« 前へ次へ »
« Thy tower another banner knows,
Thy steeds another rein.
Thy gallant vassal train-;
So faithful once and fair,
She weds Marstettens heir.»
It is the noble Moringer
Starts up and tears his beard, w Oh would that I bad ne'er been born!
What tidings have I heard!
The less would be my care,
Should wed my lady fair!
« O good Saint Thomas, hear,» he pray'd,
« My patron saint art thou, A traitor robs inc of my land
Even while I pay my vow! My wife he brings to infamy
That was so pure of name. And I am far in foreign laud,
And must endure the shame.»
It wis the good Saint Thomas, then,
Who heard his pilgrim's prayer,
That it o'erpower'd his care;
Outstrctch'd beside a rill,
Low on the left a mill.
The Moringer he started up
As one from spell unbound, And, dizzy with surprise aud joy,
Gazed wildly all around; « I know my father's ancient towers,
The mill, the stream I know, Now blessed be my patron saint
Who checr'd his pilgrim's woe!»
He leant upon his pilgrim staff,
And to the mill he drew,
That none their master knew;
« Good friend, for charity, Tell a poor palmer in your land
What tidings may there be?»
The miller answer'd him again,
« lie knew of little news, *
Save that the lady of the land
Did a new bridegroom chuse;
Such is the constant word,
Uc was a worthy lord.
XXII. « Of him I held the little mill
Which wins me living free, God rest the baron in his grave.
He still was kind to me;
And millers take their toll,
Shall have both cope and stole.n
To climb the hill began.
A woe and weary man;
That can compassion take,
This woful match to break."
His very knock it sounded sad,
His call was sad and slow,
Were heavy all with woe;
« Friend, to thy lady say,
Graves harbour for a day.
« I Vc wander'd many a weary step,
My strength is well nigh done,
I '11 see uo morrow's sun;
A pilgrim's bed ;ind dole.
Her once loved hits baud's soul.)*
It was the stalwart warder then
He came his dame before,
Stands at the castle-door;
For harbour and for dole,
Thy noble husband's soul.w
The lady's gentle heart was moved,
« Do up the gale,» she said,
To banquet and to bed;
So that he lists to stay,
A twelvcmouth and a day.»
It was the stalwart warder then
Undid [he portal broad, It was the noble Moringer
Thn o'er the threshold strode; « And have thou thanks kind Heaven,* be swJ,
« Though from a man of sin, That the true lord stands here once more
His castlegatc within.)*
Then up the hall paced Moringer,
His step was sad and slow. It at full heavy 00, liis heart,
None scem'd their lord to know; Be sat him on a lowly bench,
Oppress'd with woe and wrong. Short space he sat, but ne'er to him
Scem'd little space so long.
Now spent was day, and feasting o'er.
Aod come was evening hour, The time was nigh when dew-made brides
Retire to nuptial bower; n Our castle's wont,» a brides-man said,
* Hath been both firm and long, No guest to harbour in our halls
Till he shall chaunt a song.»
Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there.
As he sat by the bride, 0 Sly merry minstrel folks,» quoth he,
"Lay shdlm and harp aside; Our pilgrim guest must sing a lay.
The castle's rule to hold;
With garment and with gold.n
■ Chill flows the lay of frozen age,» T was thus the pilgrim sung,
« Nor golden meed, nor garment gay.
Unlocks her heavy tongue;
At hoard as rich as thine.
With all her charms, was mine.
■ But time traced furrows on my face, And I grew silvcr-hair'd,
For locks of brown, and cheeks of youth,
She left this brow and beard;
I tread life's latest stage,
The lay of frozen agc.»
It was the noble lady there
This woful lav that hears,
Iler eye was dimm'd with tears;
A golden beaker take,
To quaff it for her sake.
It was the noble Morinjcr
That dropp'd, amid the wine,
So cosily and so fine;
It tells you hut the sooth,
He pledged his bridal truth.
Then to the cup-bearer he said,
it Do me one kindly deed, And should my better days return,
Full rich shall be thy meed;
To yonder bride so gay,.
To pledge the palmer gray.n
The cup-bearer was courtly bred,
Nor was the boon denied. The golden cup he took again,
And bore it to the bride; « Lady,» he said, «your reverend guest
Sends this, and bids me pray, That, in thy noble courtesy,
Thou pledge the palmer gray.*
The ring hath caught the lady's eye,
She views it close and near,
«The Moringer is hcro!.»
While tears in torrents fell,
The ladies best can lell.
But loud she utter d thanks to Heaven,
And every saintly power.
Before the midnight hour;
That never was there bride
Or been so sorely tried.
XL. « Yes, here I claim the praise,» she said.
« To constant matrons due, Who keep the troth that they have plight
So slcdfastly and true;
So that you count aright.
When bells toll twelve to-night.*
It was Marstetten then rose up.
His falchion there he drew, He knecl'd before the Moringer,
And down his weapon threw; « My oath and knightly faith are broke,"
These were the words he said, « Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword,
And take thy vassal's head.»
The noble Moringer he smiled.
And then aloud did say, « lie gathers wisdom thai hath roam'd
Seven twelvemonths and a day. My daughter now hath fifteen years,
Fame speaks her sweet and fair, I give her for the bride you lose.
And name her for my heir.
XI.III. « Tlie younR bridegroom hath youthful bride.
The old bridegroom the old,
So punctually were told;
But blessings on the warder kiutl That oped my castle-pate,
For had I come at morrov-tide, 1 came a day too late..
OF TBI ROTAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS.
Nenniut, Is not peace the end of orra* T
Caratoeh. Not whore tbe cause Implies a general conquest. ITad w« K difference wiih «om« pony Me, Or with our neighbours, Britons, for our landmark!, Tho taking in of some rebellious lord. Or making hrml against a slight commotion. After a day of blood, peaci- mi^ht be argued: Hot where we grapple for the land wo lite on. The liberty we bold more dear than life. The gods we norship, and, next these, our honoura. And. with those, swords, thai know no end of battle— Those men, beside tbenuelves, allow no neighbour, Tho*e minds, that. where ifao day la, claim inheritance. And, where the ann makes rip« tho fruit, their barrest. And, where thoy march, but measure out more ground
To add to Rome
It roust not bo.—No! ns ihey arc our foe*,
Let 'a use the peace of honour— that 'a fair dealing;
Bnt in our hands our iwords. Tim hardy Roman,
That thinks to graft himself into my slock.
Must first I cjjin his kindred under ground.
And be allied in ashes.
Tiie 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-Lnthian Light Cavalry, commanded by the Honourable Lieutenant-Colonel Dundas. The noble and constitutional measure, of arming freemen in defence of their own rights, was nowhere more succcs-ful than in Edinburgh, which furnished a force of 3ooo 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, might, in similar circumstances, be applied the exhortation of our ancient Galgacus: « Proinde ituri in aciem, et majorcs vestros et posteros cogitate.*
To horse! to horse! the standard flies,
The bugles sound the call;
Arouse ye, one and all!
From high Dunedin's towers we come,
A band of brothers true; Our casques the leopards spoils surround, With Scotland's hardy thistle crown'd;
We boast the red aud blue.1
1 The Royal Colours.
Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown
Dull Holland's tardy train;
And, foaming, gnaw the chain ;—
O! had they mark'd the avenging call1
Their brethren's murder gave,
Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head,
In Freedom's temple born,
Or brook a victor's scorn T
No! though destruction o'er the land
Come pouring as a Hood,
And set that night in blood.
For gold let Gallia's legions fight,
Or plunder's bloody gain;
Nor shall their edge be vain.
If ever breath of British gale
Shall fan the tri-color,
Pollute our happy shore,—
Then farewell home ! and farewell friends!
Adieu each tender tie >
To conquer, or to die.
To horse! to horse! the sabres gleam;
The allusion is to the massacre of the Swiu Gasias.«* fatal lotfa August, 1791. Ii j, painful, bat not awleu. »«•»* that the passive lumper with which the Swiss rr*a«s"sfl nW *•*» of their bravest coontrymt-n, mercilessly sfaagbwrrsl ia 4s**«r* of their duty, encourage and authorised the prjgrasM" ■J'* * by which ibe Alps, once the sat of tbe most ririHMs is J r~ people upon tho Continent, hate, at length. l*» «•»«**■" the citadel of a foreign and military despot- A sill* dejr**^ ■ half enslaved.
Red glows the forge in Striguil's bounds,
From Chepstow's towers, ere dawn of morn,
Was heard afar the bugle-horn;
And forth, in banded pomp and pride,
Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride.
They swore their banners broad should gleam,
In crimson light, on Rymny's stream;
Tbey vow'd, Caerpluli's sod should feel
The Norman charger's spurning heel.
And sooth they swore—the sun arose,
Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil
THE LAST WORDS OF CADWAIXON.
Ai«—Dafydd y Gs/Tvy-KV*.1
Dinas Em Linn, lament, for the moment is nigh,
In spring and in autumn, thy glories of shade
Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in their pride,
And oh, Dinas Emlinn! thy daughters so fair,
Then adieu, silver Teivi! I quit thy loved scene,
And adieu, Dinas Emlinn ! still green be thy shades, Uncouquer'd thy warriors, and matchless thy maids! And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can ti Farewell, my loved harp! my last treasure, farewell!
1 Darid of the white Rock.
his harp, and composed the sweet melancholy air which these verses are united, requesting that it niii be performed at his funeral.
THE MAID OF TORO.
O, Low shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro,
And weak were the whispers that waved the da wood, All as a fair maiden, bewilder d in sorrow,
Sorely sijjh'd to the breezes, and wept to the flood. « O, saints! from the mansions of bliss lowly bendin
Sweet Virgin! who hearcst the suppliants cry; Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending,
My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die!
All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle.
With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they ft Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's dre rattle,
And the chase's wild clamour, came loading the ga Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so dreary;
Slowly approaching a warrior was seen; Life's ebbing tide mark d his footsteps so weary,
Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien.
« O, save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying!
O, save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low! Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave Henry is lying;
And fast through the woodland approaches the foe.» Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow.
And scarce could she hear them, benumb'd with < spair: And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro,
For ever he set to the brave and the fair.
In the spring of i8o5, a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Ilellvellyn. His remains were uoi discovered till three months afterwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier-bitch, his constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland.
I Climb'd the dark brow of the mighty Hellvcllyn,
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty and wide; All was still, save by fits when the eagle was yelling,
And staning around me the echoes replied. . On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was
bending, And Catchcdicam its left verge was defending, One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, When I mark'd the sad spot where the wanderer had died. ■
Dark green was the spot mid the brown mountain heather.
Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay strctch'd in decay, Like the corpse of an outcast abandon d to weather,
Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay. Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, For, faithful in death, his mule favourite attended, The much-loved remains of her master defended,
And chased the hill-fox and the raven away.
How long didst thou think that his silence was slumberT
Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart?
And, oh! was it meet, that,—no requiem read o'er him,
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him,
And thou, little guardian, alone strctch'd before him,—
Unhonour'd the Pilgrim from life should depart?
When a prince to the fate of the peasant has yielded,
With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded,
Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming;
In the proudly-arched chapel the banners are beaming;
Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming,
But mccter for thee, gentle lover of nature,
To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb; When, wildcr'd, he drops from some cliff huge in stature, And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying, Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover Hying, With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying. In the arms of Hcllvcllvu and Catchcdicam.
JOCK OF HAZELDEAN.
Ait-4 BorAr Metedf.
The first stanza of this ballad is ancient. The often were written for Mr Campbell's Albyn.'s jfntkol&jy
« Why weep ye by the tide, ladie?
Why weep ye by the tide?
And ye sail be his bride:
Sae comely to be scrim—
For Jock of Hazeldean.
« Now let this wilful grief be done,
And dry that cheek so pale; Young Frank is chief of Errington,
And lord of Langley-dale;
His sword in battle kecun—
For Jock of Hazeldean.
« A chain o' gold ye sail not lack.
Nor braid to hind your hair;
Nor palfrey fresh and fair;
Shall ride our forest queeua—
For Jock of Hazeldean.
The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide.
The tapers glimmer'd fair; The priest and bridegroom wail the bride,
And dame and knight are there.
The ladie was not seen!
Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.