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FROM THE FRENCH.

The moon looks through the drifting storm, “ When targets clash'd, and bugles rung,
But the troubled lake reflects not her form, And blades round warriors' heads were flung,
For the waves roll whitening to the land,

The foremost of the band were we,
And dash against the shelvy strand.

And hymn’d the joys of Liberty !" There is a voice among the trees

That mingles with the groaning oakThat mingles with the stormy breeze,

And the lake-waves dashing against the rock ;
There is a voice within the wood,

ROMANCE OF DUNOIS.
The voice of the bard in fitful mood;
His song was louder than the blast,
As the bard of Glenmore through the forest past.

The original of this little romance makes part « Wake ye from your sleep of death,

of a manuscript collection of French songs, probaMinstrels and bards of other days!

bly compiled by some young officer, which was For the midnight wind is on the heath,

found on the field of Waterloo, so much stained And the midnight meteors dimly blaze: with clay and blood, as sufficiently to indicate The spectre with his bloody hand,*

what had been the fate of its late owner. The Is wandering through the wild woodland;

song is popular in France, and is rather a good The owl and the raven are mute for dread, specimen of the style of composition to which it be And the time is meet to awake the dead ! longs. The translation is strictly literal. “ Souls of the mighty, wake and say, To what high strain your harps were strung,

It was Dunois, the young and brave, When Lochlin plough'd her billowy way,

Was bound for Palestine, And on your shores her Norsemen fung?

But first he made his orison Her Norsemen train'd to spoil and blood,

Before Saint Mary's shrine : Skill'd to prepare the raven's food,

“And grant, immortal queen of heaven,” All by your harpings doom'd to die

Was still the soldier's prayer, On bloody Largs and Loncarty.t

“ That I may prove the bravest knight,

And love the fairest fair." “ Mute are ye all: No murmurs strange Upon the midnight breeze sail by ;

His oath of honour on the shrine Nor through the pines with whistling change,

He graved it with bis sword, Mimic the harp's wild harmony!

And follow'd to the Holy Land Mute are ye now ?-Ye ne'er were mute,

The banner of his lord ; When Murder with his bloody foot,

Where, faithful to his noble vow, And Rapine with bis iron hand,

His war-cry fill'd the air, Were hovering near yon mountain strand.

“ Be honour'd aye the bravest knight,

Beloved the fairest fair.” “O yet awake the strain to tell, By every deed in song enrollid,

They owed the conquest to his arm, By every chief who fought or fell,

And then his liege lord said, For Albion's weal in battle bold ;

“ The heart that has for honour beat, From Coilgach,t first who rolled his car,

By bliss most be repaid ;-Through the deep ranks of Roman war,

My daughter Isabel and thou To him, of veteran memory dear,

Shall be a wedded pair, Who victor died on Aboukir.

For thou art bravest of the brave,

She fairest of the fair." “ By all their swords, by all their scars, By all their names, a mighty spell !

And then they bound the holy knot By all their wounds, by all their wars,

Before Saint Mary's shrine, Arise, the mighty strain to tell !

That makes a paradise on earth, Fiercer than fierce Hengist's strain,

If hearts and hands combine : More impious than the heathen Dane,

And every lord and lady bright More grasping than all-grasping Rome,

That were in chapel there, Gaul's ravening legions hither come !"

Cried, “ Honour'd be the bravest knight,

Beloved the fairest fair !"
The wind is hush'd, and still the lake-

Strange murmurs fill my tingling ears,
Bristles my hair, my sinews quake,
At the dread voice of other years

THE TROUBADOUR.
The forest of Glenmore is haunted by a spirit called

GLOWING with love, on fire for fame, Lhamdearg, or Red-hand.

A Troubadour that hated sorrow, + Where the Norwegian invader of Scotland received

Beneath his lady's window came, two bloody defeats. I The Galgacus of Tacitus.

And thus he sung his last good morrow :

“My arm it is my country's right,

Come, from Newbattle's* ancient spires, My heart is in my truelove's bower;

Bauld Lothian, with your knights and squires, Gayly for love and fame to fight

And match the mettle of your sires,
Befits the gallant Troubadour.”

Carle, now the king's come!
And while he march'd with helm on head “ You're welcome hame, my Montague !t
And harp in hand, the descant rung,

Bring in your hand the young-Buccleugh :As faithful to his favourite maid,

I'm missing some that I may rue,
The minstrel burden still he sung:

Carle, now the king's come!
“My arm it is my country's right,
My heart is in my lady's bower;

“Come, Haddington, the kind and gay, Resolved for love and fame to fight,

You've graced my causeway mony a day; I come, a gallant Troubadour."

I'll weep the cause if you should stay, E'en when the battle-roar was deep,

Carle, now the king's come! With

dauntless heart he hew'd his way “ Come, premier duket and carry doun, 'Mid splintering lance and falchion-sweep, Frae yonder craigs his ancient croun; And still was heard his warrior-lay :

It's had a lang sleep and a soun'“ My life it is my country's right,

But, Carle, now the king's come !
My heart is in my lady's bower ;
For love to die, for fame to fight,

“Come, Athole, from the hill and wood, Becomes the valiant Troubadour."

Bring down your clansmen, like a cloud ;

Come, Morton, show the Douglas blood,
Alas! upon the bloody field

Carle, now the king's come!
He fell beneath the foeman's glaive,
But still, reclining on his shield,

“Come, Tweeddale, true as sword to sheath; Expiring sung th' exulting stave :

Come, Hopetoun, fear's on fields of death; “My life it is my country's right,

Come, Clerk, and give your bugle breath;
My heart is in my lady's bower ;

Carle, now the king's come!
For love and fame to fall in fight,
Becomes the valiant Troubadour."

“Come, Wemyss, wbo modest merit aids;
Come, Roseberry, from Dalmeny shades;
Breadalbane, bring your belted plaids ;

Carle, now the king's come!
CARLE, NOW THE KING'S COME.*

“ Come, stately Niddrie, auld and true, BEING NEW WORDS TO AN AULD SPRING.

Girt with the sword that Minden knew ; The news has flown frae mouth to mouth;

We have ower few such lairds as youThe north for ance has bang'd the south ;

Carle, now the king's come! The de'il a Scotsman's die of drouth,

“ King Arthur's grown a common crier,
Carle, now the king's come.

He's heard in Fife and far Cantire,-
CHORUS.

"Fie, lads, behold my crest of fire !??
Carle, now the king's come !

Carle, now the king's come !
Carle, now the king's come!
Thou shalt dance and I will sing, “ Saint Abb roars out, I see him pass

Carle, now the king's come ! Between Tantallon and the Bass!'-
Auld England held him lang and fast;

Calton,** get on your keeking-glass, And Ireland had a joyfu' cast;

Carle, now the king's come !"
But Scotland's turn has come at last-

The carline stopp'd ; and sure I am,
Carle, now the king's come!

For very glee had ta'en a dwam,
Auld Reikie, in her rokela gray,

But Oman help'd her to a dram.Thought never to have seen the day ;

Cogie, now the king's come!
He's been a weary time away

Cogie, now the king's come!
But, Carle, now the king's come!

Cogie, now the king's comé!
She's skirling frae the Castle Hill,

I'se be four and ye's be toom,
The carline's voice is grown sae shrill,

Cogie, now the king's come!
Ye'll hear her at the Canon Mill,
Carle, now the king's come !

* Seat of the Marquis of Lothian.

+ Uncle to the Duke of Buccleugh. “Up, bairns," she cries, “ baith great and sma',

# Hamilton.

$ The castle. And busk ye for the weapon shaw

ll Wauchope of Niddrie, a noble-looking old man, and Stand by me and we'll bang them a'!

a fine specimen of an ancient baron. Carle, now the king's come !

There is to be a bonfire on the top of Arthur's seal.

** The Castle-hill commands the finest view of the Composed on the occasion of the royal visit to Scot- Frith of Forth, and will be covered with thousands. apaland, in August, 1822.

iously looking for the royal squadron.

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