of the Old World. 461 



CHORUS. 



I J m mounted ! I 'm mounted ! I 'm away like the wind ; 

 No steed in the desert can leave me behind. 

 Al-ham-du-lillah ! I fear not a foe ; 

 I 'm free as the breezes that o'er the sands blow ! 



THE WOUNDED HIGHLANDER. 



RECITATIVE. 



THE eve the Alma's heights were won, 



As o'er the field I trod, 

 I marked a wounded Hi'lander 



Lie bleeding on the sod. 

 His brother strove to stanch the wound ; 



Alas ! it was in vain : 

 Dark crimson streams flow'd on the ground ; 



And he sang this sad strain : 



" Ye maunna weep for me, Willie ! 



Oh dirina greet sae sair : 

 Ye '11 follow me ere lang, laddie, 



When we shall part na mair ! 

 Like yonder setting sun, Willie, 



E'en sae my course is run ; 

 But he will rise again, laddie, 



And I shall then be gone ! 



" May be when ye '11 gae back, Willie, 



To our hame by the burn, 

 Ye '11 tell them a' the tale, laddie, 



O' him wha '11 no return. 

 Ye'll tell them how I fo'ght, Willie, 



Like sodger true and brave ! 

 'Twill ease my mither's heart, laddie, 



When I am in the grave. 



