Shades of the dead! on Alfer’s plain Who scorned with backward step to move, But struggling ’mid the hills of slain, Against the Sacred Standard strove; Amid the lanes of war I trace Each broad claymore and ponderous mace: Where’er the surge of arms is tost, Your glittering spears, in close array, Sweep, like the spider’s filmy web, away The flower of Norman pride, and England’s victor host. But distant fleets each warrior ghost, With surly sounds that murmur far; Such sounds were heard when Syria’s host Roll’d from the walls of proud Samàr. Around my solitary head Gleam the blue lightnings of the dead, While murmur low the shadowy band-- ‘Lament no more the warrior’s doom! Blood, blood alone, should dew the hero’s tomb, Who falls, ’mid circling spears, to save his native land.’ _John Leyden._ CUNNINGHAM CXLII LOYALTY It’s hame, an’ it’s hame, hame fain wad I be, O 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; For it’s hame, an’ it’s hame, hame fain wad I be, O it’s hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! The green leaf o’ loyaltie’s begun for to fa’, The bonnie white rose it is witherin’ an’ a’, But I’ll water’t wi’ the blude of usurpin’ tyrannie, An’ green it will grow in my ain countrie. For it’s hame, an’ it’s hame, hame fain wad I be, O it’s hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! The great are now gane, a’ wha ventured to save; The new grass is springin’ on the tap o’ their grave: But the sun thro’ the mirk blinks blythe in my e’e, ‘I’ll shine on ye yet in yere ain countrie.’ For it’s hame, an’ it’s hame, hame fain wad I be, O it’s hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie! _Allan Cunningham._ ANONYMOUS CXLIII THE CAMPBELLS ARE COMIN’ The Campbells are comin’, O-ho, O-ho! The Campbells are comin’, O-ho! The Campbells are comin’ to bonnie Lochleven! The Campbells are comin’, O-ho, O-ho! Upon the Lomonds I lay, I lay; Upon the Lomonds I lay; I lookit doun to bonnie Lochleven, An’ saw three perches play. Great Argyll he goes before; He makes the cannons an’ guns to roar, Wi’ sound of trumpet, pipe, and drum; The Campbells are comin’, O-ho, O-ho! The Campbells they are a’ in arms, Their loyal faith and truth to show, Wi’ banners rattlin’ in the wind, The Campbells are comin’, O-ho, O-ho! _Anonymous._ GILFILLAN CXLIV MY AIN COUNTRIE Oh! why left I my hame? Why did I cross the deep? Oh! why left I the land Where my forefathers sleep? I sigh for Scotia’s shore, And I gaze across the sea, But I canna get a blink O’ my ain countrie.