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O, will you hear a knightly tale
of old Bohemian day, It was the noble Moringer
In wedlock bed he lay;
That was as sweet as May,
Unto a distant shrine,
And leave the land that's mine; Here shalt thou dwell the while in state,
So thou wilt pledge thy fay, That thou for my return wilt wait
Seven twelvemonths and a day.»
Then out and spoke that lady bright,
Sore troubled in her cheer,
What order takest thou here;
And hold thy lordly sway,
IV. · Out spoke the noble Moringer,
« Of that have thou no care,
Of me holds living fair ;
My vassals and my state,
The vow which I have plight;
Remember thy true knight;
For vain were sorrow now,
From bed he made him bowne,
With ewer and with gown:
"T was furrd with miniver,
True vassal art thou mine,
In that proved worth of thine,
And lead my vassal train,
Till I return again.»
And sturdily said he,
And take this rede from me;
Seven twelvemonths didst thou say?
His heart was full of care,
He was Marstetteu's heir,
« Thou trusty squire to me,
To lead my vassal band;
Till seven long years are gone,
But fiery, hot, and young,
With too presumptuous tongue, « My noble lord, cast care away,
And on your journey wend, And trust this charge to me until Your pilgrimage have end.
XII. « Rely upon my plighted faith,
Which shall be truly tried, To guard your lands, and ward your towers,
And with your vassals ride ;
So virtuous and so dear,
When thus he heard him speak,
And sorrow left his cheek; A long adieu he bids to all
loists top-sails and away,
Within an orchard slept,
A boding vision crept;
u 'T is time, Sir Knight, to wake, Thy lady and thine heritage
Another master take.
Thy steeds another rein,
Thy gallant vassal train ;
So faithful once and fair,
Starts up and tears his beard, « Oh would that I had ne'er been born!
What tidings have I heard !
The less would be my care,
XVII. « () good Saint Thomas, hear,» he pray'd,
« My patron saint art thou, A traitor robs me of my land
Even while I pay my vow! My wife he brings to infamy
That was so pure of name,
Who heard his pilgrim's prayer,
That it o'erpower d his care ;
Outstretch'd beside a rill,
As one from spell unbound, And, dizzy with surprise and joy,
Gazed wildly all around; « I know my father's ancient towers,
The mill, the stream I know,
And to the mill he drew,
Tbat none their master knew;
« Good friend, for charity, Tell a poor palmer in your land What tidings may there be ?»
«He knew of little news, Save that the lady of the land
Did a new bridegroom chuse;
Such is the constant word,
He was a worthy lord.
XXII. « Of him I held the little mill
Which wins me living free,
He still was kind to me;
And millers take their toll,
To climb the hill began,
A woe and weary man;
That can compassion take,
His call was sad and slow,
Were heavy all with woe;
« Friend, to thy lady say,
XXV. « I've wander'd many a weary step,
My strength is well nigh dove,
I'll see no morrow's sun;
A pilgrim's bed and dole,
He came his dame before,
Stands at the castle-door;
For harbour and for dole,
« Do up the gate,” she said,
To banquet and to bed;
So that he lists to stay,
Undid the portal broad,
Thrt o'er the threshold strode; « And have thou thaoks, kind Heaven, be saha
« Though from a man of sin, That the true lord stands here once more
His castle gate within.»
His step was sad and slow,
None seem'd their lord to know; He sat him on a lowly bench,
Oppress'd with woe and wrong,
And come was evening hour,
Retire to nuptial bower;
Hath been both firm and long,
As he sat by the bride, « My merry minstrel folks,» quoth he,
« Lay shalm and harp aside; Our pilgrim guest must sing a lay,
The castle's rule to hold;
T was thus the pilgrim sung,
Uelocks her heavy tongue;
At board as rich as thine,
And I grew silver-haird, For locks of brown, and cheeks of youth,
She left this brow and beard;
I tread life's latest stage,
This woful lay that hears, And for the aged pilgrim's grief
Her eye was dimmd with tears ;
A golden beaker take,
That dropp'd, amid the wide,
So costly and so fine;
It tells you but the sooth,
He pledged his bridal truth,
XXXVI. Then to the cup-bearer he said,
« Do me one kindly deed, And should my better days return,
Full rich shall be thy meed;
To yonder bride so gay, .
Nor was the boon denied,
And bore it to the bride ;
Sends this, and bids me pray,
She views it close and near,
« The Moringer is here!»
While tears in torrents fell,
And every saintly power,
Before the midnight hour;
That never was there bride
XL. « Yes, here I claim the praise,» she said,
« To constant matrons due, Who keep the troth that they have plight
So stedfastly and true;
So that you count aright,
His falchion there he drew,
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.»
And then aloud did say,
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.
The old bridegroom the old,
So punctually were told;
But blessings on the warder kind
That oped my castle-gate,
I came a day too late.»
Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown
Dull Holland's tardy train;
And, foaming, guaw the chain ;
Caratach. Not where the cause implies a general conquest.
0! had they mark'd the avenging call
Their brethren's murder gave, Disunion ne'er their raoks bad mown, Nor patriot valour, desperate grown,
Sought freedom in the grave!
Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head,
In Freedom's temple born,
Or brook a victor's scora ?
No! though destruction o'er the land
Come pouring as a flood,
And set that night in blood.
For gold let Gallia's legions fight,
Or plunder's bloody gain ;
Nor shall their edge be vain.
Tue 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 nowhere 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, might, 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,
Pollute our happy shore,
Then farewell home! and farewell friends!
Adieu each tender tie!
To conquer, or to die.
To horse! to horse! the standard flies,
The bugles sound the call;
Arouse ye, one and all!
To horse! to horse! the sabres gleam;
High sounds our bugle call;
From high Dunedio's towers we come,
A band of brothers true;
"The Royal Colours.
The allusion is to the massacre of the Swiss Gerda fatal 10th August, 1792. It is painful, but not useless to that the passive temper with which the Swiss regarded the of their bravest countrymen, mercilessly slaughtened ta of their duty, encouraged and authorized the progress | by wbich the Alps, once the s-at of the most virtua people upon the Continent, have, at leagth, les au the citadel of a foreign and military despor. Astste en balf enslaved.
Combined by honour's sacred tie,
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. Tas 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, unhonour'd 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 rapture, 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, stow, Lords-Marchers of Monmouthshire. Rymny is a And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's side ; stream which divides the counties of Moomouth 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 very ancient castle.
And oh, Dinas Emlinn! thy daughters so fair,
What tuneful enthusiast shall worship their eye,
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 a 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,
And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold.
And adieu, Dinas Emlinn! still green be thy shades,
Uoconquer'd 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 bugle-horn;
Farewell, my loved harp! my last treasure, farewell !
THE MAID OF TORO.
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 bearest the suppliant's cry; And sooth they vowd--the trampled green Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending, Showd where hot Neville's charge had been: My Heary restore, or let Eleanor die! In every sable hoof-tramp stood A Norman horseman's cardling blood'
All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle,
With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they fai Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil
Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's drea 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 gak 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!
0, save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low! THE LAST WORDS OF CADWALLON. Deadly cold on yon heath thv brave lleury is lying; Arr-Dafydd y Garreg-wen,'
And fast through the woodland approaches the foe.
Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow, Tukre is a tradition that Dafydd y Garreg-wen, a fa.
And scarce could she hear them, benumb'd with d ious Welsh Bard, being on his death-bed, called for
And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro, David of the white Rock.
For ever he set to the brave and the fair.