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XLIII. « The young bridegroom hath youthful bride,

The old bridegroom the old,
Whose faith was kept till term and tide

So punctually were told;

But blessings on the warder kind

That oped my castle-gate, For had I come at morrow-lide,

I came a day too late.»

Miscellanies.

WAR-SONG

OT TIE ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS.

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, gnay the chain ;

O! 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!

Nennius. Is not peace the end of arms ?

Caratach. Not where the cause implies a general conquest. Had we a difference with some potty isle, Or with our neic;hbours, Britons, for our landmarks, The taking in of some rebellious lord, Or making head against a slight commotion, After a day of blooil, peace might he argued : But where we grapple for ibe land we live on, The liherly we hold more dear than life, The gods we worship, and, next these, our honours, And, with those, swords, that know no end of battleThose men, beside themselses, allow no neighbour, Those minds, that, where the day is, claim inheritance, And, where the sun makes ripe the fruit, their harvest, And, where they march, but measure out more ground To add to RomeIt must not be.No! as they are our foes, Let's use the peace of honour--that's fair dealing; But in our hands our swords. The hardy Roman, That thinks to prait himself into my stok, Must first hegin his kindred under ground, And be allied in ashes.

Bonduca.

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The following War-song was written during the apprehension of an invasion. The

corps

of volunteers, to which it was addressed, was raised in 1797, consisting of gentlemen, mounted and armed at their own expense. It still subsists, as the Right Troop of the Royal Mid-Lothian Light Cavalry, commanded by the Honourable Lieutenant-Colonel Dundas. The noble and constitutional measure, of arming freemen in defence of their own rights, was powiere more succes ful than in Edinburgh, which furnished a force of 3000 armed and disciplined volunteers, including a regiment of cavalry, from the city and county, and two corps of artillery, each capable of serving twelve guns. To such a force, above all others, miglit, in similar circumstances, be applied the exhortation of our ancient Galgacus: « Proinde ituri in aciem, et majores vestros et posteros cogitate

If ever breath of British gale

Shall fan the tri-color, 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 standard flies,

The bucles sound the call; The Gallic navy stems the seas, The voice of Battle's on the breeze,

Arouse ye, one and all !

To horse! io horse! the sabres gleam;

High sounds our bugle call;

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.

The allusion is to the massacre of the Swiss Guards, on the fata! 10th August, 1792.

It is painful, but not useless, to remark, that the passive tumper with which the Swiss regarded the death of their Iravest countrymun, mercilessly slaughtered in discharge of their duty, encouragd and autborized the progressive injustico by which the Alps, once the sat of the most virtuous and frue people upon the Continent, have, at length, been converted into ihe citadel of a foreign and military despot. A state degraded is balf enslaved.

"The Royal Colours.

Combined by honour's sacred lie,
Our word is, Laws and Liberty!

March forward, one and all !

his harp, and composed the sweet melancholy air to which these verses are united, requesting that it might be performed at his funeral.

THE NORMAN HORSE-SHOE.

DINAS Emlinn, lament, for the moment is nigh,

When mute in the woodlands thine echoes shall die; Air-The War-song of the Men of Glamorgan.

No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall rave,

And mix his wild notes with the wild dashing wave. The Welsh, inhabiting a mountainous country, and possessing only an inferior breed of horses, were usually In spring and in autumn, thy glories of shade unable to encounter the shock of the Anglo-Norman Unhonour'd shall flourish, uphonourd shall fade; cavalry. Occasionally, however, they were successful For soon shall be lifeless the eye and the tongue, in repelling the invaders; and the following verses That view'd them with raplure, with rapture that sung. are supposed to celebrate a defeat of Clare, Earl of Striguil and Pembroke, and of Neville, Baron of Chep- Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in their pride, slow, Lords-Marchers of Monmouthshire. Rymny is a And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's side ; stream which divides the counties of Monmouth and But where is the harp shall give life to their name? Glamorgan : Caerphili, the scene of the supposed bat-And where is the bard shall give heroes their fame? tle, is a vale upon its banks, dignified by the ruins of a

And oh, Dinas Emlinn! thy daughters so fair, very ancient castle.

Who heave the white bosom, and wave the dark hair;

What tuneful enthusiast shall worship their eye,
RED glows the forge in Striguil's bounds,

When half of their charms with Cadwallon shall die?
And hammers din and anvil sounds,
And armourers, with iron toil,

Then adieu, silver Teivi! I quit thy loved scene,
Barb many å steed for battle's broil.

To join the dim choir of the bards who have been;
Foul fall the hand which bends the steel

With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the Old,
Around the courser's thundering heel,

And sage Talicssin, high harping to hold.
That e'er shall dint a sable wound
On fair Glamorgan's velvet ground !

And adieu, Dinas Emlinn! still green be tly shades,

Unconquerd thy warriors, and matchless thy maids!
From Chepstow's towers, ere dawn of morn, And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can tell,
Was heard afar the hugle-horn;

Farewell, my loved harp! my lasi treasure, farewell!
And forth, in banded pomp and pride,
Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride.
They swore their banners broad should gleam,

THE MAID OF TORO.
In crimson light, on Rymny's stream;
They vow'd, Caerphili's sod should feel

0, low shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro,
The Norman charger's spurning heel.

And weak were the whispers that waved the dark

wood,
And sooth they swore- the sun arose,

All as a fair maiden, bewilder'd in sorrow,
And Rymny's wave with crimson glows;

Sorely sigh'd to the breezes, and wept to the flood.
For Clare's red banner, floating wide,

« 0, saints! from the mansions of bliss lowly bending; Roll'd down the stream to Severn's tide!

Sweet Virgin! who hearest the suppliant's cry;
And sooth they vowd-the trampled green

Now grant my petition, in anguislı ascending,
Showd where hot Neville's charge had been: My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die!
In every sable hoof-tramp stood
A Norman horseman's curdling blood!

All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle,

With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they fail, Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil Till the shout, and the gruan, and the conflicts dread That arm'd stout Clare for Cambrian broil;

rattle, Their orphans long the art may rue,

And the chase's wild clamour, came loading the gale. For Neville's war-horse forged the shoe.

Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so dreary;
No more the stamp of armed steed

Slowly approaching a warrior was seen ;
Shall dint Glamorgan's velvet mead;

Life's ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so weary,
Nor trace be there, in early spring,

Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien.
Save of the fairies' emerald ring.

« 0, save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying!

O, save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low! THE LAST WORDS OF CADWALLON. Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave Henry is lying; Air-Dafydd y Garreg-wen.'

And fast through the woodland approaches the foe.»—

Scarce could le falter the vidinys of sorrow,
There is a tradition that Dafydd y Garreg-wen, a fa-

And scarce could she hear them, benumb'd with demous Welsh Bard, being on his death-bed, called for And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro,

spair: 1 David of the white Rock.

For ever he set to the brave and the fair.

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HELLVELLYN.

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN.

AIR-A Border Melody. In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition, perished by Josing the first stanza of this ballad is ancient. The others his way on the mountain Hellvellyn. His remains were written for Mr Campbell's Albyn's Anthology. were not discovered till three months afterwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier-bitch, his constant attendant during frequent solitary ram «Why weep ye by the tide, ladie? bles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmore Why weep ye by the tide? land.

I'll wed ye to my youngest son,

And ye sall be his bride:

And ve sill be bis bride, ladie, I climb'p the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn,

Sae comely to be seen »-
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty and But aye she loot the tears down fa
wide;

For Jock of Hazeldean.
All was still, save by fits when the eagle was yelling,
And starting around me the echoes replied.

« Now let this wilful grief be done, On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was And dry that clieck so pale; bending,

Young Frank is chief of Errington, And Catchedicam its left verge was defending,

And lord of Langley-dale; Onc huge nameless rock in the front was ascending,

His step is first in peaceful ha', When I mark'd the sad spot where the wanderer bad His sword in battle keen»-died.

But aye

she loot the tears down fa

For Jock of Hazeldean. Dark green was the spot mid the brown mountain heather,

« A chain o' gold ye sall not lack, Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretch'd in decay,

Nor braid to bind your hair; Like the corpse of an outcast abandon d to weather,

Nor metted hound, nor managed hawk, Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay.

Nor palfrey fresh and fair; Nor yet quite deserted, thoughi lonely extended,

And

you, the foremost o'them a, For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended,

Shall ride our forest queen»The much-loved remains of her master defended,

But aye she loot the tears down fa' And chased the hill-fox and the raven away.

For Jock of llazeldean.

How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber?
When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou

start?
How many long days and long weeks didst thou number,

Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart?
And, oh! was it meet, that, -no requiem read o'er him,
No mother 10 weep, and no friend to deplore him,
And thou, little guardian, alone stretch'd before him,-

Unhonour'd the Pilgrim from life should depart?

The kirk was deckd at morning-tide,

The tapers glimmer d fair;
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,

And dame and knight are there.
They sought her both by bower and ha',

The ladie was not seen!
She's o'er the Border, and awa'

Wi' Jock of Hazeldeau.

LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF.

When a prince to the fate of the peasant has yielded,

The tapestry waves dark round the diin-liglited hall;
With scutchcons of silver the coffin is shielded,

And pages stand mute by the canopied pall:
Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are

cleaming;
In the proudly-arched chapel the banners are beaming;
Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming,

Lamenting a chief of the people should full.

Are --Gadil gu lo.
O nusu thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight;
Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright;
The woods and the gleus, from the lowers which we see,
They all are belonging, dear baby, to thee.

O ho ro, i ri ri, cadil gulo,
O ho ro, i ri ri, etc.

But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,

O fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows, To lay down thy licad like the meek mountain lamb; It calls but the warders that guard thy repose; When, wilderd, he drops from some cliff huge in their bows would be bended, their blades would be red, stature,

Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.
And draws bis last sob by the side of his dam.

O ho ro, i ri ri, etc.
Aud more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying,
Thy obsegnies sung by the gray plover tlying,
With one faithful friind but to witness thy dying,

1. Sleep on till day. These words, adapted to a melody some

wbat different from the original, are sung in my friend Nr Terry's To the arms of Hellvellya and Catchedicam.

drama of Guy Manpering.

O hush thee, my babie, the time soon will come,
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum;
Then hush chee, my darling, take rest wbile you may,
For strife comes with manbood, and waking with day.

O ho ro, i ri ri, etc.

Faster come, faster come,

Faster and faster, Chief, vassal, page,

and

groom, Tenant and master.

PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU.

Fast they come, fast they come;

See how they gather!
Wide waves the eagle plume,

Blended with heather.
Cast your plaids, draw your blades,

Forward each man set! Pibroch of Dovuil Dhu,

Knell for the onset!

Written for Albyn's Anthology.

AIR-Piobair of Dhonuil Duidh.'

NORA'S VOW.

Written for Allyn's Anthology.

AIR-Cha teid nis a chaoidh.'

This is a very ancient pibroch belonging to the Clan Mac-Donald, and supposed to refer to the expedition of Donald Balloch, who, io 1431, launched from the Isles with a considerable force, invaded Lochaber, and al Inverlochy defeated and put to flight the Earls of Mar and Caithness, though at the head of an army superior to his own. The words of the set theme, or melody, to which the pipe variations are applied, run thus in Gaelic:

Piobaireachd Dhonuil, piobaireachd Dhonuil;
Piohaireachd Dhonuil Duidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil;
Piobaireachd Dhonuil Duidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil;
Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi.
The pipe-summons of Donald the Black,
The pipe-sommons of Donald the Black,
The war-pipe and the pennon are at the gathering-place on

Inverlochy.

In the original Gaelic, the lady makes protestations that she will not go with the Red Earl's son until the swan should build in the cliff, and the eațle in the lake -until one mountain should change places with another, and so forth. It is but fair to add, that there is no authority for supposing that she altered her mindexcept the vehemence of her protestation.

PIBROCI of Donuil Dhu,

Pibroch of Donuil, Wake thy wild voice anew,

Summon Clao-Conuil. Come away, come away,

Hark to the summons ! Come in your war array,

Gentles and commons.

Hear what Highland Nora said,
« The Earlie's son I will not wed,
Should all the race of nature die,
And none be left bui he and s.
For all the gold, for all the gear,
And all the lands both far and near,
That ever valour lost or won,
I would not wed the Earlie's son.»

Come from deep glen, and

From mountain so rocky, The war-pipe and pennon

Are at Inverlochy: Come every hill-plaid, and

True heart that wears one, Come every

steel blade, and Strong hand that bears one.

«A maiden's vows,» old Callum spoke,
« Are lightly made, and lightly broke;
The lieather on the mountain's height
Begios to bloom in purple light;
The frost-wind soon shall sweep away
That lustre deep from glen and brae;
Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone,
May blithely wed the Earlie's son.»
« The swan, she said, "the lake's clear breast
May barter for the eagle's nest;
The Awe's fierce stream may

backward
Ben-Cruaichan fall, and crush Kilchurn,
Our kilted clans, when blood is high,
Before their foes may turn and fly;
But I, were all these marvels donc,
Would never wed the Earlie's son.»

Leave untended the herd,

The flock without shelter;. Leave the corpse uninterr'd,

The bride at the altar; Leave the deer, leave the steer,

Leave nets and barges; Come with your fighting gear,

Broadswords and targes.

Come as the winds come,

when Forests are rended; Come as the waves come, when

Navies are stranded:

Still in the water-lily's shade * Her wonted nest the wild-swan made, Ben-Cruaichan stauds as fast as ever, Still downward fosms the Awe's fierce river; To shun the clash of foeman's steel, No Highland brogue has turu'd the heel; But Nora's heart is lost and won, She's wedded to the Earlie's son!

I The Pibrocb of Donald the Black.

"I will never go with him..

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