and of this we have apparent proofs in his Irish Melodies, in which he has been forced to use modes of versification that would not have been chosen for an unfettered poem. It requires some practice to give the proper cadence in reciting the following lines:

At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly, To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye!

And I think that, if spirits can steal from the region of air To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me

there,

And tell me our love is remember'd even in the sky!

Another five-barred cadence to the air "I once had a true love," although the feet walk more smoothly, must also have cost considerable pains to the poet.

Through grief and through danger, thy smile hath cheer'd my way,

Till hope seem'd to bud from each thorn that round me lay;
The darker our fortune, the brighter our pure love burn'd,
Till shame into glory; till fear into zeal was turn'd :
Oh! slave as I was, in thy arms my spirit felt free,
And bless'd e'en the sorrows that made me more dear to

thee.

We formerly remarked that it is the thought

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and not the measure which renders the stanza grave or gay; and something similar may be observed of the Music. Tenderness, and even pathos, may be given to the most lively air, provided it be accompanied with verses of a plaintive kind, sung with tender expression and to slow time. It is not, however, to be recommended, to the writer of a serious Song, to chuse an Air which has been originally adapted to lighter verses; because the earlier association is apt to return upon the mind of the hearer, and thereby to retranspose the melody (and with it the song) into a species of burlesque. The Banks of the Dee' (which the Scotch have appropriated as a National Song, although the Nightingale was never heard in their country) is set, in slow time, to the Irish Air of 'Langolee': that tune to which so many ludicrous verses have been made and sung.

It has been said that Love and Wine are the exclusive subjects of Song; but he who said so forgot Patriotism to which we owe many of the finest Songs in every language. This patriotism, however, is not necessarily enlightened. The poet need only to be an enthusiast; and the offspring of his use will be equally prized by his party, whether they be in favour of republicanism, or of the divine right of kings. The Marseillois hymn animated the French sol

diers to battle; and many of our tenderest airs were composed by the adherents of the exiled Stuarts: these are associated with pity for misfortune, and pity melts the mind to love.' WarSongs are more assimilated to the ancient Ode: they aim at the sublime. Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled' is of this class; but the following, by the same author, is probably less known:

SCENE-A Field of Battle-Time of the Day, Evening-the wounded and dying of the victorious Army are supposed to join in the following

SONG OF DEATH.

Farewell thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, Now gay with the broad setting sun!

Farewell loves and friendships, ye dear, tender ties, Our race of existence is run!

Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe,
Go, frighten the coward and slave;

Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know,
No terrors hast thou to the brave!

Thou strik'st the poor peasant-he sinks in the dark,
Nor saves e'en the wreck of a name;

Thou strik'st the young hero-a glorious mark!
He falls in the blaze of his fame!

In the field of proud honour-our swords in our hands,
Our king and our country to save-

While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands-
O, who would not die with the brave!

Campbell's "Battle of Hohenlinden” is a spirited Song of the same class.

On Linden when the sun was low,
All bloodless lay th' untrodden snow;
And dark as winter was the flow

Of Iser rolling rapidly:

But Linden saw another sight,

When the drum beat, at dead of night,
Commanding fires of death to light

The darkness of her scenery.

By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
Each horseman drew his battle blade;
And furious every charger neighed,

To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills, with thunder riven;
Then rush'd the steed, to battle driven;
And, louder than the bolts of heaven,

Far flash'd the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall grow,
On Linden's hills of stained snow;
And bloodier yet the torrent flow
Of Iser rolling rapidly.

The combat deepens, on ye brave,
Who rush to glory or the grave!
Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave!

And charge with all thy chivalry!

Few, few shall part, where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding sheet;
And every turf beneath their feet

Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.

CHAPTER XVI.

OF LYRIC POETRY-continued.

In the preceding Chapter we have treated at large of the Ode and the Song which, in this country, are the only species of poetry that are combined with instrumental Music. Other small poems, however, are usually included under the denomination of Lyric: some of which are considered as varieties of Song; and others are seldom, if ever, meant to be sung.

A Ballad is a rhyming record of some adventure or transaction, which is amusing or interesting to the populace, and written in easy and uniform verse, so as it may be sung by those who have little acquaintance with Music. Ballads are sung in the streets and at fairs, by itinerant minstrels, or they amuse the rustics during their sociable and sedentary occupations. They are so many amusing or interesting tales told in verse, and in a chant that is sufficiently agreeable to the ear. 6 Chevy Chase' and The Babes of the Wood' are specimens of our ancient Ballads. Goldsmith's Edwin and Angelina,' is a Ballad of