ROMANCE OF DUNOIS.

FROM THE FRENCH.

[1815.]

The original of this little Romance makes part of a manuscript collection of French Songs, probably compiled by some young officer, which was found on the field of Waterloo, so much stained with clay and with blood, as sufficiently to indicate what had been the fate of its late owner. The song is popular in France, and is rather a good specimen of the style of composition to which it belongs. The translation is strictly literal.

IT was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound for Palestine,

But first he made his orisons before Saint Mary's shrine:

"And grant, immortal Queen of Heaven," was still the Soldier's prayer,

"That I may prove the bravest knight, and love the fairest fair."

His oath of honour on the shrine he graved it with his sword,
And follow'd to the Holy Land the banner of his Lord;
Where, faithful to his noble vow, his war-cry fill'd the air,
"Be honour'd aye the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair."
They owed the conquest to his arm, and then his Liege-Lord said,
"The heart that has for honour beat by bliss must be repaid.—
My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a wedded pair,
For thou art bravest of the brave, she fairest of the fair.”
And then they bound the holy knot before Saint Mary's shrine,
That makes a paradise on earth, if hearts and hands combine;
And every lord and lady bright, that were in chapel there,
Cried, "Honour'd be the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair!"

THE TROUBADOUR.

FROM THE SAME COLLECTION.

GLOWING with love, on fire for fame,

[1815.]

A Troubadour that hated sorrow,
Beneath his lady's window came,
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

And harp in hand, the descant rung, As, faithful to his favourite maid,

The minstrel-burden still he sung: "My arm it is my country's right,

My heart is in my lady's bower; Resolved for love and fame to fight, I come, a gallant Troubadour."

Even when the battle-roar was deep, With dauntless heart he hew'd his way, 'Mid splintering lance and falchion

sweep,

And still was heard his warrior-lay: "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 :— "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."

SONG, 1

ON THE LIFTING OF THE BANNER OF THE HOUSE OF BUCCLEUCH, AT A GREAT FOOT-BALL MATCH ON CARTERHAUGH.

[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.

CHORUS.

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.
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 Banner, &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 up 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 but a game at foot-ball.

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.

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!

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.

LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF.

AIR-"Cadul gu lo."
[1815.]

I.

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 thee.
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo,

O ho ro, i ri ri, &c.

II.

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 draws near to thy bed.
O ho ro, i ri ri, &c.

III.

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.

THE RETURN TO ULSTER.

[1816.]

ONCE again, but how changed since my wand'rings began-
I 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 Tullamore.

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?

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 new.

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;

And the standard of Fion flash'd fierce from on high,
Like a burst of the sun when the tempest is nigh.
It seem'd that the harp of green Erin once more
Could renew all the glories she boasted of yore.—
Yet why at remembrance, fond heart, shouldst thou burn?
They were days of delusion and cannot return.

But was she, too, a phantom, the Maid who stood by,
And listed my lay, while she turn'd from mine eye?
Was she, too, a vision, just glancing to view,
Then dispersed in the sunbeam, or melted to dew?
Oh! would it had been so,-Oh! would that her eye
Had been but a star-glance that shot through the sky,
And her voice that was moulded to melody's thrill,
Had been but a zephyr, that sigh'd and was still!

A

Oh! would it had been so,-not then this poor heart
Had learn'd the sad lesson, to love and to part;
To bear, unassisted, its burthen of care,
While I toil'd for the wealth I had no one to share.
Not then had I said, when life's summer was done,
And the hours of her autumn were fast speeding on,
"Take the fame and the riches ye brought in your train,
And restore me the dream of my spring-tide again."

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN.

AIR-"A Border Melody."

The first stanza of this Ballad is ancient. The others were written for
Mr. Campbell's Albyn's Anthology.