling in the lists,
Hemmed in an ugly gorge;
Pope and his Dutchman, whipped before.
“Bay'nets and grape! ” hear Stonewall roar;
Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby's score !
In «Stonewall Jackson's way. "
(


## p. 16423 (#123) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16423
Ah, maidens, wait and watch and yearn
For news of Stonewall's band!
Ah, widow, read with eyes that burn,
That ring upon thy hand!
Ah, wife, sew on, pray on, hope on!
Thy life shall not be all forlorn:
The foe had better ne'er been born
That gets in “Stonewall's way. ”
JOHN WILLIAMSON PALMER.
THE CAUSE OF THE SOUTH
THE
He fallen cause still waits,-
Its bard has not come yet;
His song through one of to-morrow's gates
Shall shine, but never set.
But when he comes, he'll sweep
A harp with tears all stringed;
And the very notes he strikes will weep
As they come from his hand, woe-winged.
Ah! grand shall be his strain,
And his songs shall fill all climes;
And the Rebels shall rise and march again
Down the lines of his glorious rhymes.
And through his verse shall gleam
The swords that flashed in vain;
And the men who wore the gray shall seem
To be marshaling again.
But hush! between his words
Peer faces sad and pale,
And you hear the sound of broken chords
Beat through the poet's wail.
Through his verse the orphans cry —
The terrible undertone!
And the father's curse and the mother's sigh,
And the desolate young wife's moan.
I sing, with a voice too low
To be heard beyond to-day,
In minor keys of my people's woe;
And my songs will pass away.


## p. 16424 (#124) ##########################################

16424
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
To-morrow hears them not,-
To-morrow belongs to fame:
My songs, like the birds', will be forgot,
And forgotten shall be my name.
And yet, who knows! betimes
The grandest songs depart,
While the gentle, humble, and low-toned rhymes
Will echo from heart to heart.
ABRAM J. RYAN.
THE AULD STUARTS BACK AGAIN
T"
He auld Stuarts back again,
The auld Stuarts back again;
Let howlet Whig do what they can,
The Stuarts will be back again.
Wha cares for a' their creeshy duds,
And a' Kilmarnock sowen suds ?
We'll wauk their hides and file their fuds,
And bring the Stuarts back again.
There's Ayr and Irvine, wi' the rest,
And a' the cronies i’ the west,
Lord! sic a scawed and scabbit nest!
How they'll set up their crack again!
But wad they come, or dare they come,
Afore the bagpipe and the drum,
We'll either gar them a' sing dumb,
Or «Auld Stuarts back again. ”
Give ear unto my loyal sang,
A' ye that ken the right frae wrang,
And a' that look and think it lang,
For auld Stuarts back again.
Were ye wi' me to chase the rae,
Out owre the hills and far away,
And saw the lords were there that day,
To bring the Stuarts back again,
There ye might see the noble Mar,
Wi' Athol, Huntly, and Traquair,
Seaforth, Kilsyth, and Auldubair,
And mony mae, whatreck, again.


## p. 16425 (#125) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16425
Then what are a' their westland crews ?
We'll gar the tailors tack again:
Can they forestand the tartan trews,
And auld Stuarts back again ?
Anonymous Jacobite Song, 1714.
THE HEATH-COCK
T"
HE heath-cock crawed o'er muir an' dale;
Red rase the sun o'er distant vale;
Our Northern clans, wi' distant yell,
Around their chiefs were gathering.
« O Duncan, are ye ready yet,
M'Donald, are ye ready yet,
O Frazer, are ye ready yet,
To join the clans in the morning ? ”
Nae mair we'll chase the fleet, fleet roe
O'er dowie glen or mountain brow,
But rush like tempest on the foe,
Wi' sword an' targe this morning.
«O Duncan,” etc.
>
The Prince has come to claim his ain,
A stem o' Stuart's glorious name;
What Highlander his sword wad hain
For Charlie's cause this morning ?
“O Duncan,” etc.
On yonder hills our clans appear,
The sun back frae their spears shines clear;
The Southron trumps fall on my ear; –
'Twill be an awfu' morning.
«O Duncan,” etc.
The contest lasted sair an' lang;
The pipers blew, the echoes rang;
The cannon roared the clans amang,
Culloden's awfu' morning.
Duncan now nae mair seems keen;
He's lost his dirk an' tartan sheen;
His bannet's stained that ance was clean; —
Foul fa' that awfu' morning.


## p. 16426 (#126) ##########################################

16426
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
But Scotland lang shall rue the day
She saw her flag sae fiercely flee;
Culloden hills were hills o' wae,-
It was an awfu' morning.
Duncan now, etc.
Fair Flora's gane her love to seek;
The midnight dew fa's on her cheek; –
What Scottish heart that will not weep
For Charlie's fate that morning ?
Duncan now nae mair seems keen;
He's lost his dirk an' tartan sheen;
His bannet's stained that ance was clean;-
Foul fa' that awfu' morning.
WILLIAM NICHOLSON.
WHAT'S A' THE STEER, KIMMER?
HE
WHAT
THAT'S a' the steer, kimmer?
What's a' the steer?
SHE
Charlie he is landed,
An', faith, he'll soon be here.
The win' was at his back, carle,
The win' was at his back;
I carena, sin' he's come, carle,
We were na worth a plack.
HE
I'm right glad to hear 't, kimmer,
I'm right glad to hear 't;
I ha'e a gude braid claymore,
And for his sake I'll wear 't.
TOGETHER
Sin' Charlie he is landed,
We ha'e nae mair to fear;
Sin' Charlie he is come, kimmer,
We'll ha'e a jub'lee year.
ROBERT ALLAN.


## p. 16427 (#127) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16427
WAE'S ME FOR PRINCE CHARLIE!
A
WEE bird came to our ha' door;
He warbled sweet and clearly;
And
aye
the o'ercome o' his sang
Was Wae's me for Prince Charlie ! »
Oh, when I heard the bonny, bonny bird,
The tears came drapping rarely;
I took my bonnet aff my head,
For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie.
Quoth I: “My bird, my bonny, bonny bird,
Is that a tale ye borrow?
Or is 't some words ye've learned by rote,
Or a lilt o' dool and sorrow? »
«Oh no, no, no! the wee bird sang:
“I've flown sin' morning early ;
But sic a day o'wind and rain! -
Oh, wae's me for Prince Charlie !
-
“On hills that are by right his ain
He roams a lonely stranger;
On ilka hand he's pressed by want,
On ilka side by danger.
Yestreen I met him in the glen,-
My heart near bursted fairly;
For sadly changed indeed was he —
Oh, wae's me for Prince Charlie!
“Dark night came on; the tempest howled
Out owre the hills and valleys:
And where was 't that your prince lay down,
Whase hame should be a palace ?
He rowed him in a Highland plaid,
Which covered him but sparely,
And slept beneath a bush o' broom –
Oh, wae's me for Prince Charlie ! »
But now the bird saw some redcoats,
And he shook his wings wi' anger:
“Oh, this is no a land for me —
I'll tarry here nae langer. ”
Awhile he hovered on the wing,
Ere he departed fairly;
But weel I mind the farewell strain
'Twas “Wae's me for Prince Charlie! »
WILLIAM GLEN.


## p. 16428 (#128) ##########################################

16428
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE WEAVING OF THE TARTAN
I
SAW an old dame weaving,
Weaving, weaving,
I saw an old dame weaving
A web of tartan fine.
“Sing high,” she said, "sing low,” she said,
« Wild torrent to the sea,
That saw my exiled bairnies torn
In sorrow far frae me.
And warp well the long threads,
The bright threads, the strong threads,
Woof well the cross threads,
To make the colors shine. ”
She wove in red for every deed
Of valor done for Scotia's need;
She wove in green, the laurel's sheen,
In memory of her glorious dead.
She spake of Alma's steep incline,
The desert march, the thin red line);
Of how it fired the blood and stirred the heart
Where'er a bairn of hers took part.
« 'Tis for the gallant lads,” she said,
« Who wear the kilt and tartan plaid;
'Tis for the winsome lasses too,
Just like my dainty bells of blue:
So weave well the bright threads,
The red threads, the green threads,
Woof well the strong threads
That bind their hearts to mine. ”
(
I saw an old dame sighing,
Sighing, sighing;
I saw an old dame sighing,
Beside a lonely glen.
Sing high,” she said, "sing low,” she said,
« Wild tempest to the sea,
The wailing of the pibroch's note,
That bade farewell to me.
And wae fa' the red deer,
The swift deer, the strong deer,
Wae fa’ the cursed deer,
That take the place o' men. ”


## p. 16429 (#129) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16429
Where'er a noble deed is wrought,
Where'er the brightest realms of thought,
The artist's skill, the martial thrill,
Be sure to Scotia's land is wed.
She casts the glamour of her name
O'er Britain's throne and statesman's fame;
From distant lands 'neath foreign names,
Some brilliant son his birthright claims.
For ah! she has reared them mid tempests,
And cradled them in snow,
To give the Scottish arms their strength,
Their hearts a kindly glow.
So weave well the bright threads,
The red threads, the green threads,
Woof well the strong threads,
That bind their hearts to thine.
ALICE C. MacDonELL.
MUCKLE-MOU'D MEG
(
O
H, WHA hae ye brought us hame now, my brave lord,
Strappit flaught ower his braid saddle-bow ?
Some bauld Border reiver to feast at our board
An' herry our pantry, I trow.
He's buirdly an' stalwart in lith an' in limb:
Gin ye were his master in war
The field was a saft eneugh litter for him —
Ye needna hae brought him sae far;-
Then saddle an’ munt again, harness an' dunt again,
An' when ye gae hunt again, strike higher game. "
“Hoot, whist ye, my dame, for he comes o' gude kin,
An' boasts o' a lang pedigree;
This night he maun share o' our gude cheer within,
At morning's gray dawn he maun dee.
He's gallant Wat Scott, heir o' proud Harden Ha',
Wha ettled our lands clear to sweep;
But now he is snug in auld Elibank's paw,
An' shall swing frae our donjon-keep.
Though saddle an' munt again, harness an’dunt again,
I'll ne'er when I hunt again strike higher game. ” –


## p. 16430 (#130) ##########################################

16430
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
“Is this young Wat Scott ? an' wad ye rax his craig,
When our daughter is fey for a man?
Gae, gaur the loun marry our muckle-mou'd Meg,
Or we'll ne'er get the jaud aff our han’! »
« 'Od, hear our gudewife! she wad fain save your life; –
Wat Scott, will ye marry or hang ? ”
But Meg's muckle mou set young Wat's heart agrue,
Wha swore to the woodie he'd gang.
Ne'er saddle nor munt again, harness nor dunt again,
Wat ne'er shall hunt again, ne'er see his hame.
Syne muckle-mou'd Meg pressed in close to his side,
An' blinkit fu' sleely and kind;
But aye as Wat glowered on his braw proffered bride,
He shook like a leaf in the wind.
«A bride or a gallows; a rope or a wife! ”
The morning dawned sunny and clear:
Wat boldly strode forward to part wi' his life,
Till he saw Meggy shedding a tear;
Then saddle an' munt again, harness an’dunt again,
Fain wad Wat hunt again, fain wad he hame.
Meg's tear touched his bosom — the gibbet frowned high-
An' slowly Wat strode to his doom;
He gae a glance round wi' a tear in his eye, -
Meg shone like a star through the gloom.
She rushed to his arms; they were wed on the spot,
An' lo'ed ither muckle and lang.
Nae bauld border laird had a wife like Wat Scott:
'Twas better to marry than hang.
So saddle an' munt again, harness an’dunt again,
Elibank hunt again, Wat's snug at hame.
JAMES BALLANTYNE.
YE GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND
Y
E GENTLEMEN of England
That live at home at ease,
Ah! little do you think upon
The dangers of the seas.
Give ear unto the mariners,
And they will plainly show
All the cares and the fears
When the stormy winds do blow.


## p. 16431 (#131) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16431
If enemies oppose us
When England is at war
With any foreign nation,
We fear not wound or scar:
Our roaring guns shall teach 'em
Our valor for to know,
Whilst they reel on the keel,
And the stormy winds do blow.
Then courage, all brave mariners,
And never be dismayed:
While we have bold adventurers,
We ne'er shall want a trade;
Our merchants will employ us
To fetch them wealth, we know:
Then be bold — work for gold,
When the stormy winds do blow.
MARTYN PARKER.
HANDS ALL ROUND
F
IRST drink a health, this solemn night,
A health to England, every guest:
That man's the best cosmopolite
Who loves his native country best.
May freedom's oak for ever live
With stronger life from day to day:
That man's the best Conservative
Who lops the moldered branch away.
Hands all round!
God the tyrant's hope confound!
To this great cause of Freedom drink, my friends,
And the great name of England, round and round.
A health to Europe's honest men!
Heaven guard them from her tyrants' jails!
From wronged Poerio's noisome den,
From iron limbs and tortured nails!
We curse the crimes of southern kings,
The Russian whips and Austrian rods:
We likewise have our evil things,-
Too much we make our ledgers, gods.


## p. 16432 (#132) ##########################################

16432
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Yet hands all round!
God the tyrant's cause confound!
To Europe's better health we drink, my friends,
And the great name of England, round and round!
What health to France, if France be she,
Whom martial progress only charms?
Yet tell her — better to be free
Than vanquish all the world in arms.
Her frantic city's flashing heats
But fire, to blast the hopes of men.
Why change the titles of your streets ?
You fools, you'll want them all again.
Hands all round!
God the tyrant's cause confound!
To France, the wiser France, we drink, my friends,
And the great name of England, round and round.
Gigantic daughter of the West,
We drink to thee across the flood!
We know thee and we love thee best;
For art thou not of British blood ?
Should war's mad blast again be blown,
Permit not thou the tyrant powers
To fight thy mother here alone,
But let thy broadsides roar with ours.
Hands all round!
God the tyrant's cause confound !
To our great kinsman of the West, my friends,
And the great name of England, round and round.
Oh rise, our strong Atlantic sons,
When war against our freedom springs !
Oh, speak to Europe through your guns!
They can be understood by kings.
You must not mix our Queen with those
That wish to keep their people fools:
Our freedom's foemen are her foes;
She comprehends the race she rules.
Hands all round!
God the tyrant's cause confound!
To our great kinsmen in the West, my friends,
And the great cause of Freedom, round and round.
ALFRED TENNYSON.


## p. 16433 (#133) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16433
RECESSIONAL
In the London Times at the end of the Queen's Jubilee, 1897
Gº
Od of our fathers, known of old,
Lord of our far-flung battle-line,
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine —
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!
The tumult and the shouting dies;
The captains and the kings depart:
Still stands thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!
Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget — lest we forget!
If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not thee in awe,-
Such boasting as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law,-
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget - lest we forget!
For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard,–
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding, calls not thee to guard, -
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy mercy on thy people, Lord!
Amen.
RUDYARD KIPLING.
XXVIII-1028


## p. 16434 (#134) ##########################################

16434
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER
O
SAY, can you see by the dawn's early light
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleam-
ing?
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming!
And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there:
O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses ?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
Its full glory reflected now shines on the stream:
'Tis the star-spangled banner; oh, long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of fight, or the gloom of the grave;
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
Oh, thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land
Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just;
And this be our motto,-“In God is our trust :)
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.


## p. 16435 (#135) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16435
THE MARSEILLAISE
Y*
E SONS of Freedom, wake to glory!
Hark! hark! what myriads bid you rise!
Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary,
Behold their tears and hear their cries!
Shall hateful tyrants, mischiefs breeding,
With hireling hosts, a ruffian band,
Affright and desolate the land,
While peace and liberty lie bleeding?
To arms! to arms! ye brave!
The avenging sword unsheathe;
March on! march on! all hearts resolved
On victory or death!
Now, now the dangerous storm is rolling,
Which treacherous kings confederate raise;
The dogs of war, let loose, are howling,
And lo! our fields and cities blaze:
And shall we basely view the ruin,
While lawless force, with guilty stride,
Spreads desolation far and wide,
With crimes and blood his hands imbruing ?
To arms! to arms! ye brave!
The avenging sword unsheathe;
March on! march on! all hearts resolved
On victory or death!
O Liberty! can man resign thee,
Once having felt thy generous flame?
Can dungeons, bolts, or bars confine thee?
Or whips thy noble spirit tame?
Too long the world has wept, bewailing
That falsehood's dagger tyrants wield;
But freedom is our sword and shield,
And all their arts are unavailing.
To arms! to arms! ye brave!
The avenging sword unsheathe;
March on! march on! all hearts resolved
On victory or death!
(Abbreviated. )
ROUGET DE LISLE.


## p. 16436 (#136) ##########################################

16436
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE DEPARTURE FOR SYRIA
(LE DÉPART 1809, POUR LA SYRIE)
[The music of this song, which was composed by Queen Hortense, mother
of Napoleon III. , became the national air of the French Empire. ]
T°
O SYRIA young Dunois will go,
That gallant, handsome knight,
And prays the Virgin to bestow
Her blessing on the fight.
“O Thou who reign’st in heaven above,”
He prayed, "grant this to me:
The fairest maiden let me love,
The bravest warrior be. ”
He pledges then his knightly word,
His vow writes on the stone,
And following the count, his lord,
To battle he has gone.
To keep his oath he ever strove,
And sang aloud with glee,
The fairest maid shall have my love,
And honor mine shall be. ”
C
Then said the count, « To thee we owe
Our victory, I confess;
Glory on me thou didst bestow,-
I give thee happiness:
My daughter, whom I fondly love,
I gladly give to thee;
She, who is fair all maids above,
Should valor's guerdon be. ”
They kneel at Mary's altar both, -
The maid and gallant knight,-
And there with happy hearts their troth
Right solemnly they plight.
It was a sight all souls to move;
And all cried joyously,
«Give honor to the brave, and love
Shall beauty's guerdon be. ”
M. DE LABORDE.


## p. 16437 (#137) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16437
THE WATCH ON THE RHINE
VOICE resounds like thunder-peal,
’Mid dashing waves and clang of steel:-
« The Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine!
Who guards to-day my stream divine ? »
A.
Chorus
Dear Fatherland, no danger thine:
Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhine!
They stand, a hundred thousand strong,
Quick to avenge their country's wrong;
With filial love their bosoms swell,
They'll guard the sacred landmark well!
The dead of a heroic race
From heaven look down and meet their gaze;
They swear with dauntless heart, “O Rhine,
Be German as this breast of mine! »
While flows one drop of German blood,
Or sword remains to guard thy flood,
While rifle rests in patriot hand, -
No foe shall tread thy sacred strand!
Our oath resounds, the river flows,
In golden light our banner glows;
Our hearts will guard thy stream divine:
The Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine!
MAX SCHNECKENBURGER.
A CINQUE PORT
B
ELOW the down, the stranded town
What may betide forlornly waits;
With memories of smoky skies,
When Gallic navies crossed the straits,
When waves with fire and blood grew bright,
And cannon thundered through the night.
With swinging stride the rhythmic tide
Bore to the harbor barque and sloop;


## p. 16438 (#138) ##########################################

16438
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Across the bar the ship of war,
In castled stern and lanterned poop,
Came up with conquests on her lee,
The stately mistress of the sea.
Where argosies have wooed the breeze,
The simple sheep are feeding now;
And near and far across the bar
The plowman whistles at the plow;
Where once the long waves washed the shore,
Larks from their lowly lodgings soar.
.
Below the down the stranded town
Hears far away the rollers beat;
About the wall the sea-birds call;
The salt wind murmurs through the street:
Forlorn, the sea's forsaken bride
Awaits the end that shall betide.
JOHN DAVIDSON.
From Ballads and Songs.
APRIL IN IRELAND
HE hath a woven garland all of the sighing sedge,
And all her flowers are snowdrops grown in the winter's edge;
The golden looms of Tir na n’Og wove all the winter through
Her gown of mist and raindrops shot with a cloudy blue.
S"
Sunlight she holds in one hand, and rain she scatters after,
And through the rainy twilight we hear her fitful laughter.
She shakes down on her flowers the snows less white than they,
Then quickens with her kisses the folded “knots o' May. ”
She seeks the summer-lover that never shall be hers;
Fain for gold leaves of autumn she passes by the furze,
Though buried gold it hideth; she scorns her sedgy crown,
And pressing blindly sunwards she treads her snowdrops down.
Her gifts are all a fardel of wayward smiles and tears,
Yet hope she also holdeth, this daughter of the years —
A hope that blossoms faintly set upon sorrow's edge:
She hath a woven garland all of the signing sedge.
NORA HOPPER.


## p. 16439 (#139) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16439
ADIEU FOR EVERMORE
[Tennyson once quoted to Ruskin this stanza as the most romantic of
lyrics; and Ruskin said he knew it well, and that it was among the best
things ever done by anybody.
He turned his charger as he spake,
Upon the river shore,
He gave his bridle-reins a shake,
Said Adieu for evermore,
My love!
And adieu for evermore.
Scott used it in (Rokeby. ' Its original is the old Scotch ballad which fol-
lows. ]
T WAS a' for our rightful king,
That we left fair Scotland's strand,
It was a' for our rightful king,
That we e'er saw Irish land,
My dear,
That we e'er saw Irish land.
T
.
«Now all is done that man can do,
And all is done in vain,
My love! My native land, adieu!
For I must cross the main,
My dear,
For I must cross the main. ”
>>
He turned him round and right about,
All on the Irish shore,
He gave his bridle-reins a shake,
With “Adieu for evermore,
My dear!
Adieu for evermore!
« The soldier frae the war returns,
And the marchant frae the main,
But I hae parted wi' my love,
And ne'er to meet again,
My dear,
And ne'er to meet again.
« When the day is gone and night is come,
And a' are boun' to sleep,
I think on them that's far awa
The lee-lang night, and weep,
My dear,
The lee-lang night, and weep. ”


## p. 16440 (#140) ##########################################

16440
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
WILLY REILLY
[The story on which this ballad is founded happened some eighty years
ago; and as the lover was a young Catholic farmer, and the lady's family of
high Orange principles, it got a party character which, no doubt, contributed
to its great popularity. ]
“Ο
RISE up, Willy Reilly! and come along with me;
I mean for to go with you and leave this counterie, -
To leave my father's dwelling, his houses and free
land: »
And away goes Willy Reilly and his dear Coolen Bawn. *
They go by hills and mountains, and by yon lonesome plain,
Through shady groves and valleys all dangers to refrain;
But her father followed after with a well-armed band,
And taken was poor Reilly and his dear Coolen Bawn.
It's home then she was taken, and in her closet bound;
Poor Reilly all in Sligo jail lay on the stony ground,
'Till at the bar of justice before the judge he'd stand,
For nothing but the stealing of his dear Coolen Bawn.
“Now in the cold, cold iron my hands and feet are bound;
I'm handcuffed like a murderer, and tied unto the ground:
But all the toil and slavery I'm willing for to stand,
Still hoping to be succored by my dear Coolen Bawn. ”
»
The jailer's son to Reilly goes, and thus to him did say:
“O get up, Willy Reilly,- you must appear this day;
For great Squire Foillard's anger you never can withstand;
I'm afeared you'll suffer sorely for your dear Coolen Bawn.
« This is the news, young Reilly, last night that I did hear:
The lady's oath will hang you or else will set you clear. ”
« If that be so," says Reilly, «her pleasure I will stand;
Still hoping to be succored by my dear Coolen Bawn. ”
Now Willy's drest from top to toe all in a suit of green;
His hair hangs o'er his shoulders most glorious to be seen;
He's tall and straight and comely as any could be found:
He's fit for Foillard's daughter, was she heiress to a crown.
The judge he said, “This lady being in her tender youth,
If Reilly has deluded her she will declare the truth. ”
* Cailín bán — fair girl.


## p. 16441 (#141) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16441
Then, like a moving beauty bright, before him she did stand –
« You're welcome there, my heart's delight and dear Coolen
Bawn. ”
(
«O gentlemen," Squire Foillard said, “with pity look on me:
This villain came amongst us to disgrace our family;
And by his base contrivances this villainy was planned.
If I don't get satisfaction I'll quit this Irish land. ”
The lady with a tear began, and thus replied she:--
« The fault is none of Reilly's, — the blame lies all on me:
I forced him for to leave his place, and come along with me; –
I loved him out of measure, which wrought our destiny. "
Out bespoke the noble Fox,— at the table he stood by,-
"O gentlemen, consider on this extremity!
To hang a man for love is a murder you may see:
So spare the life of Reilly,— let him leave this counterie. ”
“Good my lord, he stole from her her diamonds and her rings,
Gold watch and silver buckles, and many precious things,
Which cost me in bright guineas more than five hundred pounds.
I'll have the life of Reilly should I lose ten thousand pounds. ".
«Good my lord, I gave them him as tokens of true love;
And when we are a-parting I will them all remove. -
If you have got them, Reilly, pray send them home to me. ” —
«I will, my loving lady, with many thanks to thee. ” —
« There is a ring among them I allow yourself to wear,
With thirty locket diamonds well set in silver fair;
And as a true-love token wear it on your right hand,
That you'll think on my poor broken heart when you're in foreign
lands. ”
»
Then out spoke noble Fox, “You may let the prisoner go:
The lady's oath has cleared him, as the jury all may know;
She has released her own true love, she has renewed his name;-
May her honor bright gain high estate, and her offspring rise to
fame. ”
An Ulster Ballad.


## p. 16442 (#142) ##########################################

16442
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THERE'S NAE LUCK ABOUT THE HOUSE
A*
ND are ye sure the news is true ?
And are ye sure he's weel ?
Is this a time to think o' wark ?
Ye jauds, fling by your wheel!
Is this a time to think o'wark,
When Colin's at the door?
Rax me my cloak, — I'll to the quay
And see him come ashore.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a',
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa'.
And gie to me my bigonet,
My bishop's-satin gown, -
For I maun tell the bailie's wife
That Colin's come to town;
My Turkey slippers maun gae on,
My hose o' pearl-blue:
It's a' to pleasure my ain gudeman,
For he's baith leal and true.
Rise up and mak a clean fireside,
Put on the muckle pot;
Gie little Kate her Sunday gown,
And Jock his button coat;
And mak their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw:
It's a' to please my ain gudeman,
For he's been long awa'.
There's twa fat hens upo' the bank,-
They've fed this month and mair,-
Mak haste and thraw their necks about,
That Colin weel may fare;
And spread the table neat and clean,
Gar ilka thing look braw:
For wha can tell how Colin fared
When he was far awa'?
Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech,
His breath like caller air;
His very foot has music in 't
As he comes up the stair.


## p. 16443 (#143) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16443
And will I see his face again ?
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzit wi' the thought -
In troth I'm like to greet!
Since Colin's weel, I'm weel content-
I hae nae mair to crave;
Could I but live to mak him blest,
I'm blest aboon the lave:
And will I see his face again?
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzit wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a':
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa'.
JEAN ADAM.
“IT'S HAME, AND IT'S HAME »
IT
t's hame, and it's hame, hame fain wad I be,
An' it's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
When the flower is i' the bud, and the leaf is on the tree,
The lark shall sing me hame in my ain countrie.
It's hame, and it's hame, hame fain wad I be,
And it's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
The green leaf o' loyalty's beginning for to fa';
The bonny white rose it is withering an'a':
But I'll water 't wi' the blude of usurping tyrannie,
An' green it will grow in my ain countrie.
It's hame, and it's hame, hame fain wad I be,
And it's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
There's naught now frae ruin my country can save,-
But the keys o' kind heaven to open the grave;
That a' the noble martyrs wha died for loyaltie,
May rise again and fight for their ain countrie.
It's hame, and it's hame, hame fain wad I be,
An' it's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
The great now are gane, a' wha ventured to save,-
The new grass is springing on the tap o' their grave;


## p. 16444 (#144) ##########################################

16444
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
But the sun through the mirk blinks blithe in my ee-
"I'll shine on ye yet in yer ain countrie. ”
It's hame, and it's hame, hame fain wad I be,
An' it's hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie.
ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.
ITS AIN DRAP O' DEW
C
ONFIDE ye aye in Providence,
For Providence is kind;
An' bear ye a' life's changes
Wi' a calm and tranquil mind.
Though pressed and hemmed on every side,
Ha'e faith, an' ye'll win through;
For ilka blade o' grass
Keeps its ain drap o' dew.
Gin reft frae friends, or crossed in love,
As whiles nae doubt ye've been,
Grief lies deep-hidden in your heart,
Or tears flow frae your e'en,
Believe it for the best, and trow
There's good in store for you;
For ilka blade o' grass
Keeps its ain drap o' dew.
In lang, lang days o’ simmer,
When the clear and cloudless sky
Refuses ae wee drap o' rain
To nature, parched and dry,
The genial night, with balmy breath,
Gars verdure spring anew,
An' ilka blade o' grass
Keeps its ain drap o' dew.
Sae lest 'mid fortune's sunshine
We should feel ower proud an' hie,
An' in our pride forget to wipe
The tear frae poortith's e'e,
Some wee dark clouds o' sorrow come,
We ken na whence or hoo;
But ilka blade o' grass
Keeps its ain drap o' dew.
JAMES BALLANTINE.


## p. 16445 (#145) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16445
MINE OWN WORK
I
MADE the cross myself whose weight
Was later laid on me:
This thought is torture as I toil
Up life's steep Calvary.
To think mine own hands drove the nails!
I sung a merry song,
And chose the heaviest wood I had
To build it firm and strong.
If I had guessed — if I had dreamed
Its weight was made for me,
I should have made a lighter cross
To bear up Calvary.
ANNE REEVE ALDRICH.
DEPARTURE
N°
or as in prison pent,
Not as a spirit sent
To baser banishment,
I tarried well content
The body's guest.
Whithersoe'er I fly,
Let me not wholly die ! -
Yet He who shall deny
Or grant this parting cry
Knows which is best.
WILLIAM CRANSTON LAWTON.
LIFE
A
SA shaft that is sped from a bow unseen to an unseen mark,
As a bird that gleams in the firelight, and hurries from dark
to dark,
As the face of the stranger who smiled as we passed in the crowded
street, -
Our life is a glimmer, a flutter, a memory, fading, yet sweet!
WILLIAM CRANSTON LAWTON.


## p. 16446 (#146) ##########################################

16446
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE CLOSING DOORS
E"
ILIDH, Eilidh, Eilidh, heart of me, dear and sweet!
In dreams I am hearing the whisper, the sound of your com-
ing feet;
The sound of your coming feet that like the sea-hoofs beat
A music by day and night, Eilidh, on the sands of my heart, my
sweet!
Osands of my heart, what wind moans low along thy shadowy
shore ?
Is that the deep sea-heart I hear with the dying sob at its core ?
Each dim lost wave that lapses is like a closing door:
'Tis closing doors they hear at last who soon shall hear no more,
Who soon shall hear no more.
Eilidh, Eilidh, Eilidh, come home, come home to the heart o’ me!
It is pain I am having ever, Eilidh, a pain that will not be.
Come home, come home, for closing doors are as the waves o' the
sea, -
Once closed they are closed forever, Eilidh, lost, lost for thee and me,
Lost, lost, for thee and me.
FIONA MACLEOD.
A RHYME OF DEATH'S INN
A ;
RHYME of good Death's inn!
My love came to that door;
And she had need of many things,
The way had been so sore.
My love she lifted up her head,
"And is there room ? » said she:
« There was no room in Bethlehem's inn
For Christ who died for me. ”
But said the keeper of the inn,
“His name is on the door. ”
My love then straightway entered there:
She hath come back no more.
LIZETTE WOODWORTH REESE.


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