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But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and througb To lay down thy head like the meek mountain channel, lamb:

Hardships and danger despising for fame, When, wilder'd, he drops from some cliff huge in Furnishing story for glory's bright annal, stature,

Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and hame! And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. And more stately thy couch by this desert lake Enough, now thy story in annals of glory, lying,

Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying,

Spain ;
With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, No more shalt thou grieve me, no more shalt thou
In the arms of Hellvellyn and Catchedicam.

leave me,
I never will part with my Willie again.

WANDERING WILLIE.

HUNTING SONG.

All joy was bereft me the day that you left me,

And climb'd the tall vessel to sail yon wide sea ; O weary betide it! I wander'd beside it,

And bann'd it for parting my Willie and me.

WAKEN, lords and ladies gay,
On the mountain dawns the day,
All the jolly chase is here,
With hawk, and horse, and hunting spear;
Hounds are in their couples yelling,
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,
Merrily, merrily, mingle they,
“ Waken, lords and ladies gay.”

Far o'er the wave hast thou follow'd thy fortune,

Oft fought the squadrons of France and of Spain ; Ae kiss of welcome's worth twenty at parting,

Now I hae gotten my Willic again.

When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they were

wailing, I sat on the beach wi' the tear in my e'e, And thought o' the bark where my Willie was

sailing, And wish'd that the tempest could a'blaw on me.

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Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring,

Now that my wanderer's in safety at hame,
Music to me were the wildest winds' roaring,
That e'er o'er Inch-Keith drove the dark ocean

faem.

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
The mist has left the mountain gray,
Springlets in the dawn are streaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming;
And foresters have busy been,
To track the buck in thicket green;
Now we come to chant our lay,

Waken, lords and ladies gay.”
Waken, lords and ladies gay,
To the greenwood haste away
We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot, and tall of size ;
We can show the marks he made,
When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd
You shall see him brought to bay,
“ Waken, lords and ladies gay.”

When the lights they did blaze, and the guns they

did rattle, And blithe was each heart for the great victory, In secret I wept for the dangers of battle,

And thy glory itself was scarce comfort to me.

But now shalt thou tell, while I eagerly listen,

Of each bold adventure, and every brave scar, And, trust me, I'll smile though my e'en they may

glisten; For sweet after danger's the tale of the war.

Louder, louder chant the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee,
Run a course as well as we:
Time, stern huntsman! who can balk,
Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk:
Think of this, and rise with day,
Gentle lords and ladies gay.

And O! how we doubt when there's distance 'tween

lovers, When there's naething to speak to the heart thro'

the e'e ; How often the kindest and warmest prove rovers,

And the love of the faithfullest ebbs like the sea.

THE BARD'S INCANTATION.

WRITTEN UNDER THE THREAT OF INVASION, IN THI

AUTUMN OF 1804.

Till, at times, could I help it? I pined and I pon

der'd, If love could change notes like the bird on the

tree Now I'll ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae wander'd,

Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me.

The forest of Glenmore is drear,

It is all of black pine and the dark oak tree; And the midnight wind to the mountain deer

Is whistling the forest lullaby:

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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;

FROM THE FRENCH.
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 flung?

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

Before Saint Mary's shrine : Skilld to prepare the raven's sood,

“And grant, inmortal 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 his 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 his 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 enroll'd,

They owed the conquest lo 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, 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,

That makes a paradise on earth,
Arise, the mighty strain to tell !
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 Gleninore 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 wo blondy deseats.

Beneath his lady's window came, i The Galgacus of Tacitus.

And thus he sung his last good morrow :

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“My arm it is my country's right,

“Come, from Newbattle'se 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 !+ 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'd 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, who 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 Niddriel 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 you The 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 !'9
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 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 come!
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 lo the Duke of Buccleugh. “ Up, bairns,” she cries, “ baith great and sma',

Hamilton.

$ The castle. And busk ye for the weapon shaw

Il 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 Anhur's seat.

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

| iously looking for the royal Squadron.

THE END.

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