Heath flowers being a collection of poems, chiefly lyrical, written in the Highlands. By William Glen |
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THE BATTLE OF BARROSSA. |
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THE BATTLE OF BARROSSA.
Haste! swell the signal clang o' war,
The hum o' foemen's heard afar,
And, see! quick fades the morning star,
As the sun lights up Barrossa.
O! mony a ane, but yester even,
Saw the pale moon rise sweet in heaven—
That sight again will ne'er be given,
To them on lone Barrossa.
The hum o' foemen's heard afar,
And, see! quick fades the morning star,
As the sun lights up Barrossa.
O! mony a ane, but yester even,
Saw the pale moon rise sweet in heaven—
That sight again will ne'er be given,
To them on lone Barrossa.
Our Hero girt his braid Claymore,
A gallant look the Chieftain wore,
And stately he rode on before
His Heroes, to Barrossa.
Nigh, and more nigh, the battle lours,
All silence till the signal roars;
'Tis done! the thunderin' war-cloud pours
Its fury on Barrossa.
A gallant look the Chieftain wore,
And stately he rode on before
His Heroes, to Barrossa.
Nigh, and more nigh, the battle lours,
All silence till the signal roars;
'Tis done! the thunderin' war-cloud pours
Its fury on Barrossa.
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Shame! shame upon the ranks o' Spain,
Say, shall Scots blude be shed in vain?
Shame! motionless they a' remain
Far frae thy field, Barrossa;
Stand whare ye are, the Scots won't fly,
Weell they can sword and musket ply,
They're now surrounded! “Do or die,”
Was shouted on Barrossa.
Say, shall Scots blude be shed in vain?
Shame! motionless they a' remain
Far frae thy field, Barrossa;
Stand whare ye are, the Scots won't fly,
Weell they can sword and musket ply,
They're now surrounded! “Do or die,”
Was shouted on Barrossa.
Our Chieftain knew our Highland stuff,
An' cried, amid war's noises rough,
“Spare powder, give them steel enough,
My lads,” upon Barrossa.
Like mountain-stream down hill we swept,
While pibrochs wildest measure kept,—
Awa' they fled o' glory stript,
Thy day was ours, Barrossa!
An' cried, amid war's noises rough,
“Spare powder, give them steel enough,
My lads,” upon Barrossa.
Like mountain-stream down hill we swept,
While pibrochs wildest measure kept,—
Awa' they fled o' glory stript,
Thy day was ours, Barrossa!
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