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he heard the chant of the women, as they swathed and dressed the corpse of the umquhile Bonnet-maker, for the ceremony of next morning, of which chant, the following verses may be received as a modern imitation :

A fever fit, and then a chill; And then an end of human ill:

For thou art dead.

THE DEATH OF KEELDAR

VIEWLESS Essence, thin and bare,
Well-nigh melted into air;
Still with fondness hovering near
The earthly form thou once didst wear;

Pause upon thy pinion's flight,
Be thy course to left or right;
Be thou doomed to soar or sink,
Pause upon the awful brink.
To avenge the deed expelling
Thee untimely from thy dwelling,
Mystic force thou shalt retain
O'er the blood and o'er the brain.

These verses, written in 1828, were published in The Gem, an annual edited by Hood. They accompanied an engraving from a painting by Cooper, suggested by the incident. UP rose the sun o'er moor and mead; Up with the sun rose Percy Rede; Brave Keeldar, from his couples freed,

Careered along the lea;
The Palfrey sprung with sprightly bound,
As if to match the gamesome hound;
His born the gallant huntsman wound:

They were a jovial three !
Man, hound, or horse, of higher fame,
To wake the wild deer never came
Since Alnwick's Earl pursued the game

On Cheviot's rueful day:
Keeldar was matchless in his speed,
Than Tarras ne'er was stancher steed,
A peerless archer, Percy Rede;

And right dear friends were they.

When the form thou shalt espy That darkened on thy closing eye; When the footstep thou shalt hear That thrilled upon thy dying ear;

Then strange sympathies shall wake,
The flesh shall thrill, the nerves shall quake;
The wounds renew their clottered flood,
And every drop cry blood for blood.

IV

The chase engrossed their joys and woes.
Together at the dawn they rose,
Together shared the noon's repose

By fountain or by stream;
And oft when evening skies were red
The heather was their common bed,
Where each, as wildering fancy led,

Still hunted in his dream.

SONG OF THE GLEE-MAIDEN

From Chapter xxx.

"The maiden sung a melancholy Iirge in Norman French; the words, of which the following is an imitation, were united to a tune as doleful as they are themselves : '

Yes, thou mayst sigh, And look once more at all around, At stream and bank, and sky and ground ; Thy life its final course has found,

And thou must die.

Now is the thrilling moment near
Of sylvan hope and sylvan fear;
Yon thicket holds the harbored deer,

The signs the hunters know:
With eyes of flame and quivering ears
The brake sagacious Keeldar nears;
The restless palfrey paws and rears;

The archer strings his bow. The game 's afoot ! Halloo ! Halloo ! Hunter and horse and hound pursue;But woe the shaft that erring flew

That e'er it left the string ! And ill betide the faithless yew ! The stag bounds scathless o'er the dew, And gallant Keeldar's life-blood true

Has drenched the gray-goose wing.

Yes, lay thee down, And while thy struggling pulses flutter, Bid the

grey

monk his soul-mass mutter And the deep bell its death-tone utter:

Thy life is gone.

Be not afraid,
Tis but a pang, and then a thrill,

THE SECRET TRIBUNAL

From Anne of Geierstein, published in 1829.

The noble hound — he dies, he dies; Death, death has glazed his fixed eyes; Stiff on the bloody heath he lies

Without a groan or quiver. Now day may break and bugle sound, And whoop and hollow ring around, And o'er his couch the stag may bound,

But Keeldar sleeps forever. Dilated nostrils, staring eyes, Mark the poor palfrey's mute surprise; He knows not that his comrade dies,

Nor what is death but still His aspect hath expression drear Of grief and wonder mixed with fear, Like startled children when they hear

Some mystic tale of ill.

From Chapter xx. 'Philipson could perceive that the lights proceeded from many torches, borne by men muffled in black cloaks, like mourners at a funeral, or the Black Friars of Saint Francis's Order, wearing their cowls drawn over their heads, so as to conceal their features. They appeared anxiously engaged in measuring off a portion of the apartment; and, while occupied in that employment, they sung, in the ancient German language, rhymes more rude than Philipson could well understand, but which may be imitated thus :'

But he that bent the fatal bow
Can well the sum of evil know,
And o'er his favorite bending low

In speechless grief recline;
Can think he hears the senseless clay
In unreproachful accents say,
. The hand that took

my
life

away, Dear master, was it thine ?

MEASURERS of good and evil,
Bring the square, the line, the level,
Rear the altar, dig the trench,
Blood both stone and ditch shall drench.
Cubits six, from end to end,
Must the fatal bench extend;
Cubits six, from side to side,
Judge and culprit must divide.
On the east the Court assembles,
On the west the Accused trembles:
Answer, brethren, all and one,
Is the ritual rightly done ?

• And if it be, the shaft be blessed Which sure some erring aim addressed, Since in your service prized, caressed,

I in your service die; And you may have a fleeter hound To match the dun-deer's merry bound, But by your couch will ne'er be found

So true a guard as I.'

On life and soul, on blood and bone,
One for all, and all for one,
We warrant this is rightly done.

And to his last stout Percy rued The fatal chance, for when he stood 'Gainst fearful odds in deadly feud

Avd fell amid the fray, E’en with his dying voice he cried, · Had Keeldar but been at my side, Your treacherous ambush had been spied –

I had not died to-day!'

How wears the night? Doth morning

shine
In early radiance on the Rhine ?
What music floats upon his tide ?
Do birds the tardy morning chide ?
Brethren, look out from hill and height,
And answer true, how wears the night ?

Remembrance of the erring bow
Long since had joined the tides which

flow,
Conveying human bliss and woe

Down dark oblivion's river; But Art can Time's stern doom arrest And snatch his spoil from Lethe's breast, And, in her Cooper's lors drest,

The scene shall live forever.

The night is old; on Rhine's broad breast
Glance drowsy stars which long to rest.

No beams are twinkling in the east.
There is a voice upon the flood,
The stern still call of blood for blood;

'T is time we listen the behest.

Up, then, up! When day 's at rest,

Tis time that such as we are watchers;

INSCRIPTION

Rise to judgment, brethren, rise !
Vengeance knows not sleepy eyes,

He and night are matchers.

FOR THE MONUMENT OF THE REV.

GEORGE SCOTT

red;

ours

George Scott was the son of Hugh Scott of

Harden. He died at Kentisbeare, in DevonTHE FORAY

shire, where he was rector of the church, in

1830. The verses are on his tomb. Printed in Thomson's Scottish Collection, 1830, and set to music by John Whitefield, To youth, to age, alike, this tablet pale Mus, Doc. Cam.

Tells the brief moral of its tragic tale.

Art thou a parent ? Reverence this bier, The last of our steers on the board has

The parents' fondest hopes lie buried here. been spread,

Art thou a youth, prepared on life to start, And the last Aask of wine in our goblet is

With opening talents and a generous heart;

Fair hopes and flattering prospects all thine Up! up, my brave kinsmen! belt swords

own ? and begone,

Lo! here their end

- a monumental stone. There are dangers to dare and there 's spoil | But let submission tame each sorrowing to be won.

thought,

Heaven crowned its champion ere the fight The eyes that so lately mixed glances with

was fought. For a space must be dim, as they gaze from the towers,

SONGS FROM THE DOOM OF And strive to distinguish through tempest

DEVORGOIL and gloom The prance of the steed and the toss of the

Scott's play, The Doom of Devorgoil, though plume.

not published till 1830, was sketched, and appa

rently written as early as 1817, and the song of The rain is descending; the wind rises Bonny Dundee was written, Scott notes in his loud;

diary, in December, 1825. He notes also that And the moon her red beacon has veiled the first song was abridged into County Guy.

with a cloud; 'Tis the better, my mates ! for the warder's dull eye

THE SUN UPON THE LAKE' Shall in confidence slumber nor dream we

The sun upon the lake is low, are nigh.

The wild birds hush their song,

The hills have evening's deepest glow, Our steeds are impatient! I hear my

Yet Leonard tarries long. blithe Gray !

Now all whom varied toil and care There is life in his hoof-clang and hope in

From home and love divide, his neigh;

In the calm sunset may repair Like the flash of a meteor, the glance of

Each to the loved one's side. his mane Shall marshal your march through the The noble dame, on turret high darkness and rain.

Who waits her gallant knight,

Looks to the western beam to spy The drawbridge has dropped, the bugle The flash of armor bright. has blown;

The village maid, with hand on brow One pledge is to quaff yet — then mount The level ray to shade, and begone!

Upon the footpath watches now To their honor and peace that shall rest For Colin's darkening plaid.

with the slain; To their health and their glee that see Now to their mates the wild swans row, Teviot again!

By day they swam apart;

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My form but lingered at the game,

My soul was still with you.

And to the thicket wanders slow

The hind beside the bart. The woodlark at his partner's side

Twitters his closing song All meet whom day and care divide,

But Leonard tarries long.

IV

6

WHEN THE TEMPEST'

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We love the shrill trumpet, we love the

drum's rattle, They call us to sport, and they call us to

battle; And old Scotland shall laugh at the threats

of a stranger, While our comrades in pastime are com

rades in danger. If there's mirth in our house, 't is our

neighbor that shares it If peril approach, 't is our neighbor that

dares it; And when we lead off to the pipe and the

tabor, The fair hand we press is the hand of a

neighbor. Then close your ranks, comrades, the bands

that combine them, Faith, friendship, and brotherhood, joined

to entwine them; And we 'll laugh at the threats of each in

solent stranger, While our comrades in sport are our com

rades in danger.

WHEN the tempest 's at the loudest

On its gale the eagle rides; When the ocean rolls the proudest

Through the foam the sea-bird glides – All the rage of wind and sea Is subdued by constancy. Gnawing want and sickness pining,

All the ills that men endure,
Each their various pangs combining,

Constancy can find a cure —
Pain and Fear and Poverty
Are subdued by constancy.
Bar me from each wonted pleasure,
Make me abject, mean,

and

poor, Heap on insults without measure,

Chain me to a dungeon floor
I'll be happy, rich, and free,
If endowed with constancy.

V

BONNY DUNDEE

III

AIR — The Bonnets of Bonny Dundee To the Lords of Convention 't was Clav.

er'se who spoke, • Ere the King's crown shall fall there are

crowns to be broke; So let each Cavalier who loves honor and

me, Come follow the bonnet of Bonny Dundee

Come fill up my cup, come fill up my

can, Come saddle your horses and call up

your men; Come open the West Port and let me

'ADMIRE NOT THAT I GAINED THE PRIZE'

ADMIRE not that I gained the prize

From all the village crew; How could I fail with hand or eyes

When heart and faith were true ?

gang free,

And it 's room for the bonnets of Bonny

Dundee !'

And when in floods of rosy wine

My comrades drowned their cares, I thought but that thy heart was mine,

My own leapt light as theirs. My brief delay then do not blame,

Nor deem your swain untrue;

Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the

street, The bells are rung backward, the drums

they are beat;

But the Provost, douce man, said, “Just

e'en let him be, The Gude_Town is weel quit of that Deil

of Dundee.'

Come fill up my cup, etc. As be rode down the sanctified bends of

the Bow, Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her

pow; But the young plants of grace they looked

couthie and slee, Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonny

Dundee !

Come fill up my cup, etc. With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmar

ket was crammed As if half the West had set tryst to be

hanged; There was spite in each look, there was

fear in each e'e, As they watched for the bonnets of Bonny

Dundee.
Come fill up my cup, etc.

• There are bills beyond Pentland and lands

beyond Forth, If there's lords in the Lowlands, there's

chiefs in the North; There are wild Duniewassals three thou

sand times three, Will cry hoigh ! for the bonnet of Bonny

Dundee.

Come fill up my cup, etc. • There's brass on the target of barkened

bull-hide; There's steel in the scabbard that dangles

beside; The brass shall be burnished, the steel

shall flash free, At a toss of the bonnet of Bonny Dundee.

Come fill up my cup, etc.

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• Away to the hills, to the caves, to the

rocks Ere I own an usurper, I 'll couch with the

fox; And tremble, false Whigs, in the midst of

your glee, You have not seen the last of my bonnet

and me!'
Come fill up my cup, etc.

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The Gordon demands of him which

way

he goes "Where'er shall direct me the shade of

Montrose ! Your Grace in short space sball hear tidings

VI

WHEN FRIENDS ARE MET

of me,

Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonny Dun

dee.
Come fill up my cup, etc.

When friends are met o'er merry cheer,
And lovely eyes are laughing near,
And in the goblet's bosom clear

The cares of day are drowned;

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