"Wheel the wild danco While lightnings glance,

And thunders rattle loud, And call the brave

To bloody grave,

To sleep without a shroud.

Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers,
Redder rain shall soon be ours-

See the east grows wan-
Yield we place to sterner game,
Ere deadlier bolts and direr flame
Shall the welkin's thunders shamo
Elemental rage tame

To the wrath of man."

VIII.

At morn, grey Allan's mates with awe
Heard of the vision'd sights he saw,

The legend heard him say;
But the Seer's gifted eye was dim,
Deafen'd his ear, and stark his limb,
Ere closed that bloody day-
He sleeps far from his Highland heath,-
But often of the Dance of Death

His comrades tell the tale, On picquet-post, when ebbs the night, And waning watch-fires glow less bright, And dawn is glimmering pale.

Romance of Bunais.'

FROM THE FRENCH.

1815.

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 with blood, as sufficiently to indicate 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 belongs. The translation is strictly literal.2

IT was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound tor Palestine,

But first he made his orisons before St. Mary's shrine:

1 This ballad appeared in 1815, in Paul's Letters, and in the Edinburgh Annual Register. It has since been set to music by G. F. Graham, Esq., in Mr. Thomson's Select Melodies, &c. 2 The original romance,

"Partant pour la Syric,

Le jeune et brave Dunois," &c.

was written, and set to music also, by Hortense Beauharnois, Duchesse de St. Leu, Ex-Queen of Holland.

Bounds light o'er the heather to join in the game.

CHORUS.

Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her, She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and more; In sport we'll attend her, in battle defend her,

With heart and with hand, like our fathers before.

When the Southern invader spread waste and disorder, At the glance of her crescents he paused and withdrew,

For around them were marshall'd the pride of the Border,

The Flowers of the Forest, the Bands of Buc

CLEUCH.

Then up with the Banner, &c.

A Stripling's weak hand' to our revel has borne her, No mail-glove has grasp'd her, no spearmen surround;

But ere a bold foeman should scathe or should scorn her,

A thousand true hearts would be cold on the ground. Then up with the Banner, &c.

We forget each contention of civil dissension,

And hail, like our brethren, HOME, DOUGLAS, and CAR:

And ELLIOT and PRINGLE in pastime shall mingle, As welcome in peace as their fathers in war. Then up with the Banner, &c.

Then strip, lads, and to it, though sharp be the weather,

And if, by mischance, you should happen to fall, There are worse things in life than a tumble on heather,

And life is itself but a game at foot-ball.
Then up with the Banner, &c.

And when it is over, we'll drink a blithe measure
To each Laird and each Lady that witness'd our fun,
And to every blithe heart that took part in our plea-

sure,

To the lads that have lost and the lads that have won,

Then up with the Banner, &c.

May the Forest still flourish, both Borough and Landward,

From the hall of the Peer to the Herd's ingle-nook; And huzza! my brave hearts, for BUCCLEUCH and his standard,

For the King and the Country, the Clan, and the Duke!

The bearer of the standard was the Author's eldest son. 8 14 Sleep on till day." These words, adapted to a melody somewhat different from the original, are sung in my friend

She has blazed over Ettrick eight ages and more; In sport we'll attend her, in battle defend her, With heart and with hand, like our fathers before

Lullaby of an Enfant Chief.

O, HUSH thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,
Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright;
The woods and the glens, from the towers which we
see,

They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee.
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo,
O ho ro, i ri ri, &c.

O, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows,
It calls but the warders that guard thy repose;
Their bows would be bended, their blades would be
red,

Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.
O ho ro, i ri ri, &c.

O, hush thee, my babie, the time soon will come, When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum; Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may, For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day. O ho ro, i ri ri, &c.

from Guy Mannering.

(1.) SONGS OF MEG MERRILIES

NATIVITY OF HARRY BERTRAM.
CANNY moment, lucky fit;
Is the lady lighter yet?

Mr. Terry's drama of "Guy Mannering." [The "Lullaby" was first printed in Mr. Terry's drama: it was afterwards set to music in Thomson's Collection. 1822.]

The Return to Ulster.'

"Take the fame and the riches ye brought in your train,

And restore me the dream of my spring-tide again."

1816.

UNCE again, but how changed since my wand'rings began

I have heard the deep voice of the Lagan and Bann,
And the pines of Clanbrassil resound to the roar
That wearies the echoes of fair Tullamore.
Alas! my poor bosom, and why shouldst thou burn?
With the scenes of my youth can its raptures return?
Can I live the dear life of delusion again,

That flow'd when these echoes first mix'd with my strain ?

It was then that around me, though poor and unknown,

High spells of mysterious enchantment were thrown;
The streams were of silver, of diamond the dew,
The land was an Eden, for fancy was new.

I had heard of our bards, and my soul was on fire

At the rush of their verse, and the sweep of their

lyre:

To me 'twas not legend, nor tale to the car,
But a vision of noontide, distinguish'd and clear.

Ultonia's old heroes awoke at the call,

And renew'd the wild pomp of the chase and the hall;

And the standard of Fion flash'd fierce from on high,
Like a burst of the sun when the tempest is nigh."
It seem'd that the harp of green Erin once more
Could renew all the glories she boasted of yore.-
Yet why at remembrance, fond heart, shouldst thou
burn?

They were days of delusion, and cannot return.

But was she, too, a phantom, the Maid who stood by,
And listed my lay, while she turn'd from mine eye?
Was she, too, a vision, just glancing to view,
Then dispersed in the sunbeam, or melted to dew?
Oh! would it had been so,-Oh! would that her eye
Had been but a star-glance that shot through the
sky,

And her voice that was moulded to melody's thrill,
Had been but a zephyr, that sigh'd and was still!

Jack of Bazeldean.

AIR-A Border Melody.

1816.

The first stanza of this Ballad is ancient. The others were written for Mr. Campbell's Albyn's Anthology.

I.

"WHY weep ye by the tide, ladie? Why weep ye by the tide ?

I'll wed ye to my youngest son,
And ye sall be his bride:
And ye sall be his bride, ladie,

Sae comely to be seen But aye she loot the tears down fa' For Jock of Hazeldean.

First published in Mr. G. Thomson's Collection of Irish Alra. 1816.

2 In ancient Irish poetry, the standard of Fion, or Fingal, is called the Sun-burst, an epithet feebly rendered by the Sun beam of Macpherson