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"But tell me now," said brave Dunbar,
What man shall rule the isle Britain,
Even from the north to the southern sea I"
A French queen shall bear the son,
He of the Brace's blood shall come,
"The waters worship shall his race;
Likewise the waves of the farthest sea;
With hempen bridles, and horse of tree."
Tue following attempt to commemorate the Rhymer's poetical fame, and the traditional account of his marvellous return to Fairy Land, being entirely modern, would have been placed with greater propriety among the class of-Modern Ballads, had it not been for its immediate connection with the first and second parts of the same story.
When seven years more had come and gone,
Was war through Scotland spread,
His beacon blazing red.
Then all by bonny Coldingknow,
Pitched palliouns took their room,
Glanced gaily through the broom.
The Leader, rolling to the Tweed,
Resounds the ensenzie;
To distant Torwoodlee.
The feast was spread in Ercildoune,
In Learmont's high and ancient hall;
And ladies, laced in pall.
Nor lacked they, while they sat at dine,
The music nor the tale,
Nor mantling quaighs of ale.
True Thomas rose, with harp in hand,
When as the feast was done;
The elfin harp he won.)
Hushed -were the throng, both limb and tongue,
And harpers for envy pale;
And hearkened to the tale.
In numbers high, the witching tale
The prophet poured along; No after bard might e'er avail
Those numbers to prolong.
Yet fragments of the lofty strain
Float down the tide of years, As, buoyant on the stormy main,
A parted wreck appears.
He sung King Arthur's table round:
The warrior of the lake;
And bled for ladies' sake.
But chief, in gentle Tristrem's praise,
The notes melodious swell;
The knight of Idonelle.
For Marke, his cowardly uncle's right,
A venomed wound he bore;
Upon the Irish shore.
No art the poison might withstand;
No medicine could be found, Till lovely Isolde's lilye hand
Had probed the rankling wound.
With gentle hand and soothing tongue,
She bore the leech's part;
He paid her with his heart.
O fatal was the gift, I ween!
For, doomed in evil tide,
His cowardly uncle's bride.
Their loves, their woes, the gifted bard
In fairy tissue wove;
In gay confusion strove.
The Garde Joyeuse, amid the tale,
High reared its glittering head; And Avalon's enchanted vale
In all its wonders spread.
Brangwain was there, and Segramore,
Of that famed wizard's mighty lore,
Through many a maze the winning song
In changeful passion led,
O'er Tristrem's dying bed.
His ancient wonnds their sears expand,
O where is Isolde's lilye hand,
She comes, she comes!—like flash of flame
Can lovers' footsteps fly:
To see her Tristrem die.
She saw him die: her latest sigh
The gentlest pair that Britain bare,
There paused the harp; its lingering sound
Died slowly on the ear;
For still they seemed to hear.
Then woe broke forth in murmurs weak,
But, half ashamed, the rugged cheek
On Leader's stream, and Learmont's tower,
The mists of evening close; In camp, in castle, or in bower
Each warrior sought repose.
Lord Douglas in his lofty tent,
When footsteps light, across the bent,
He starts, he wakes:—" What, Richard, ho!
Arise, my page, arise!
Dare step where Douglas lies?"
Then forth they rushed: by Leader's tide,
A selcouth sight they see—
As white as snow on Fairnalie.
Beneath the inoon, with gesture proud,
They stately move and slow;
Who marvel as they go.
To Learmont's tower a message sped,
As fast as page might run;
And soon his clothes did on.
First he woxe pale, and then woxe red;
Never a word he spake but three;— "My sand is run; my thread is spun;
This sign regardeth me."
The elfin harp his neck around,
In minstrel guise, he hung;
Its dying accents rung.
Then forth he went; yet turned him oft
To view his ancient hall;
The autumn moonbeams fall.
And Leader's waves, like silver sheen,
Danced shimmering in the ray:
Broad Soltra's mountains lay.
"Farewell, my father's ancient tower!
A long farewell," said he: "The scene of pleasure, pomp, or power,
Thou never more shalt be.
To Learmont's name no foot of earth
Shall here again belong. And on thy hospitable hearth
The hare shall leave her young.
Adieu! adieu!" again he cried,
All as he turned him roun'— "Farewell to Leader's silver tide!
Farewell to Ercildouno-!"
The hart and hind approached the place,
As lingering yet he stood;
With them he crossed the flood.
Lord Douglas leaped on his berry-brown steed,
And spurred him the Leader o'er;
He never saw them more.
Some said to hill, and some to glen,
But ne'er in haunts of living men
WAR SONG OF THE ROYAL EDINBURGH
Tub 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 Hon. Lieutenant-Colonel Dundas. The noble and constitutional measure of arming freemen in defence of their own rights, was nowhere more successful 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: "Provide ituri in ackm, et mqjores vestros elposteros 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;
We boast the red and blue.
Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown
Dull Holland's tardy train;
And, foaming, gnaw the chain;
O! had they marked the avenging call
Their brethren's murder gave,
Sought freedom in the grave!
Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head,
In Freedom's temple born,
Or brook a victor's scorn 1
No! though destruction o'er the land