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,Then give those hours their due, And rank among the foremost class Our evenings at Saint Cloud. The Bance of Beath.2 1815. I. NIGHT and morning 3 were at meeting Cocks had sung their earliest greeting; On the heights of Mount Saint John; Where the soldier lay, Chill and stiff, and drench'd with rain, Though death should come with day. II. 'Tis at such a tide and hour, Wizard, witch, and fiend have power, And ghastly forms through mist and shower And then the affrighted prophet's ear Among the sons of men ;- Had follow'd stout and stern, Where, through battle's rout and reel, Valiant Fassiefern. Through steel and shot he leads no more, III. 'Lone on the outskirts of the host, And heard, through darkness far aloof, When down the destined plain, Such forms were seen, such sounds were heard, For Flodden's fatal plain; 6 The yet unchristen'd Dane. The Seer, who watch'd them ride the storm, IV. Song. "Wheel the wild dance While lightnings glance, And thunders rattle loud, And call the brave To bloody grave, To sleep without a shroud. 1 These lines were written after an evening spent at Saint Cloud with the late Lady Alvanley and her daughters, one of whom was the songstress alluded to in the text. Originally published in 1815, in the Edinburgh Annual Register, vol. 8 MS.-" Dawn and darkness." 4 See note, ante, p. 505. 5 MS." Oft came the clang," &c. 6 See ante, Marmion, canto v., stanzas 24, 25, 26, and Appendix, Note 4 A., p. 165. And each forester blithe, from his mountain descending, CHORUS. Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan 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, or around them were marshall'd the pride of the The Flowers of the Forest, the Bands of Buc- Then up with the Banner, &c. Stripling's weak hand1 to our revel has borne her, Then up with the Banner, let forest winds fan her, Lullaby of an Enfant Chief. 1815. I. O, HUSH thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight, No mail-glove has grasp'd her, no spearmen sur- They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee. But ere a bold foeman should scathe or should scorn her, A thousand true hearts would be cold on the ground. We forget each contention of civil dissension, And hail, like our brethren, HOME, DOUGLAS, and And ELLIOT and PRINGLE in pastime shall mingle, 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. And when it is over, we'll drink a blithe measure To the lads that have lost and the lads that have 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 1 The bearer of the standard was the Author's eldest son. 2 "Sleep on till day." These words, adapted to a melody somewhat different from the original, are sung in my friend O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo, |
