Obrazy na stronie

And then the affrighted prophet's ear
Drinks whispers strange of fate and fear,
Presaging death and ruin near

Among the sons of men ;-
Apart from Albyn's war-array,
'Twas then grey Allan sleepless lay ;
Grey Allan, who, for many a day,

Had follow'd stout and stern
Where, through battle's rout and reel,
Storm of shot and hedge of steel,
Led the grandson of Lochiel,

Valiant Fassiefern.
Through steel and shot he leads no more,
Low-laid 'mid friends' and foemens' gore-
But long his native lake's wild shore,
And Sunart rough, and high Ardgower,

And Morvern long shall tell,
And proud Bennevis hear with awe,
How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras,
Brave Cameron heard the wild hurra

Of conquest as he fell.

'Lone on the outskirts of the host,
The weary sentinel held post,
And heard, through darkness far aloof,
The frequent clang of courser's hoof,
Where held the cloak'd patrole their course,
And spurr'd 'gainst storm the swerving horse ;
But there are sounds in Allan's ear, .
Patrole nor sentinel may hear,
And sights before his eye aghast
Invisible to them have pass'd,

When down the destined plain
"Twixt Britain and the bands of France,
Wild as marsh-borne meteors glance,
Strange phantoms wheel'd a revel dance,

Ånd doom'd the future slain.
Such forms were seen, such sounds were heard,
When Scotland's James his march prepared

For Flodden's fatal plain ;
Such, when he drew his ruthless sword,
As Chusers of the Slain, adored

The yet unchristen'd Dane.
An indistinct and phantom band,
They wheeld their ring-dance hand in hand,

With gesture wild and dread ; The Seer, who watch'd them ride the storm, Saw through their faint and shadowy form The lightning's flash more red;

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Wheel the wild dance
While lightnings glance,

And thunders rattle loud,
And call the brave
To bloody grave,

To sleep without a shroud.

Sons of the spear !
You feel us near

In many a ghastly dream ;
With fancy's eye
Our forms you spy,

And hear our fatal scream.
With clearer sight
Ere falls the night,

Just when to weal or woe
Your disembodied souls take flight
On trembling wing-each startled sprite

Our choir of death shall know.

Wheel the wild dance
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 drearer flame
Shall the welkin's thunders shame ;
Elemental råge is tame

To the wrath of man."

viti. 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.
Abbotsford, October 1, 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 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 belongs.—The translation is strictly literal.

It was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound for Palestine, But first he made his orisons before Saint Mary's shrine : “ And grant, immortal Queen of Heaven,” was still the Soldier's prayer, “ That may prove the bravest knight, and love the fairest fair.” His oath of honour on the shrine he graved it with his sword, And follow'd to the Holy Land the banner of his Lord ; Where, faithful to bis noble war-cry fill'd the air, “ Be honour'd aye the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair." They owed the conquest to his arm, and then his liege-lord said, The heart that has for honour beat by bliss must be repaid, My daughter Isabel and thou shall be a wedded pair, For thou art bravest of the brave, she fairest of the fair."

vow, his

And then they bound 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 be the bravest knight, beloved the fairest fair."



By Walter Scott, Esg.

O DREAD was the time, and more dreadful the omen,

When the brave on Marengo lay slaughter'd in vain,
And, beholding broad Europe bowed down by her foemen,

Pitt closed in his anguish the map of her reign!
Not the fate of broad Europe could bend his brave spirit

To accept for his country the safety of shame ;
O then in her triumph remember his merit,

An hallow the goblet that flows to his name.

Round the husbandman's head, while he traces the furrow,

The mists of the winter may mingle with rain,
He may plough it with labour, and sow it in sorrow,

And sigh while he fears he has sowed it in vain ;
He may die ere his children shall reap in their gladness,

But the blithe harvest-home shall remember his claim ;
And their jubilee-shout shall be soften'd with sadness,

While they hallow the goblet that flows to his name.

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 and despair ;
The storms he endured in our Britain's December,

The perils his wisdom foresaw and o'ercame,
In her glory's rich Harvest shall Britain remember,

And hallow the goblet that flows to his name.
Nor forget His grey head, who, all dark in affliction,

Is deaf to the tale of our victories won,
And to sounds the most dear to paternal affection,

The shout of his people applauding his Son ;
By his firmness unmoved in success or disaster,

By his long reign of virtue, remember his claim !
With our tribute to Pitt join the praise of his Master,

Though a tear stain the goblet that flows to his name.

Yet again fill the wine.cup, and change the sad measure,

The rites of our grief and our gratitude paid,
To our Prince, to our Heroes devote the bright treasure,

The wisdom that plann'd, and the zeal that obey'd !
Fill WELLINGTON's cup till it beam like his glory,
Forget not our own brave Dalhousie and GRÆME ;
A thousand years hence hearts shall bound at their story,

And hallow the goblet that flows to their fame.

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