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REATHES there the man, with soul so dead,

BREATHE

Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land!

Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned,
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonored, and unsung.

O Caledonia! stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child!

Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,

Land of the mountain and the flood,
Land of my sires! what mortal hand
Can e'er untie the filial band

That knits me to thy rugged strand?
Still, as I view each well-known scene,
Think what is now and what hath been,
Seems as, to me, of all bereft,

Sole friends thy woods and streams were left,
And thus I love them better still,
Even in extremity of ill.

By Yarrow's stream still let me stray,
Though none should guide my feeble way,
Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break,
Although it chill my withered cheek;
Still lay my head by Teviot stone,
Though there, forgotten and alone,
The bard may draw his parting groan.

Sir Walter Scott.

GATHERING OF THE MACGREGORS.

HE moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae,

THE

And the Clan has a name that is nameless by day; Then, gather, gather, gather, Grigalach! Gather, gather, gather.

Our signal for fight, that from monarchs we drew, Must be heard but by night in our vengeful halloo ! Then, halloo, Grigalach! halloo, Grigalach!

Halloo, halloo, halloo, Grigalach.

1

Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchurn and her towers,
Glenstrae and Glenlyon, no longer are ours:
We're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach!
Landless, landless, landless.

But doomed and devoted by vassal and lord,
MacGregor has still both his heart and his sword!
Then, courage, courage, courage, Grigalach!
Courage, courage, courage.

If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles, Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the eagles! Then, vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Grigalach! Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance.

While there's leaves in the forest, and foam on the river,
MacGregor, despite them, shall flourish forever!
Come then, Grigalach, come then, Grigalach!
Come then, come then, come then.

Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall

career,

O'er the peak of Ben Lomond the galley shall steer, And the rocks of Craig Royston like icicles melt, Ere our wrongs be forgot or our vengeance unfelt. Then, gather, gather, gather, Grigalach!

Gather, gather, gather.

Sir Walter Scott.

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