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Various and vague the dry leaves dance their but we subjoin a translation of them, by Secundus round;

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M'Pherson, Esq., of Glenforgen; which, although submitted to the fetters of English rhythm, we trust will be found nearly as genuine as the ver. sion of Ossian by his celebrated namesake."

1.

BIRDS of omen dark and foul,
Night-crow, raven, bat, and owl,
Leave the sick man to his dream-
All night long he heard you scream.
Haste to cave and ruin'd tower,
Ivy tod, or dingled-bower,

There to wink and mop, for, hark!
In the mid air sings the lark.

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DARK on their journey lour'd the gloomy day,
Wild were the hills, and doubtful grew the way;
More dark, more gloomy, and more doubtful,

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"TUNING her instrument, and receiving an assenting look from Lord Monteit' and Allan, Annot Lyle executed the following ballad, which our friend, Mr. Secundus M'Pherson, whose goodness The mansion which received them from the road. we had before to acknowledge, has thus translated into the English tongue:"—

NOVEMBER'S hail-cloud drifts away,
November's sunbeam wan
Looks coldly on the castle gray,
When forth comes Lady Anne.

The orphan by the oak was set,

Her arms, her feet, were bare; The hail-drops had not melted yet, Amid her raven hair.

"And dame," she said, "by all the ties
That child and mother know,
Aid one who never knew these joys,-
Relieve an orphan's woe."

The Travellers, a Romance. (2.)-CHAP. XI.

Is this thy castle, Baldwin? Melancholy
Displays her sable banner from the donjon,
Dark'ning the foam of the whole surge beneath
Were I a habitant, to see this gloom
Pollute the face of nature, and to hear
The ceaseless sound of wave and sea-bird's scream,
I'd wish me in the hut that poorest peasant
Ere framed to give him temporary shelter.

(3.)-CHAP. XIV.

Browne.

This was the entry, then, these stairs-but whithe after?

Yet he that's sure to perish on the land

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Chap. xviii,

(3.)-SAXON WAR-SONG.

"THE fire was spreading rapidly through all parts of the castle, when Ulrica, who had first kindled it, appeared on a turret, in the guise of one of the ancient furies, yelling forth a war-song, such as was of yore chanted on the field of battle by the yet heathen Saxons. Her long dishevelled gray hair flew back from her uncovered head; the inebriating delight of gratified vengeance contended in her eyes with the fire of insanity; and she brandished the distaff which she held in her hand, as if she had been one of the Fatal Sisters, who spin and abridge the thread of human life. Tradition has preserved some wild strophes of the barbarous hymn which she chanted wildly amid that scene of fire and slaughter:"

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All must perish!

4.

The sword cleaveth the helmet;
The strong armor is pierced by the lance:
Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes,
Engines break down the fences of the battle.
All must perish!

The race of Hengist is gone—

The name of Horsa is no more!
Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the
sword!

Let your blades drink blood like wine:
Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter,
By the light of the blazing halls!
Strong be your swords while your blood is warm.
And spare neither for pity nor fear,
For vengeance hath but an hour;
Strong hate itself shall expire!
I also must perish.

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