THE TROUBADOUR.' FROM THE SAME COLLECTION. GLOWING with love, on fire for fame, And thus he sung his last good-morrow: "My arm it is my country's right, My heart is in my true-love's bower; Gaily for love and fame to fight Befits the gallant Troubadour." And while he march'd with helm on head The minstrel-burden still he sung: Even when the battle-roar was deep, 'The original of this ballad also was written and composed by the Duchesse de St. Leu. The translation has been set to music by Mr. Thomson. See his collection of Scottish Songs. 1826.] "My life it is my country's right, My heart is in my lady's bower; For love to die, for fame to fight, Becomes the valiant Troubadour." Alas! upon the bloody field He fell beneath the foeman's glaive, But still reclining on his shield, Expiring sung the exulting stave:.66 My life it is my country's right, My heart is in my lady's bower; For love and fame to fall in fight Becomes the valiant Troubadour." 1 FROM THE FRENCH.' Ir chanced that Cupid on a season, What does he then?-Upon my life, He takes me Reason for a wife, And Folly for his hours of gaiety. Though thus he dealt in petty treason, He loved them both in equal measure, Fidelity was born of Reason, And Folly brought to bed of Pleasure. [This trifle also is from the French Collection, found a Waterloo. See Paul's Letters.] SONG, FOR THE ANNIVERSARY MEETING OF THE PITT CLUB OF SCOTLAND. [1814.] O, DREAD was the time, and more dreadful the omen, When the brave on Marengo lay slaughter'd in vain, And beholding broad Europe bow'd down by her foe men, PITT closed in his anguish the map of her reign! Not the fate of broad Europe could bend his brave spirit To take for his country the safety of shame; O, then in her triumph remember his merit, Round the husbandman's head, while he traces the furrow, The mists of the winter may mingle with rain, He may plough it with labour, and sow it in sorrow, And sigh while he fears he has sow'd it in vain; He may die ere his children shall reap in their glad ness, But the blithe harvest-home shall remember his claim; And their jubilee-shout shall be soften'd with sadness, While they hallow the goblet that flows to his name. Though anxious and timeless his life was expended, Nor forget His grey head, who, all dark in affliction, By his long reign of virtue, remember his claim! With our tribute to PITT join the praise of his Master, Though a tear stain the goblet that flows to his name. Yet again fill the wine-cup, and change the sad mea sure, The rites of our grief and our gratitude paid, To our Prince, to our Heroes, devote the bright trea sure, The wisdom that plann'd, and the zeal that obey'd! Fill WELLINGTON's cup till it beam like his glory, Forget not our own brave DALHOUSIE and GRÆME; A thousand years hence hearts shall bound at their story, And hallow the goblet which flows to their fame. SONG, ON THE LIFTING OF THE BANNER OF THE HOUSE OF BUCCLEUCH, AT A GREAT FOOT-BALL MATCH ON CARTERHAUGH.1 FROM the brown crest of Newark its summons extending, CHORUS. Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her, When the Southern invader spread waste and disorder, drew, For around them were marshall'd the pride of the Border, The Flowers of the Forest, the Bands of BUCCLEUCH. Then up with the Banner, &c. A Stripling's weak hand to our revel has borne her, No mail-glove has grasp'd her, no spearmen surround; 1 [This song appears with music in Mr. G. Thomson's Collection -1826. The foot-ball match on which it was written took place on December 5, 1815, and was also celebrated by the Ettrick Shepherd.] '[The bearer of the standard was the Author's eldest son.] |