and brave, It was Dunois the young And "grant, immortal queen of Heaven," His oath of honour on the shrine They owed the conquest to his arm, Shall be a wedded pair, For thou art bravest of the brave, She fairest of the fair." And then they bound the holy knot, And ev'ry lord and lady bright Cried, "Honour'd be the bravest knight, This Song was with other loose papers, &c., found by Sir Waiter Scott on the field of Waterloo, soon after that memorable battle, and translated from the French language by him. See "Paul's Letter's to his Kinsfolk." COME SEND ROUND THE BOWL. Air- "We brought the summer with us."-T. Moore. COME send round the wine, and leave points of belief To simpleton sages, and reasoning fools; This moment's a flower too fair and too brief, To be wither'd and stain'd by the dust of the schools. Your glass may be purple, and mine may be blue, But while they are fill'd from the same bright bowl, The fool, who would quarrel for difference of hue, Deserves not the comforts they shed o'er the soul. Shall I ask the brave soldier, who fights by my side In the cause of mankind, if our creeds agree? Shall I give up the friend I have valued and tried, If he kneels not before the same altar with me? From the heretic girl of my soul shall I fly, To seek somewhere else a more orthodox kiss? No! perish the thought, and the laws that would try Truth, Valour, or Love by a standard like this. THE SOLDIER TIRED. THE soldier tired of war's alarms, Arne. And scorns the spear and shield; THERE IS AN HOUR. * "Tis fair as breath of even ; A Couch for weary mortals spread, There is a home for weary souls, By sin and sorrow driven, When tost in life's tempestuous shoals, There faith lifts up the tearful eye, There fragrant flow'rs immortal bloom, DRAW THE SWORD SCOTLAND. DRAW the sword, Scotland! Scotland! Scotland? Over moor and mountain hath pass'd the war-sign: The pibroch is pealing! pealing! pealing! Wha heeds not the summons is nae son o' thine. The clans they are gath'ring! gath'ring! gath'ring! The clans they are gath'ring by loch and by lea: The banners they are flying! flying! flying! The banners they are flying that lead to victory. Sheath the sword, Scotland! Scotland! Scotland Sheath the sword, Scotland! for dimm'd is its shine: Thy foeman are fleeing fleeing! fleeing! And wha kens nae mercy is nae son o' thine. The struggle is over! over! over The struggle is over! the victory won! There are tears for the fallen! the fallen! the fallen! And glory for all wha their duty have done. Sheath the sword, Scotland! Scotland Scotland! Он hope, delusive dream of bliss, Can'st thou befriend an hour like this? Thy emblem is this lovely flow'r, Thy charms alike disclose; Thou'rt but the creature of an hour, And like this pale white rose. This morn, how bright was youth's wild dream, Ah! why the truth disclose, That love is but a dream at last, HOW LIGHT A CAUSE MAY MOVE. T. Moore. ALAS-how light a cause may move That stood the storm when waves were rough, Yet in a sunny hour fall off, Like ships that have gone down at sea, A word unkind or wrongly taken A breath a touch like this hath shaken. And ruder words will soon rush in ; Breaks into floods, that part for ever. 1 Is found beneath far Eastern skies,-Whose wings, though radiant when at rest, Lose all their glory when it flies! HONEST BEN. Dibdin. I'm call'd Honest Ben, but for what I don't know, I only d'ye see do my duty; 'Tis ev'ry one's place to lighten the woe That presses down virtue and beauty: Why gold was first made, I can't tell to be sure, To learning not being addicted; Unless it was meant to cherish the poor, To comfort and aid the afflicted. There was honest Bill Bobstay, a true hearted lad, Became for a land lubber bail; Who soon got from Bill all the money he had, |