(1815.) (From the French of Hortense Beau (From the French of Hortense Beau. harnois, Ex-Queen of Holland.)

harnois.) It was Dunois, the young and brave, Glowing with love, on fire for same, was bound for Palestine,

A 'Troubadour that hated sorrow, But first he made his orisons before Beneath his Lady's window came, Saint Mary's shrine :

And thus he sung his last good• And grant, immortal Queen of

Heaven,' was still the soldier's 'My arm it is my country's right,

My heart is in my true-love's bower; "That I may prove the bravest knight, Gaily for love and fame to fight and love the fairest fair.'

Befits the gallant Troubadour.'


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His oath of honour on the shrine he

And while he march'd with helm on graved it with his sword,

head And follow'd to the Holy Land the And harp in hand, the descant rung, banner of his Lord ;

As, faithful to his favourite maid, Where, faithful to his noble vow, his The minstrel-burden still he sung : war-cry fill’d the air,

My arm it is my country's right, •Be honour'd aye the bravest knight, My heart is in my lady's bower; beloved the fairest fair.'

Resolved for love and fame to fight,

I come, a gallant Troubadour.' They owed the conquest to his arm, and Even when the battle-roar was deep, then his Liege-Lord said,

With dauntless heart he hew'd his • The heart that has for honour beat

way, by bliss must be repaid.

'Mid splintering lance and falchionMy daughter Isabel and thou shall be

sweep, a wedded pair,

And still was heard his warrior-lay: For thou art bravest of the brave, she

‘My life it is my country's right, fairest of the fair.'

My heart is in my lady's bower;

For love to die, for fame to fight, And then they bound the holy knot

Becomes the valiant Troubadour.' before Saint Mary's shrine, That makes a paradise on earth, if Alas! upon the bloody field

hearts and hands combine; He fell beneath the foeman's glaive, And every lord and lady bright, that But still reclining on his shield, were in chapel there,

Expiring sung the exuiting stave: Cried,'Honour'd be the bravest knight, My life it is my country's right, beloved the fairest fair!'

My heart is in my lady's bower; For love and fame to fall in fight

Becomes the valiant Troubadour.'


(1815.) It chanced that Cupid on a season,

By Fancy urged, resolved to wed, But could not settle whether Reason

Or Folly should partake his bed.

What does he then ?-Upon my life,

'Twas bad example for a deityHe 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 mea

sure; Fidelity was born of Reason,

And Folly brought to bed of Pleasure.


When the Southern invader spread

waste and disorder, At the glance of her crescents he

paused and withdrew, For around them were marshall'd the

pride of the Border, The Flowers of the Forest, the

Bands of Buccleuch.

Then up with the ner, &c. A Stripling's weak hand to our revel

has borne her, No mail-glove has grasp'd her, no

spearmen surround; But ere a bold foeman should scathe

or should scorn her, A thousand true hearts would be

cold on the ground, Then


with the Banner, &c. We forget each contention of civil

dissension, And hail, like our brethren, Home,

Douglas, and Car: And Elliot and Pringle in pastime

shall mingle, As welcome in peace as their fathers

in war.

Then up with the Banner, &c. Then strip, lads, and to it, though

sharp be the weather, And if, by mischance, you should

happen to fall, There are worse things in life than

a tumble on heather, And life is itself butagamę at football.

Then up with the Banner, &c. And when it is over, we'll drink a

blithe measure To each Laird and each Lady that

witness'd our fun, And to every blithe heart that took

part in our pleasure,
To the lads that have lost and the

lads that have won.
Then up with the Banner, &c.



(1815.) From the brown crest of Newark its

summons extending, Our signal is waving in smoke and

in flame; And each forester blithe, from his

mountain descending, Bounds light o'er the heather to

join in the game.


Then up with the Banner, let forest

winds fan her, She has blazed over Ettrick eight

ages and more; In sport we'll attend her, in battle

defend her, With heart and with hand, like our

fathers before."

May the Forest still flourish, both

Borough and Landward,
From the hall of the Peer to the

Herd's ingle-nook ;
And huzza! my brave hearts, for

Buccleuch and his standard, For the King and the Country, the

Clan and the Duke!

O hush thee, my babie, the time soon

will come When thy sleep shall be broken by

trumpet and drum ; Then hush thee, my darling, take rest

while you may, For strife comes with manhood, and

waking with day.

O ho ro, i ri ri, &c.


Then up with the Banner, let forest

winds fan her, She has blazed over Ettrick eight

ages and more ; In sport we'll attend her, in battle

defend her, With heart and with hand, like our

fathers before.

(1816.) Once again,-but how changed since

my wand'rings beganI have heard the deep voice of the

Lagan and Bann, And the pines of Clanbrassil resound

to the roar That wearies the echoes of fair Tulla

more. Alas! my poor bosom, and why

shouldst thou burn? With the scenes of my youth can

its raptures return? Can I live the dear life of delusion again, That flow'd when these echoes first

mix'd with my strain ?



O Hush thee, my babie, thy sire was

a knight, Thy mother a lady, both lovely and

bright; The woods and the glens, from the

towers which we see, They all are belonging, dear babie, to


O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo,
O ho ro, i ri ri, &c

It was then that around me, though

poor and unknown, High spells of mysterious enchantment

were thrown; The streams were of silver, of diamond

the dew, The land was an Eden, for fancy was


O fear not the bugle, though loudly

it blows, It calls but the warders that guard thy

repose ; Their bows would be bended, their

blades would be red, Ere the step of a foeman drew near

to thy bed.

O ho ro, i ri ri, &c.

I had heard of our bards, and my soul

was on fire At the rush of their verse, and the

sweep of their lyre: To me 'twas not legend, nor tale to the

ear, But a vision of noontide, distinguish'd

and clear.

Ultonia's old heroes awoke at the call, And renew'd the wild pomp of the chase and the hall ;

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. And the standard of Fion flash'd fierce from on high,

(1816.) Like a burst of the sun when the tempest is nigh.

Why weep ye by the tide, ladie ? It seem'd that the harp of green Erin Why weep ye by the tide ? once more

I'll wed ye to my youngest son, Could renew all the glories she And ye sall be his bride: boasted of yore.

And ye sall be his bride, ladie, Yet why at remembrance, fond heart, Sae comely to be seen'shouldst thou burn?

But aye she loot the tears down fa' They were days of delusion, and For Jock of Hazeldean.'

cannot return. But was she, too, a phantom, the Maid Now let this wilfu' grief be done, who stood by,

And dry that cheek so pale ; And listed my lay, while she turn'd Young Frank is chief of Errington, from mine eye?

And lord of Langley-dale ; Was she, too, a vision, just glancing to His step is first in peaceful ha', view,

His sword in battle keen 'Then dispersed in the sunbeam, or But aye she loot the tears down fa' melted to dew ?

For Jock of Hazeldean. Oh! would it had been so,--oh! would that her eye

A chain of gold ye sall not lack, Had been but a star-glance that Nor braid to bind your hair; shot through the sky,

Nor mettled hound, nor managed And her voice, that was moulded to

hawk, melody's thrill,

Nor palfrey fresh and fair ; Had been but a zephyr, that sigh'd | And you, the foremost o’them a', and was still !

Shall ride our forest queen'Oh! would it had been so,-- not then

But aye she loot the tears down fa' this poor heart

For Jock of Hazeldean. Had learn'd the sad lesson, to love and to part;

The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide, To bear, unassisted, its burthen of care, The tapers glimmer'd fair ; While I toil'd for the wealth I had no The priest and bridegroom wait the one to share.

bride, Not then had I said, when life's And dame and knight are there. summer was done,

They sought her baith by bower and And the hours of her autumn were

ha'; fast speeding on,

The ladie was not seen! • Take the fame and the riches ye She's o'er the Border, and awa' brought in your train,

Wi' Jock of Hazeldean. And restore me the dream of my spring-tide again.'

1 The first stanza, is ancient.




(From the Gaelic.)

(1816.) PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu,

Pibroch of Donuil, Wake thy wild voice anew,

Summon Clan-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 but he and I.
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.'

"A maiden's vows,' old Callum spoke,

Are lightly made and lightly broke ; The heather on the mountain's height Begins 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.'

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. 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 : Faster come, faster come,

Faster and faster, Chief, vassal, page

Tenant and master.

* The swan,' she said, 'the lake's clear

breast May barter for the eagle's nest; The Awe's fierce stream may back

ward turn, Ben-Cruaichan fall, and crush Kil

churn; Our kilted clans, when blood is high, Before their foes may turn and fly; But I, were all these marvels done, Would never wed the Earlie's son.'

and groom,

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 Donuil Dhu,

Knell for the onset !

Stili in the water-lily's shade
Her wonted nest the wild-swan made;
Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever,
Still downward foams the Awe's fierce

river; To shun the clash of foeman's steel No Highland brogue has turn’d the

heel ; But Nora's heart is lost and won,

-She's wedded to the Earlie's son!

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