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The mountain bull,* he bent his brows,
THE NOBLE MORINGER: And gored his sides again.
AN ANCIENT BALLA), Then lost was banner, spear, and shield,
Translated from the German. At Sempach in the fight,
The original of these verses oceurs in a collece The eloister vaults at Konigsfield
tion of German popular songs, entitled Sammlung Hold many ap Austrian knight.
Deutschen Volkslieder, Berlin, 1807, published by It was the archduke Leopold,
Messrs. Busching and Von der Hagen, both, and So lordly would he ride,
more especially the last, distinguished for their But he came against the Switzer churls,
acquaintance with the ancient popular poetry and And they slew him in his pride.
legendary history of Germany
In the German editor's notice of the ballad, it The heifer said unto the bull,
is stated to bave been extracted from a manuscript “ And shall I not complain?
Chronicle of Nicolaus Thomann, chaplain to St. There eame a foreign nobleman
Leonard in Weisenhorn, which bears the date To milk me on the plaiu.
1533; and the song is stated by the author to bare. “ One thrust of thine outrageous horn been generally sung in the neighbourhood at that Has gall’d the knight so sore,
early period. Thomann, as quoted by the German That to the churchyard he is borne,
editor, seenis faithfully to have believed the event To range our glens no more.”—
he narrates. He quotes tomb-stones and obituaries An Austrian noble left the stour,
to prove the existence of the personages of the And fast the flight ’gan take;
ballad, and discovers that there actually died os
the 11th May, 13 i9, a lady Von Neuffen, countess And he arrived in luekless hour
of Marstetten, who was by birth of the house of At Sempach on the lake.
Moringer. This lady he supposes to have been He and his squire a fisher callid,
Moringer's daughter mentioned in the ballad. He (His name was Hans Von Rot)
quotes the same authority for the death of Berck“For love, or meed, or charity,
hold Von Neuffen in the same year. The editors, Receive us in thy boat.”
on the whole, seem to embrace the opinion of proTheir anxious call the fisher heard,
fessor Smith, of Ulm, who, from the language of
the ballad, ascribes its date to the 15th century. And, glad the meed to win,
The legend itself turns on an incident not pecuHis shallop to the shore he steerd,
liar to Germany, and which perhaps was not unAnd took the flyers in.
likely to happen in more instances than one, when And while against the tide and wind
crusaders abode long in the Holy Land, and their Hans stoully row'd his way,
disconsolate dames received no tidings of their The noble to his follower sign'd
fate. A story very similar in circumstances, but He should the boatman slay.
without the miraculous machinery of saint Tho
mas, is told of one of the ancient lords of HaighThe fisher's back was to them turu’d,
hall, in Lancashire, the patrimonial inheritance of The squire his dagger drew,
the late countess of Balcarras; and the particulars Hans saw his shadow in the lake,
are represented on stained glass upon a window The boat he overthrew.
in that ancient manor-house. He whelm'd the boat, and as they strove, He stunn'd them with his oar;
1. “Now, drink ye deep, my gentle sirs, You'll ne'er stab boatman more.
O, will you hear a knightly tale
of old Bohemian day, “Two gilded fishes in the lake
It was the noble Moringer This morning have I caught,
In wedlock bed he lay; Their silver scales may much avail,
He halsed and kissed his dearest dame, Their carrion flesh is naught."
That was as sweet as May, It was a messenger of wo
And said, “Now, lady of my heart, Has sought the Austrian land;
Attend the words I say. “Ah! gracious lady, evil news!
II. My lord lies on the strand.
“ 'Tis I have vow'd a pilgrimage
Unto a distant shrine, “ At Sempach, on the battle-field, His bloody corpse lies there."
And I must seek saint Thomas-land, " Ah, gracious God!” the lady cried,
And leave the land that's mine; “ What tidings of despair!”
Here shalt thou dwell the while in state,
So thou wilt pledge thy fay, Now, would you know the minstrel wight, That ihou for my return wilt wait Who sings of strife so stern,
Seven twelvemonths and a day.” Albert the Souter is he hight,
III. A burgher of Lucerne.
Then out and spoke that lady bright, A merry man was he, I wot,
Sore troubled in her neer, The night he made the lay,
“Now, tell me true, thou noble knight, Returning from the bloody spot,
What order takest thou here; Where God had judged the day.
And who shall lead thy vassal band,
And hold thy lordly sway, • A pun on the Urus, or wild bull, which gives name to And be thy lady's guardian true the canton of Uri.
When thou art far away?"
« Of that have thou no care, There's many a valiant gentleman
Of me holds living fair;
My vassals and my state,
The vow which I have plight;
Remember thy true knight;
For vain were sorrow now,
From bed he made him bowne,
With ewer and with gown:
'Twas furr'd with miniver,
VII. “ Now hear,” he said, “ sir Chamberlain,
True vassal art thou mine, And such the trust that I repose
In that proved worth of thine,
And lead my vassal train,
And sturdily said he,
And take this rede from me;
Seven twelvemonths didst thou say?
His heart was full of care,
He was Marstetten's heir,
“ Thou trusty squire to me,
X. “ To watch and ward my castle strong,
And to protect my land,
To lead my vassal band;
Till seven long years are gone,
But fiery, hot, and young,
With too presumptuons tongue, “ My noble lord, cast care away,
And on your journey wend,
And trust this charge to me until
Which shall be truly tried, To guard your lands, and ward your towers,
And with your vassals ride;
So virtuous and so dear,
When thus he heard him speak,
And sorrow left his cheek;
Hoists top-sails and away,
Within an orchard slept,
A boding vision crept;
“ 'Tis time, sir knight, to wake, Thy lady and thine heritage Another master take.
Thy steeds another rein,
Thy gallant vassal train;
So faithful once and fair,
Starts up and tears his beard,
What tidings have I heard!
The less would be my care,
• My patron saint art thou, A traitor robs me of my land
Even while I pay my vow! My wife he brings to infamy
That was so pure of name,
Who heard his pilgrim's prayer;
That it o'erpower'd his care; He waked in fair Bohemian land,
Outstretch'd beside a rill,
As one from spell unbound,
Gazed wildly all around;
“I know my father's ancient towers,
The mill, the stream I know,
And to the mill he drew,
That none their master knew;
“ Good friend, for charity, Tell a poor palmer in your land What tidings may there be?”
“ He knew of little news, Save that the lady of the land
Did a new bridegroom choose;
Such is the constant word,
Which wins me living free, God rest the baron in his grave,
He still was kind to me;
And millers take their toll,
To climb the hill began,
A wo and weary man;
That can compassion take,
His call was sad and slow,
Were heavy all with wo;
“ Friend, to thy lady say,
XXV. «« l've wander'd many a weary step,
My strength is well nigh done, And if she turn me from her gate
l'll see no morrow's sun;
A pilgrim's bed and dole,
He came his dame before,
Stands at the castle door;
For harbour and for dole,
“ Do up the gate,” she said,
“ And bid the wanderer welcome be
To banquet and to bed:
So that he lists to stay,
Undid the portal broad,
That o'er the threshold strode; “And have thou thanks, kind heaven," he said,
Though from a man of sui,
His step was sad and slow,
None seem'd their lord to know; He sat him on a lowly bench,
Oppress'd with wo and wrong,
And come was evening hour,
Retire to nuptial bower; “ Our castle's wont,” a brides-man said,
“ Hath been both firm and long, No guest to harbour in our halls Till he shall chant a song."
XXXI. Then spoke the youthful bridegroom there,
As he sat by the bride, “My merry minstrel folks," quoth he,
“ Lay shalm and harp aside; Our pilgrim guest must sing a lay,
The castle's rule to hold;
'Twas thus the pilgrim sung,
Unlocks her heavy tongue;
At board as rich as thine,
And I grew silver-hair'd,
She left this brow and beard;
I tread life's latest stage,
This woful lay that hears,
Her eye was dimm’d with tears
A golden beaker take,
To quaff it for her sake.
That dropp'd, amid the wine,
So costly and so fine;
It tells you but the sooth,
“ Do me one kindly deed,
Full rich shall be thy meed;
Nor was the boon denied,
And bore it to the bride;
Sends this, and bids me pray,
She views it close and pear,
“ The Moringer is here!”
While tears in torrents fell,
And every saintly power,
Before the midnight hour;
And loud she utter'd vow on vow,
That never was there bride
“ To constant matrons due,
So steadfastly and true;
So that you count aright,
His falchion there he drew,
And down his weapon threw;
These were the words he said,
And then aloud did say,
Seven twelvemonths and a day.
Fame speaks her sweet and fair,
The old bridegroom the old,
So punctually were told;
That oped my castle gate,
I came a day too late.”
1797, consisting of gentlemen, mounted and armed
at their own expense. It still subsists, as the Right OF THE ROYAL EDINBURGH LIGHT DRAGOONS.
Troop of the Royal Mid-Lothian Light Cavalry, Nennius, Is not peace the end of arms? Caratach. Not where the cause implies a general con- Dundas. The noble and constitutional measure, of
commanded by the honourable lieutenant-colonel quest. Had we a difference with some petty isle,
arming freemen in defence of their own rights, was Or with our neighbours, Britons, for our landmarks, nowhere more successful than in Edinburgh, which The taking in of some rebellious lord,
furnished a force of 3000 armed and disciplined Or making head against a slight commotion, After a day of blood, peace might be argued:
volunteers, including a regiment of cavalry, from But where we grapple for the land we live on,
the city and county, and two corps of artillery, The liberty we hold more dear than life,
each capable of serving twelve guns. To such a The gods we worship, and, next these, our honours, force, above all others, might, in similar circumAnd, with those, swords, that know no end of battle Those men, beside themselves, allow no neighbour,
stances, be applied the exhortation of our ancient Those minds, that, where the day is, claim inheritance, Galgacus: " Proinde ituri in aciem, et majores Ard, where the sun makes ripe the fruit, their harvest, vestros et posteros cogitate.” And, where they march, but measure out more ground To add to Rome It must not be.-No! as they are our foes, Let's use the peace of honour-that's fair dealing;
To horse! to horse! tne standard flies, But in our hands our swords. The hardy Roman,
The bugles sound the call; That thinks to graft himself into my stock,
The Gallic navy stems the seas, Must first begin his kindred under ground,
The voice of battle's on the breeze, And be allied in ashes.
Arouse ye, one and all! The following War-song was written during the From high Dunedin's towers we come, apprehension of an invasion. The corps of volun- A band of brothers true; teers, to which it was addressed, was raised in Our casques the leopard's spoils surround,
With Scotland's hardy thistle crowned;
RED glows the forge in Striguil's bounds, We boast the red and blue.
And hammers din and anvil sounds,
And armourers, with iron toil, Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown
Barb many a steed for battle's broil. Dulí Holland's tardy train;
Foul fall the hand which bends the steel Their ravished toys though Romans mourn,
Around the coursers' thundering heel, Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn,
That e'er shall diot a sable wound And, foaming, gnaw the chain;
On fair Glamorgan's velvet ground! 0! had they marked the avenging callt
From Chepstow's towers, ere dawn of morn, Their brethren's murder gave,
Was heard afar the bugle horn; Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown,
And forth, in banded pomp and pride, Nor patriot valour, desperate grown,
Stout Clare and fiery Neville ride. Sought freedom in the grave!
They swore their banners broad should gleam, Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head,
In crimson light, on Rymny's stream; In Freedom's temple born,
They vowed, Caerphili's sod should feel Dress our pale cheeks in timid smile,
The Norman charger's spurning heel. To hail a master in our isle,
And sooth they swore,--the sun arose, Or brook a victor's scorn?
And Rymny's wave with crimson glows No! though destruction o'er the land
For Clare's red banner, floating wide, Come pouring as a flood,
Rolled down the stream to Severn's tide! The sun, that sees our falling day,
And sooth they vowed—the trampled green Shall mark our sabres' deadly sway,
Showed where hot Neville's charge had been: And set that night in blood.
In every sable hoof tramp stool For gold let Gallia's legions fight,
A Norman horseman's curdling blood! Or plunder's bloody gain;
Old Chepstow's brides may curse the toil Unbribed, unbought, our swords we draw, That armed stout Clare for Cambrian broil; To guard our king, to fence our law,
Their orphans long the art may rue, Nor shall their edge be vain.
For Neville's war-horse forged the shoe. If ever breath of British gale
No more the stamp of armed steed Shall fan the tricolour,
Shall dint Glamorgan's velvet mead; Or footstep of invader rude,
Nor trace be there, in early spring, With rapine foul, and red with blood,
Save of the fairies' emerald ring. Pollute our happy shore,
THE LAST WORDS OF CADWALLON. Then farewell home! and farewell friends!
Air-Dafydd y Garreg-wen." Adieu each tender tie!
THERE is a tradition that Dafydd y Garreg-ren, Resolved, we mingle in the tide,
a famous Welsh bard, being on his death-bed, Where charging squadrons furious ride,
called for his harp, and composed the sweet me To conquer or to die.
lancholy air to which these verses are united, reTo horse! to horse! the sabres gleam; questing that it might be performed at his funeral.
High sounds our bugle call; Combined by honour's sacred tie,
Dinas EMLinn, lament, for the moment is nigh, Our word is, Laws and Liberty!
When mute in the woodlands thine echoes shall die; March forward, one and all!
No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall rave,
And mix his wild notes with the wild dashing ware. THE NORMAN HORSE-SHOE.
In spring and in autumn, thy glories of shade
Unhonour'd shall Aourish, unhonour'd shall fade; Air-The War-song of the Men of Glamorgan.
For soon shall be lifeless the eye and the cougue, Tue Welsh, inhabiting a mountainous country, That view'd them with rapture, with rapture that and possessing only an inferior breed of horses,
sung: were usually unable to encounter the shock of the Anglo Norman cavalry. Occasionally, however, Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may mareh in their pride, they were successful in repelling the invaders; and And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyo's side the following verses are supposed to celebrate a But where is the harp shall give life to their name? defeat of Clare, earl of Striguil and Pembroke, And where is the bard shall give heroes their fame! and of Neville, baron of Chepstow, lords-marchers And oh, Dinas Emlinn! thy daughters so fair, of Monmouthshire. Rymny is a stream which di- Who heave the white bosom, and wave the dark vides the counties of Monmouth and Glamorgan: hair; Caerphili, the scene of the supposed battle, is a What tuneful enthusiast shall worship their eye, vale upon its banks, dignified by the ruins of a very When half of their charms with Cadwallon shall ancient castle.
die The royal colours.
Then adieu, silver Teivi! I quit thy loved seede, + The allusion is to the massacre of the Swiss guards, on To join the dim choir of the bards who have been; less, to remark, that the passive temper with which the With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin tbe Old, Swiss regarded the death of their bravest countrymen, And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold. mercilessly slaughtered in discharge of their duty; en And adieu, Dinas Emlion! still green be thy shades, which the Alps, once the seat of the most virtuous and Unconquer'd thy warriors, and matchless thy free people upon the continent, have, at length, been con- maids! verted into the citadel of a foreign and military despot A state degraded is half enslaved.
• David of the white Rock