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Away went Gilpin, and away

Went postboy at his heels,
The postboy's horse right glad to miss

The lumbering of the wheels.

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Six gentlemen upon the road,

Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
With postboy scampering in the rear,

They raised the hue and cry:

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“Stop thief ! stop thief ! - a highwayman!”

Not one of them was mute;
And all and each that passed that way

Did join in the pursuit.

And now the turnpike gates again

Flew open in short space;
The toll-men thinking as before,

That Gilpin rode a race.

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And so he did, and won it too,

For he got first to town;
Nor stopp'd till where he had got up

He did again get down.

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Now let us sing, "Long live the king,

And Gilpin long live he;"
And when he next doth ride abroad,

May I be there to see!

ROBERT BURNS

SCOTLAND, 1759–1796

Bannockburn

Robert Bruce's Address to his Army

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed

Or to victorie!

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Now's the day, and now's the hour;
See the front o' battle lower;
See approach proud Edward's power —

Chains and slaverie!

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Wha will be a traitor knave ?
Wha can fill a coward's grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?

Let him turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland's king and law
Freedom's sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand, or freeman fa',

Let him follow me!

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By oppression's woes and pains !
By your sons in servile chains !
We will drain our dearest veins,

But they shall be free!

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Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty's in every blow!-

Let us do or die!

My Heart's in the Highlands

My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here;
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.
Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birthplace of valor, the country of worth:
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands forever I love.

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Farewell to the mountains high covered with snow;
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods ; 15
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.
My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer;
Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe,
My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

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WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

ENGLAND, 1770-1850

The Solitary Reaper

Behold her, single in the field,

Yon solitary Highland lass,
Reaping and singing by herself;

Stop here, or gently pass !
Alone she cuts and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
Oh, listen! for the vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

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No nightingale did ever chant

So sweetly to reposing bands
Of travelers in some shady haunt

Among Arabian sands:
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard
In springtime from the cuckoo-bird,
Breaking the silence of the seas
Among the farthest Hebrides.

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Will no one tell me what she sings ?

Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,

And battles long ago :
Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day,

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Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again?

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Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang

As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,

And o'er the sickle bending.
I listened motionless and still;
And, as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore
Long after it was heard no more.

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Sonnet

Composed upon Westminster Bridge, September 3, 1802

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Earth has not anything to show more fair :

Dull would he be of soul who could pass by

A sight so touching in its majesty:
This city now doth like a garment wear

The beauty of the morning; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theaters, and temples lie

Open unto the fields and to the sky;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Never did sun more beautifully steep

In his first splendor valley, rock, or hill;
Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!

The river glideth at his own sweet will:

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