CXL
WAR-SONG
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.
Though 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;
Oh! 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,
The sun, that sees our falling day,
Shall mark our sabres’ deadly sway,
And set that night in blood.
For gold let Gallia’s legions fight,
Or plunder’s bloody gain;
Unbribed, unbought, our swords we draw,
To guard our king, to fence our law,
Nor shall their edge be vain.