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Cut far more sadly sweet, ou foreign straud,
Chief, thy wild tales, romantic Caledon,
Arc such keen feelings to the crowd confined, And sleep they in the poet's gifted mind? Oh no! for she, within whose mighty page Each tyrant passion shows his woe and rage, lias felt the wizard influence they inspire, And to your own traditions tuned her lyre. Yourselves shall judge—whoe'er has raised the sail fly Mulls dark coast has heard this evenings tale. The plaided boatman, resting on his oar, Points to the fatal rock amid the roar Of whitening waves, and tells what e'er to-night Our humble stage shall offer to your sight; Proudly prefcrr'd that first our efforts give Scenes glowing from her pen to breathe and live; More proudly yet, should Caledon approve The filial token of a daughters love!
FAREWELL TO MACKENZIE, HIGirCHIEF OF KINTAIL.
FROM THE GAELIC.
In danger undaunted, unwearied by toil,
Though the whirlwind should rise, and the ocean sbooli
On the brave vessel's gunnel I drank bis 0000.111,*
Awake in thy chamber, thou sweet southland gale! |
Be his pilot experienced, and trusty, and wise,
OF THE PRECEDING SOISG.
The original verses are arranged to a beautiful Gaelic air, of which the chorus is adapted to the double pull upon the oars of a galley, and which is therefore distinct from the ordinary jorratns, or boat-songs. They were composed by the family bard upon the departure of the Karl of Seaforth, who was obliged to take refuge in Spain, after au unsuccessful effort at insurrection in favour of the Stuart family, in the year 1718.
Farewkll to Mackenneth, great Earl of the North,
'Acadia, or Nora Scotia.
So sung the old Bard, in the grief of his heart.
From the far southland border a minstrel came fbrik
And shall thou then sleep, did the minstrel exclaim.
In vain, the bright course of thy talents to wrong,
Thy sons rose around thee in light and in lore,
And thou, gentle dame, who must bear to thypriit-
Whom brief rolling moons in six changes have left,
WAR-SONG OF LACHLAN, HIGH CHIEF OF MACLEAN.
FROM THE GAELIC.
Tbis <ong appears to be imperfect, or at least, like j many of theearlv Garlic poems, makes a rapid transition from one subject to another; from, the situation, namely, of one of the daughters of the clan,who opens tlie song by lamenting the absence of her lover, to an eulogiurn over the military glories of the chieftain. The translator has endeavoured to imitate the abrupt Mylc of the original.
A Weary month lias wander d o'er
Safe on that shore again! —
And iaunch'd them on the main.
Clao-Cilliau' is to ocean pooe;
In many a bloody broil;
Clan-Gillian drives the spoil.
Woe to the hills that shall rebound
Our banner'd bag-pipes' maddening sound;
Clan-Gillian's onset echoing round
Shall shake their inmost cell. Woe to the bark whose crew shall gaze. Where Lachlan's silken streamer plays; The fools might face the lightning's blaze
As wisely and as well!
Soft spread the southern summer night
Her veil of darksome blue;
The terrace of Saint-Cloud.
The evening breezes gently sigh'd,
Like breath of lover true, Bcwiiling the deserted pride
And wreck of sweet Saint-Cloud.
The drum's deep roll was heard afar,
The huglc wildly blew
That garrison Saint-Cloud.
1 i *. Tbe clan of Maclean, literal)]' ibe race of Glllino.
The startled naiads from the shade
With broken arms withdrew.
The glory of Saint-Cloud.
We sate upon its steps of stone,
Nor could its silence rue,
The echoes of Saint-Cloud.
Slow Seine might hear each lovely note
Fall light as summer-dew, While through the moonless air they float,
Proloug'd from fair Saint-Cloud,
And sure a melody more sweet
His waters never knew,
With princes at Saint-Cloud.
Nor then, with more delighted ear,
The circle round her drew, Than ours, when gather'd round to hear
Our songstress at Saint-Cloud.
Few happy hours poor mortals pass,—
And rank among the foremost class
Paris, Sept. 5, 1815.
ROMANCE OF DUNOIS.
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 bclougs. The translation is strictly literal.
It was Dunois, the young and brave,
Was bound for Palestine, Out first he made his orisons
Before Saint Mary's shrine: « And grant, immortal Queen of Heaven,'
Was still the soldier's prayer, nThat I m.iv prove the bravest knight,
And love the fairest fair.»
Ills oath of honour on the shrine
He graved it with his sword.
The banner of his lord;
His war-cry fill'd tlje air,
I'eloved the fairest fair.*
They owed the conquest to his arm,
Ai:d then his liege-lord said, « The heart that has for hooour beat.
By bliss must he repaid,—
Shall be a wedded pair,
She fairest of the fair.»
And then they hound 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 he the bravest knight,
Beloved the fairest fair!*
Glowikg 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,
My heart is in my true love's bower; Gaily for love and fame to light
Be fits the gallant Troubadour.*
And while hemarch'd with helm on head
And harp in hand, the descant rung. As faithful to bis 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 nod fame to fight,
I come, a gallant Troubadour.»
E'en when the battle-roar was deep,
With dauntless heart lie hew'd his way, 'Mid splintering laucc 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 lo light.
Becomes the valiant Troubudour.u—
Alas! upon the bloody field
He fell beneath the foeinan's glaive, But still, reclining on his shield.
Expiring sung the exulting slave: « My life it is my country's right,
My heart it is my lady's bower; For love and fame to fill in tight,
Becomes the valiant Troubadour."
FROM Till- FRENCH. It chanced that Cupid on a season.
By Fancy urged, resolved to wed, But could not settle whether Reason
Or Folly should partake his bed.
What does he then?—Tpmi my life, T was bad example for a deily—
He takes me Reason for his wife, And Folly for his hours of gaiety.
Though thus be dealt in petty treason.
Fidelity was bom of Reason,
And Folly brought to bed of Pleasure.
FOa THE AHIUTE1SART MEITIHC OF TBI rrTT CUT* «T * SCOTLAND.
O Dread was the time,and more dreadful the <
When the brave on Marengo lay slaughtered in vain. And, beholding broad Europe bow'd down bv her foeurn.
Pitt closed in his augui-h the map of hrrrri^n! Xot the faicof broad Euro|>e could bend bis brave spirit,!
To take for his country the safety of shame; O then iu her triumph remember his merit.
And hallow the goblet that flows to his ■
Round the husbandman's head, while he traces tkr furrow.
The mists of the winter may mingle with rain. He may plough it with labour, anil sow it in sorrow.
And sigh while he fears he has sow'd it in vain; He may die ere bis children shall reap iu their gladness
But the blithe harvest-home shall remember lii-chimAnd (heir jubilee-shout shall be soften'd with sadness
While they hallow the goblet that llows to his nacae.
Though anxious and timeless his life was expended.
In toils for our country preserved by his care, Though he died ere one ray o'er the nations ascended.
To light the long darkness of doubt aud despair,
The perils his wisdom foresaw and o'ercame.
And hallow the goblet that (lows to his name.
Nor forget His gray head, who, all dark in affliction,
Is deaf to the tale of our victories wou,
1 be shout of his people applauding his Soa; By bis firmness unmoved in success or disaster.
By Ins long reign of virtue, remember his claim! With our tribute lo Put join the praise of his Master,
Tih.u, h a tear stain the goblet that Hows to bis name
Yet again fill the wine-cup,and change the sad measure,
The riles of our grief and our gratitude paid. To our Prince, to our Heroes, devote the bright treasure
The wisdom that plann'tl. and the real that obey a Fill Wellington's cup till it beam like his glory.
Forget not our own brave I),vLftorsie and Gtaaur; A thousand years hence hearts shall hound at their sfcory.
And hallow the goblet that llows to their fame.
Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her, She has blazed over Ettrick eitjht ages and more; In sport we 'U attend her, in battle defend her, H'itlt heart and with hand, like our faViers before.
When the southern invader spread waste and disorder, At the glance of her crescents he paused and withdrew,
For a round them were marshall'd the pride of the Border, The Flowers of the Forest, the Bands of Bucclkugh.
Then up with tlte Banner, etc.
A stripling's weak hand to our revel has borne her,
But ere a bold foeman should scathe or should scorn her,
We forget each contention of civil dissension.
And hail like our brethren, Home, Douglas, and Car;
And Elliot and Piingli in pastime shall mingle,
As welcome in peace as their fathers in war.
Then up with Vie Banner, etc.
Then strip, lads, and to it, though sharp be the weather,
There are worse things in life than a tumble on heather,
And when it is over, we 'II drink a blithe measure
And to every blithe heart that took part in our pleasure,
Hay the Forest still nourish, both Borough and Land-
Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her,
TO HONSIlUa ALEXANDRE".
Of yore, in old England, it was not thought good