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But redder yet that light shall glow,
'Tis morn; but scarce yon level sun
The combat deepens. On ye brave, or the grave!
Who rush to glory, o
Wave, Munich all thy banners wave,
Few, few shall part where many meet!
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.
MY NATIVE LAND.
My native land,-land of my heart!
On thy wild shores my heart will dwell;
My native land, my happy home!
But far behind is love's deep sigh;
My native land, my earthly heaven!
And though misfortune's blast be driven,
On this lone heart may lower a while,
My native land,-proud freedom's land!
That home which love with joy did light.
My native land,-land of the brave!
Where Bruce-where Wallace fought and bled!. Who fearless stemmed the
Of tyranny,-who dauntless led Proud freedom's ranks, till, blazing high O'er Scotia's hills, gleamed Victory.
'Twas on thy shores bright Fancy's fire
To emulate their fame who sleep
In victory's shroud,-whose red right hand.
The glow of heaven doth brighter gleam,
And lovelier on my soul doth beam
That sun which gilds my native land!
For love and joy still linger there
The future teems with dark despair!
E'en Hope was gone when thy loved shore
Her torch she dashed amid the roar
Of Ocean's waves! Her last adieu
Yet in my ear doth lingering dwell!
My native land, farewell!-farewell!
Lochiel! Lochiel! beware of the day
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array!
Weep, Albin! to death and captivity led!
Oh weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead; t For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave,
Culloden! that reeks with the blood of the brave.
-Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day!
For, dark and despairingy my sight I may seal,
Like colours on the evening main,
Each loveliest till it dies.
First, bends the burning heart of youth
Before some heart untried
Deems like its own a stranger's truth,
And scorns the world beside!
Then life is one enchanted dream,
The hours too swift roll on;