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Nennius. Is not peace the end of arms ?

Caratach. Not where the cause implies a general conquest. Had we a difference with some petty isle, Or with our neighbours, Britons, for our landmarks, The taking in of some rebellious lord, Or making head against a slight commotion, After a day of blood, peace might be urged : But where we grapple for the land we live on, The liberty we hold more dear than life, The gods we worship, and, next these, our honours, And, with those, swords, that know no end of battle Those men, beside themselves, allow no neighbour, Those minds, that, where the day is, claim inheritance, And, where the sun makes ripe the fruit, their harvest, And, where they march, but measure out more ground To add to Rome It must not be.-No! as they are our foes, Let's use the peace of honour-that's fair dealing ; But in our hands our swords. The hardy Roman, That thinks to graft himself into my stock, Must first begin his kindred under ground, And be allied in ashes.”.


The following War Song was written during the apprehension of an invasion. The corps of volunteers, to which it was addressed, was raised in 1797, consisting of gentlemen, mounted and armed at their own expence. It still subsists, as the Right Troop of the Royal Mid Lothian Light Cavalry, commanded by the Honourable Lieutenant-Colonel Dùndas. The noble and constitutional measure, of arming freemen in defence of their own rights, was no where more successful than in Edinburgh, which furnished a force of 3000 armed and disciplined volunteers, including a Regiment of Cavalry, from the City and County, and two Corps of Artillery, each capable of serving twelve guns. To such a force, above all others, might, in similar circumstances, be applied the exhortation of our ancient Galgacus : Pro

inde ituri in aciem, et majores vestros et posteros cogi

« tate.




To horse! to horse! the standard flies,

The bugles sound the call ;
The Gallic navy stems the seas,
The voice of Battle's on the breeze,

Arouse ye, one and all !

From high Dunedin's towers we come,

A band of brothers true;
Our casques the leopard's spoils surround,
With Scotland's hardy thistle crown'd;

We boast the red and blue. *

* The Royal Colours.

Thought tamely crouch to Gallia's frown,

Dull Holland's tardy train ; Their ravish'd toys though Romans mourn, Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn,

And, foaming, gnaw the chain ;

O! had they mark'd the avenging call

Their brethren's murder gave, Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown, Nor patriot valour, desperate grown,

Sought freedom in the grave!

Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head,

In Freedom's temple born,
Dress our pale cheek in timid smile,
To hail a master in our isle,

Or brook a victor's scorn ?

No! though destruction o'er the land

Come pouring as a flood,

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