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To chase the moon-beams up the mountains,
Mirth to share,
Cry, oh rare!
DUNOIS THE BRAVE'!
t was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound for Palestine, but first he made his orisons before St. Mary's shrine; And grant, immortal Queen of Heaven," was still the sol.
That I may prove the bravest knight, and love the fairest
* This is extracted from “ Paul's letters to his Kinsfolk :" the following is enote which precedes it; “ A relique of greater moral interest was given
His oath of honour on the shrine, he grav'd it with his sword,
They ow'd the conquest to his arm, and this his liege-lord said,
And then they bound the holy knot before St. 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-belov’d the fairest
me by a lady, whose father had found it upon the field of battle, (Waterloo.) It is a inanuscript collection of French songs, bearing stains of clay and blood, which probably indicate the fate of the proprietor. One or two of these romances I have thought pretty, and have since had an opportunity of having them translated into English, by meeting at Paris with one of our Scottish men of rhyme.”
We have only to add, that this song or ballad is very popular in France, and was written by one of Buonaparte's sisters, Fanny de Beauharnois, Ex: Queen of Holland.
0 BEAUTY, PEERLESS IS THY GLOW,
O beauty, peerless is thy glow,
Resistless beams thy streaming eye,
For heroes who in battle die,
Nor cheerless shall the widow sigh,
The soldier's offspring friendless roam ; The tear enthron'd in beauty's eye,
Are stars to guide the wand'rers home. Who would not die the warrior's death, When beauty weaves the cypress wreath !
O WHEN AGAIN SHALL MY EYES ROVE
O when again shall my eyes rove,
Our cottages, our chrystal rills,
Our hamlets, and our native hills.
The flower, the beauty of our dell,
My father and my mother,
My sister and my brother ;
O when again, &c.
* These simple stanzas are a translation of the poetry sung by the Swiss to the celebrated Rans de Vatch. Rousseau says, the air impressed them with so violent a desire to return home to their own country, that it was forbidden to be played in the Swiss regiments, in the French service, on pain of death,
o, WHEN SHALL I VISIT THE LAND OF MY
O, when shall I visit the land of my birth,
Our forests, our fountains,
Our hamlets, our mountains,
When shall I return to that lowly retreat,
My father, my mother,
My sister, my brother,
+ This is another translation of the preceding celebrated song, by Mr. Montgomery, author of " The Wanderer in Switzerland,” &c.