XXXV. It was the noble Moringer That dropp'd, amid the wine, A bridal-ring of burning gold, Now listen, gentles, to my song, Then to the cup-bearer he said, The cup-bearer was courtly bred, "Lady," he said, "your reverend guest Sends this, and bids me pray, That, in thy noble courtesy, Thou pledge the palmer gray." The ring hath caught the lady's eye, Then might you see her start from seat, XXXIX. But loud she utter'd thanks to heaven, That had return'd the Moringer WAR-SONG And loud she utter'd vow on vow, That never was there bride That had like her preserved her troth, Or been so sorely tried. XL. "Yes, here I claim the praise," she said, "To constant matrons due, Who keep the troth that they have plight For count the term how'er you will, It was Marstetten then rose up, "Then take, my liege, thy vassal's sword, And take thy vassal's head." Miscellanies. OF THE ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS. Nennius. Is not peace the end of arms? 1797, consisting of gentlemen, mounted and armed at their own expense. It still subsists, as the Right Troop of the Royal Mid-Lothian Light Cavalry, commanded by the honourable lieutenant-colonel Caratach. Not where the cause implies a general con- Dundas. The noble and constitutional measure, of quest. Had we a difference with some petty isle, Or with our neighbours, Britons, for our landmarks, The taking in of some rebellious lord, Or making head against a slight commotion, It must not be.-No! as they are our foes, Let's use the peace of honour-that's fair dealing; Bonduca. THE following War-song was written during the apprehension of an invasion. The corps of volunteers, to which it was addressed, was raised in arming freemen in defence of their own rights, was nowhere more successful than in Edinburgh, which furnished a force of 3000 armed and disciplined volunteers, including a regiment of cavalry, from the city and county, and two corps of artillery, each capable of serving twelve guns. To such a force, above all others, might, in similar circumstances, be applied the exhortation of our ancient Galgacus: "Proinde ituri in aciem, et majores vestros et posteros cogitate." To horse! to horse! tne standard flies, From high Dunedin's towers we come, Our casques the leopard's spoils surround, 424 With Scotland's hardy thistle crowned; Their ravished toys though Romans mourn, O! had they marked the avenging callt Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head, Or brook a victor's scorn? Unbribed, unbought, our swords we draw, If ever breath of British gale Or footstep of invader rude, With rapine foul, and red with blood, Then farewell home! and farewell friends! Resolved, we mingle in the tide, To horse! to horse! the sabres gleam; THE NORMAN HORSE-SHOE. Air-The War-song of the Men of Glamorgan. THE Welsh, inhabiting a mountainous country, and possessing only an inferior breed of horses, were usually unable to encounter the shock of the Anglo Norman cavalry. Occasionally, however, they were successful in repelling the invaders; and the following verses are supposed to celebrate a defeat of Clare, earl of Striguil and Pembroke, and of Neville, baron of Chepstow, lords-marchers of Monmouthshire. Rymny is a stream which divides the counties of Monmouth and Glamorgan: Caerphili, the scene of the supposed battle, is a vale upon its banks, dignified by the ruins of a very ancient castle. The royal colours. RED glows the forge in Striguil's bounds, They swore their banners broad should gleam, A Norman horseman's curdling blood! THE LAST WORDS OF CADWALLON. THERE is a tradition that Dafydd y Garreg-wen, a famous Welsh bard, being on his death-bed, called for his harp, and composed the sweet melancholy air to which these verses are united, requesting that it might be performed at his funeral. DINAS EMLINN, lament, for the moment is nigh, When mute in the woodlands thine echoes shall die; No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall rave, And mix his wild notes with the wild dashing wave. In spring and in autumn, thy glories of shade Unhonour'd shall flourish, unhonour'd shall fade; For soon shall be lifeless the eye and the tongue, That view'd them with rapture, with rapture that sung. Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in their pride, And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's side; But where is the harp shall give life to their name? And where is the bard shall give heroes their fame? And oh, Dinas Emlinn! thy daughters so fair, Who heave the white bosom, and wave the dark hair; What tuneful enthusiast shall worship their eye, When half of their charms with Cadwallon shall die? Then adieu, silver Teivi! I quit thy loved scene, To join the dim choir of the bards who have been; With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the Old, And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold. The allusion is to the massacre of the Swiss guards, on the fatal 10th of August, 1792. It is painful, but not useless, to remark, that the passive temper with which the Swiss regarded the death of their bravest countrymen, mercilessly slaughtered in discharge of their duty, en- And adieu, Dinas Emlinn! still green be thy shades, couraged and authorized the progressive injustice by which the Alps, once the seat of the most virtuous and Unconquer'd thy warriors, and matchless thy maids! free people upon the continent, have, at length, been converted into the citadel of a foreign and military despot. A state degraded is half enslaved. • David of the white Rock. And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can tell, Farewell, my lov'd harp! my last treasure, farewell! THE MAID OF TORO. 9, Low shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro, And weak were the whispers that waved the dark wood, All as a fair maiden, bewildered in sorrow, Sorely sigh'd to the breezes, and wept to the flood. "O, saints! from the mansions of bliss lowly bend- Sweet Virgin! who hearest the suppliant's cry; All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle, Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's dread rattle, And the chase's wild clamour, came loading the gale. foe." Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow, And scarce could she hear them, benumb'd with And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro, In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Hellvellyn. His remains were not discovered till three months afterwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier bitch, his constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland. 1 CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide; All was still, save by fits when the eagle was yelling, And starting around me the echoes replied. And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, Dark green was the spot mid the brown moun- Where the pilgrim of nature lay stretched in decay, Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather, Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, The much loved remains of her master defended, slumber? When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start? How many long days and long weeks didst thou number, Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart? And, O! was it meet, that, no requium read o'er him, No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before him, Unhonoured the pilgrim from life should depart? When a prince to the fate of the peasant has yielded, The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, In the proudly arched chapel the banners are Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming, But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb; When, wildered, he drops from some cliff huge in stature, And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying, Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying, JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. THE first stanza of this ballad is ancient. The "War weep ye by the tide, ladie? Sae comely to be seen"— For Jock of Hazeldean. "Now let this wilful grief be done, His sword in battle keen"- "A chain o' gold ye sall not lack, Shall ride our forest queen"- PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU. Air-Piobair of Dhonuil Duidh.t THIS is a very ancient pibroch belonging to the clan Mac-Donald, and supposed to refer to the expedition of Donald Balloch, who, in 1431, lanched from the Isles with a considerable force, invaded Lochaber, and at Inverlochy defeated and put to flight the earls of Marr and Caithness, though at the head of an army superior to his own. The words of the set theme, or melody, to which the pipe variations are applied, run thus in Gaelic: Piobaireachd Dhonui!, piobaireachd Dhonuil; Piobaireachd Dhonuil Duidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; Piobaireachd Dhonuil Duidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi. The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, The war-pipe and the pennon are on the gathering-place at Inverlochy. PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu, Pibroch of Donuil, Hark to the summons! Gentles and commons. True heart that wears one, "Sleep on till day." These words, adopted to a melody somewhat different from the original, are sung in iny friend Mr. Terry's drama of Guy Mannering. The pibroch of Donald the Black, HEAR what highland Nora said, I would not wed the earlie's son." ," she said, "the lake's clear breast Still in the water-lily's shade No highland brogue has turned the heel; 16 I will never go with him." THE Moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae, And the clan has a name that is nameless by day! Our signal for fight, that from monarchs we drew, Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours: We're landless, landless, landless, Gregalach! But doom'd and devoted by vassal and lord, If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles, Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the eagles! Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Gregalach! Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, &c. While there's leaves in the forest, and foam on the river, Mac-Gregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever! Come then, Gregalach, come then, Gregalach, Come then, come then, come then, &c. Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall career, O'er the peak of Ben Lomond the galley shall steer, And the rocks of Craig Royston like icicles melt, DONALD CAIRD'S COME AGAIN. CHORUS. DONALD Caird's come again! Donald Caird's come again! Tell the news in brugh and glen, Donala Caird's come again! Donald Caird can lilt and sing, Blithly dance the hieland fling, Drink till the gudeman be blind, Fleech till the gudewife be kind; Hoop a leglen, clout a pan, Or crack a pow wi' ony man; Tell the news in brugh and glen, Donald Caird's come again. "The Mac-Gregor is come." + Caird signifies Tinker. Donald Caird's come again! Dare ye mell wi' Donald Caird. Donald Caird's come again! On Donald Caird the doom was stern, Donald Caird's come again! Donald Caird's come again! Dinna let the justice ken Donald Caird's come again! MACKRIMMON'S LAMENT. Air-Cha till mi tuille." MACKRIMMON, hereditary piper to the laird of Macleod, is said to have composed this lament when the clan was about to depart upon a distant and dangerous expedition. The minstrel was impressed with a belief, which the event verified, that he was to be slain in the approaching feud; and hence the Gaelic words, " Cha till mi tville; ged thillis Macleod, cha till Macrimmon," “I shall never return; although Macleod returns, yet Mackrimmon shall never return!" The piece is but too well known, from its being the strain with "We return no more." |