Not the less we adore the Red Lion of yore, That alone on the Scutcheon of Albyn was seen, Because England and Erin are mixed in the bearing, And the shield where the dark bend is wreathed with the green. V. With our loyalty's gladness, some breathings of sadness Have been heard-and our smiles have been mixed with a tear; When in Sympathy's guise it bids Homage appear. 121 We must not repeat the handsome terms in which thanks were returned for our own speech and the song of our friend-suffice it to say, that, after a most animated conversation of a political cast had been sustained for some time by several ingenious and ardent interlocutors, the Thane of Fife rose (the occasion was on his own health being proposed from the chair), and hinted, in his usual elegance of style and manner, that the illustrious Prince who had condescended to become our visitor, would be fully more gratified should we thenceforth dismiss these topics—which, however treated, could not fail to have something of a formal air and effect--and resume in full and entire freedom our own usual strain of amusement. In short, his Lordship as well as the Prince wished to see the doings of the Tent in their own simple and unsophisticated essence. We lost no time in obeying this hint-and by way of breaking the ice for a descent into the regions of perfect mirth and jollity, we called on the Ettrick Shepherd to sing, with the accompaniment of the bag-pipe, one of those wild and pathetic ballads of which his genius has been so creative. Those who have had the pleasure of being in company with the Shepherd, know full well what deep and gentle pathos, and, at the same time, what light and playful gracefulness, are to be found in the notes of his unrivalled voice, and will not need to be told what effect he produced upon the whole company, by the following exquisite strain! VOL. I. I PITY YOU, YE STARS SO BRIGHT, &c. I PITY you, ye stars so bright That shine so sweetly all the night, Beaming ever coldly down On rock and river, tower and town, Shining so lonely. I pity you, ye stars so bright, That shine so sweetly all the night, On the wide and silent sea, Shining so lonely. 6 This song was succeeded by a round of toasts, of which our memory has preserved only the following, viz: 1. The Author of Waverley-by Prince Leopold. 2. Mr. Alison-by Mr. Wastle. 3. The Bishop of St. Davids, the unwearied and enlightened friend of Walesby Dr. Morris. 4. Professor John Young, of Glasgow, the great Grecian of Scotland-by Dr. Parr. 5. The Right Hon. Robert Peel, the Member for Oxford-by Mr. Seward. 6. Charley Bushe, the most admirable Judge, the most eloquent speaker-and the most delightful companion in Ireland-by Mr. Odoherty. 7. Mr. Davison, of Oriel, the star of Isis-by Mr. Buller. 8. The Rev. Francis Wrangham, the star of Cam.-by the Editor. 9. The young Duke of Buccleugh-and may he live to be as great a blessing to Ettrick as his father-by the Shepherd. 10. Counsellor Ellis-by Mr. Tickler. 11. Lord Byron-by Dr. Scott. 12. Dr. Chalmers-by Baillie Jarvie. 13. Mr. John Kemble--by Mr. John Ballantyne. 14. The Earl of Fife (to whose turn the toast, by some accident, was long of coming round) paid us the elegant and classical compliment of proposing the health of our excellent Publishers, Messrs. Blackwood, Cadell, and Davies*-three times three-to which (need we add ?) the whole of the company gladly assented. Dr. Parr was the first to hint his wish for another song-and called loudly upon Buller of Brazennose, who, after a little hesitation, took courage, and told the Doctor if he had no objection he would give him an old Oxford strain. "By all means, you dog, quoth the Bellendenian-“I remember the day when I could sing half the Sausaget myself." THE FRIAR'S FAREWELL TO OXFORD. To the Tune of “Green Sleeves.” 1. TOTHER night, as I passed by old Anthony-wood, * Cadell and Davies were the London agents for the sale of Blackwood.-M. † A collection of songs, chants, and other college versicles, entitled "The Oxford Sau sage. A like collection, elsewhere, is "The Cambridge Tart."-M. 1819.] THE FRIAR'S FAREWELL. The beer he had swallowed had opened his heart, 2. "Oh, Oxford! I leave thee-and can it be true? Thou scene of my rapture, in life's early morn, 3. "Oh! the joys of the moderns are empty and vain, Tommy Horseman hopped round with his flagons of beer: With a heigh ho! &c. 4. "In the alehouse at evening these joys we renewed- 5. "All encircled with fumes of the mild curling shag, 6. "Good beer is discarded for claret and port, The cold hand of Chronos has reft Dinah's bloom, And tobacco is banished from each common-room, And the days I have seen they shall ne'er come again— With a heigh ho! &c. 123 The pleasure we all testified on hearing this genuine academical strain, which, as Dr. Parr observed, was "enough to transport one to the very pinnacle of Maudlin" (we suppose he meant one of the Oxford Colleges which goes by the name of Magdalen College, orally corrupted as above), encouraged Mr. Seward to comply with Buller's request, who tossed the ball to his friend on this occasion with a plain insinuation, that the former story of his not being able to sing was all mere fudge. The Christ-Church man, whose proper designation we understand (for he has not yet taken his bachelor's degree), is that of a sophista generalis, said, that he was the more inclined to sing a particular set of verses, because the present company would be able at once to appreciate their merit, they being a parody on one of the songs in the Lady of the Lake, composed by an eminent university wit, in honor of a late occurrence, which he declined explaining at greater length. SONG-Sung by GENERAL SOPHIST SEWARD of Christ-Church. HAIL to the maiden that graceful advances! Eros! thou classical god of soft glances, Teach me to ogle and make the nymph mine. Ellen! for love of you Just metamorphosed from blacksmith to beau. Grace your trim Roderick Dhu While every gownsman cries, wondering, "Ho! ho!" For Greek's more familiar than English to me; Won't do for me to speak Let me try-Ζωη, μεσας αγαπω ! Zooks! I don't like its tone: Now let me try my own ΚΛΥΘΙ ΜΕΥ, ΕΛΕΝΗ, ΣΟΥ ΓΑΡ ΕΡΩ! But, ha! there's a young Christ-church prig that I plucked once! Ha! twirl thy cap, and look proud of thy luck, dunce, By Dis! the infernal God! See, see! they grin! they nod! Ω μοι δυςηνω ! Ω ταλας εγω! Zounds! should my faithless flame Ότατοι! τοτατοι! φευ! ποποι! Ω! But come! there's one rival I don't see about her, Swears I have won the maid; Every one, Dean and Don, swears it is so. Levett, and Goodenough All clap my back and cry, "Rhoderick's her beau!" Come, then, your influence propitious be shedding, Gnomes of Greek metre I since crowned are my hopes; Nymphs who preside over accents and tropes ! Ghost of Hephæstion rise, Haply to thee my success I may owe. All, all in chorus sing, Joy to Hephæstion, black Rhoderick & Co. 125 By this time the Shepherd began to get very weary of the claret, and insisted upon being allowed to make a little whisky toddy in a noggin for himself. We always humor, as far as prudence will permit, the whims of our Contributors, however they may be at variance with our own private taste and judgment, so we at once granted our permission to Mr. Hogg, and a proud man was he, when, after his toddy was fairly made, the Prince and the Thane both requested a tasting of it. "Od," cried he, "I wad gie your Royal Highness and Lordship every drap o't, an' it were melted diamonds-but I'm sure you'll no like it-we maun hae a sang frae the Captain, and that will gar ony thing gang down." Odoherty could not withstand this flattery, and at once favored us with the following, of which both words and music are his own. SONG "That I love thee, charming Maid," to its own Tune. THAT I love thee, charming maid, I a thousand times have said, But 'tis easy to be seen in the coldness of your mien Ah me! Not a single pile of sense is in the whole of these pretenses Had I windows in my bosom, Oh! how gladly I'd expose 'em Ah me! You repeat I've known you long, and you hint I do you wrong But 'tis folly to look glum because people did not come Ah me! In a grapery one walks without looking at the stalks, Ah me! |