A place in thy memory dearest . . . . . . . . . .— The rest of this text is not
currently in the database but will be
added as soon as we obtain it. —
English Melodies
by Lydia B. Smith
1. A place in thy memory dearest
2. War Song  [sung text not yet checked]
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. If ever breath of British gale Shall fan the tri-colour, 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. 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!
Authorship:
- by Walter Scott, Sir (1771 - 1832), "War Song of the Royal Edinburgh Light Dragoons"
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]3. Drink from the fount
Drink from the fount whence Lethe pours . . . . . . . . . .— The rest of this text is not
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4. The Bouquet
Oh! what shall I gather my Lady fair? . . . . . . . . . .— The rest of this text is not
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Authorship:
- by Anonymous / Unidentified Author ( L. S. )
- possibly by Lydia B. Smith
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5. The faithless knight
The lady she sate in her bower alone . . . . . . . . . .— The rest of this text is not
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6. We shall meet no more
We shall meet no more on the sunny hill . . . . . . . . . .— The rest of this text is not
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7. Oh! say not that hope ever dies
Oh! say not that hope ever dies . . . . . . . . . .— The rest of this text is not
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8. The praises of tears
Be not thy tears too harshly chid . . . . . . . . . .— The rest of this text is not
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9. We have been friends together
We have been friends together . . . . . . . . . .— The rest of this text is not
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Authorship:
- by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Sheridan (1808 - 1877), as Mrs. Norton
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10. The cavalier
When the dawn of the mountain was misty and grey . . . . . . . . . .— The rest of this text is not
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11. Nicé
Thanks Nicé to thy wild caprice . . . . . . . . . .— The rest of this text is not
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12. The Crusader's Return  [sung text not yet checked]
High deeds atchieved of knightly fame, From Palestine the champion came; The cross upon his shoulders borne, Battle and blast had dimm'd and torn. Each dint upon his batter'd shield Was token of a foughten field; And thus, beneath his lady's bower, He sung as fell the twilight hour: "Joy to the fair! - thy knight behold, Return'd from yonder land of gold; No wealth he brings, nor wealth can need, Save his good arms and battle steed; His spurs, to dash against a foe, His lance and sword to lay him low; Such all the trophies of his toil, Such - and the hope of Tekla's smile! "Joy to the fair! whose constant knight Her favour fired to feats of might; Unnoted shall she not remain Where meet the bright and noble train; Minstrel shall sing and herald tell - 'Mark yonder maid of beauty well, 'Tis she for whose bright eyes was won The listed field at Ascalon! "'Note well her smile! - it edged the blade Which fifty wives to widows made, When, vain his strength and Mahound's spell, Iconium's turban'd soldan fell. See'st thou her locks, whose sunny glow Half shows, half shades, her neck of snow; Twines not of them one golden thread, But for its sake a Paynim bled.' "Joy to the fair! - my name unknown, Each deed, and all its praise, thine own; Then, oh! unbar this churlish gate, The night-dew falls, the hour is late. Inured to Syria's glowing breath, I feel the north breeze chill as death; Let grateful love quell maiden shame, And grant him bliss who brings thee fame."
Authorship:
- by Walter Scott, Sir (1771 - 1832), "The Crusader's Return", appears in Ivanhoe, first published 1820
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Alexandre Dumas Davy de la Pailleterie) , no title
Confirmed with Ivanhoe; a Romance. By "The Author of Waverley," &c. In three volumes. Vol. II. Edinburgh: Printed for Archibald Constable and Co. Edinburgh; and Hurst, Robinson, and Co. 90, Cheapside, London. 1820, pages 43-45.
Note: The poem appears in the 17th chapter (denominated "Chapter III.") of Walter Scott's novel.
Research team for this page: Emily Ezust [Administrator] , Peter Rastl [Guest Editor]
13. Good bye!
Good bye! Good bye! I hate good bye! . . . . . . . . . .— The rest of this text is not
currently in the database but will be
added as soon as we obtain it. —