WAR SONG

OF THE

ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS.

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 argued:
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.

BONDUCA.

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 expense. It still subsists, as the right troop of the Royal Mid Lothian Light Cavalry, commanded by the honourable Lieutenant Colonel Dundas. 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: "Proinde ituri in aciem, et majores vestros et posteros cogitate."

WAR SONG, &c.

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 crowned;
We boast the red and blue.*

Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown,
Dull Holland's tardy train;

Their ravished toys though Romans mourn,
Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn,
And, foaming, gnaw the chain;

O! had they marked 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!

*The Royal colours.

Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head,
In Freedom's temple born,

Dress our pale cheeks 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.

If ever breath of British gale
Shall fan the tricolour,

Or footstep of invader rude,

With rapine foul, and red with blood,

Pollute our happy shore;

Then farewell home! and farewell friends!

Adieu each tender tie!

Resolved, we mingle in the tide,

Where charging squadrons furious ride,

To conquer or to die.

n

To horse! to horse! the sabres gleam;
High sounds our bugle call;
Combined by honour's sacred tie,

Our word is, Laws and Liberty!
March forward, one and all!