“ When targets clash'd, and bugles rung, ROMANCE OF DUNOIS. The moon looks through the drifting storm, That mingles with the groaning oak- And the lake-waves dashing against the rock ; There is a voice within the wood, The voice of the bard in fitful mood; His song was louder than the blast, As the bard of Glenmore through the forest past. “ Wake ye from your sleep of death, Minstrels and bards of other days! And the midnight meteors dimly blaze: FROM THE FRENCH. 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 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 be longs. The translation is strictly literal. “ Souls of the mighty, wake and say, To what high strain your harps were strung, When Lochlin plough'd her billowy way, And on your shores her Norsemen fung? Upon the midnight breeze sail by; Mimic the barp's wild harmony ! It was Dunois, the young and brave, Was bound for Palestine, But first he made his orison Before Saint Mary's shrine : “And grant, immorta) 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, The banner of his lord ; His war-cry fill'd the air, “ Be honour'd aye the bravest knight, Beloved the fairest fair.” “O yet awake the strain to tell, By every deed in song enrollid, By every chief who fought or fell, For Albion's weal in battle bold;From Coilgach, first who rolled his car, Through the deep ranks of Roman war, To him, of veteran memory dear, Who victor died on Aboukir. “ By all their swords, by all their scars, By all their names, a mighty spell! By all their wounds, by all their wars, Arise, the mighty strain to tell ! Fiercer than fierce Hengist's strain, More impious than the heathen Dane, More grasping than all-grasping Rome, Gaul's ravening legions hither come !"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— And then they bound the holy knot Before Saint Mary's shrine, If hearts and hands combine : That were in chapel there, Cried, “ Honour'd be the bravest knight, Beloved the fairest fair !" The forest of Glenmore is haunted by a spirit called Lhamdearg, or Red-hand. + Where the Norwegian invader of Scotland received two bloody defeats. The Galgacus of Tacitus. THE TROUBADOUR. GLOWING with love, on fire for fame, 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, “ 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, Carle, now the king's come! Bring in your hand the young Buccleugh ;- 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 ! “Come, Athole, from the hill and wood, Becomes the valiant Troubadour." Bring down your clansmen, like a cloud ; Come, Morton, show the Douglas blood, Carle, now the king's come! “Come, Tweeddale, true as sword to sheath ; Expiring sung th' exulting stave : Come, Hopetoun, feard on fields of death; “My life it is my country's right, Come, Clerk, and give your bugle breath ; Carle, now the king's come! “Come, Wemyss, wbo modest merit aids; Carle, now the king's come! “Come, stately Niddrie,|| auld and true, 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, He's heard in Fife and far Cantire,- • Fie, lads, behold my crest of fire !!! Carle, now the king's come ! Carle, now the king's come ! Between Tantallon and the Bass !'- Calton,** get on your keeking-glass, And Ireland had a joyfu' cast; Carle, now the king's come !" The carline stopp'd ; and sure I am, For very glee had ta’en a dwam, But Oman help'd her to a dram.Thought never to have seen the day ; Cogie, now the king's come! Cogie, now the king's come! Cogie, now the king's come! I'se be four and ye's be toom, Cogie, 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 seat ** 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, adxland, in August, 1822. tously looking for the royal squadron. BEING NEW WORDS TO AN AULD SPRING |