lirik lagu the dirge of wallace - richard mitchley - thomas campbell
when scotland’s great regent, our warrior most dear
the debt of his nature did pay
t’ was edward, the cruel, had reason to fear
and cause to be struck with dismay
at the window of edward the raven did croak
though scotland a widow became;
each tie of true honor to wallace he broke~
the raven croaked “sorrow and shame!”
at eldersie castle no raven was heard
but soothings of honor and truth;
his spirit inspired the soul of the bard
to comfort the love of his youth!
they lighted the tapers at dead of night
and chanted their holiest hymn;
but her brow and her bosom were all damp with affright
her eye was all sleepless and dim!
and the lady of eldersie wept for her lord
with a death~watch beat in her lonely room
when her curtain shook of its own accord
and the raven flapped at her window board
to tell of her warrior’s doom
now sing ye the death~song, and loudly pray
for the soul of my knight so dear!
and call me a widow, this wretched day
since the warning of god is here
for a nightmare rests on my strangled sleep;
the lord of my bosom is doomed to die!
his valorous heart they have wounded deep
and the blood~red tears his country shall weep
for wallace of elderslie
yet knew not his country, that ominous hour
ere the loud matin~bell was rung
that the trumpet of death on an english tower
the dirge of her champion sung
when his dungeon light looked dim and red
on the high~born blood of a martyr slain
no anthem was sung at his lowly death~bed,~
no weeping was there when his bosom bled
and his heart was rent in twain
when he strode o’er the wreck of each well~fought field
with the yellow~haired chiefs of his native land;
for his lace was not shivered on helmet or shield
and the sword that was fit for archangel to wield
was light in his terrible hand
yet, bleeding and bound, though the “wallacewight”
for his long~loved country die,,
the bugle ne’er sung to a braver night
than william of elderslie
but the day of his triumphs shall never depart;
his head, unemtombed, shall with glory be palmed:
from its blood streaming altar his spirit shall start;
though the raven has fed on his mouldering heart
a n0bler was never embalmed!
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