For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray Press where ye see my white p.ume shine, amidst the ranks of war, Hurrah! the foes are moving! Hark to the mingled din Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin. A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, Now, God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his rein. And many a lord y banner God gave thein for a prey. But we of the religion have borne us best in fight; And the good lord of Ro-ny hatirta'en the cornet white; Our own true Maximi ian the cornet white hath ta'en, The cornet white with crosses black, the flag of false Lorraine. Up with it high; unfurl it wide; that all the host may know 7 How God hath humbled the proud house which wrought his church such woe. Then on the ground, while trumpets sound their loudest points of war, Fling the red shreds, a foot-cloth meet for Henry of Navarre. Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne ! Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return. That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls! W. E. AYTOUN-THEODORE MARTIN. The same style of ballad poetry, applied to incidents and characters in Scottish history, was adopted with distinguished success by PROFESSOR WILLIAM EDMONDSTOUNE AYTOUN, author of 'Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers,' 1849, and Bothwell,' a tale of the days of Mary, Queen of Scots,' 1856. The 'Lays' range from the field of Flodden to the extinction of the Jacobite cause at Culloden, and are animated by a fine martial spirit, intermingled with scenes of pathos and mournful regret. The work has gone through a great number of editions. In a similar spirit of nationality, Mr. Aytoun published a collected and collated edition of the old "Scottish Ballads,' two volumes, 1858. In satirical and humorous composition, both in poetry and prose, Mr. Aytoun also attained celebrity. His tales and sketches in Blackwood's Magazine' are marked by a vigorous hand, prone to caricature; and he is author of a clever satire-Firmilian, a Spasmodic Tragedy, by Percy T. Jones,' 1854. In conjunction with his friend, MR. THEODORE MARTIN, Mr. Aytoun wrote The Book of Ballads, by Bon Gaultier'-a series of burlesque poems and parodies contributed to different periodicals, and collected into one volume; and to the same poetical partnership we owe a happy translation of the ballads of Goethe. Mr. Aytoun was a native of Edinburgh, born in 1813. Having studied at the university of Edinburgh, and afterwards in Germany, he was admitted to the Scottish bar in 1840. In 1845 he was ap pointed to the chair of Rhetoric and Belles-lettres in Edinburgh University, and in 1852 he was made sheriff of Orkney. His poetical talents were first displayed in a prize poem, Judith,' which was eulogized by Professor Wilson, afterwards the father-in-law of the young poet. He died at Blackhills, near Elgin, August 4, 1865.— Mr. Martin is a native of Edinburgh, born in 1816. He is now a parliamentary solicitor in London. Besides his poetical labours with Mr. Aytoun, Mr. Martin has translated Horace, Catullus, and Goethe's 'Faust;' also the 'Vita Nuova' of Dante; the 'Corregio' and 'Aladdin' of the Danish poet Ehlenschlager, and King Rene's Daughter,' a Danish lyrical drama by Henrik Herts. Mr. Martin was selected by Her Majesty to write the Life of the Prince Consort,' the first volume of which appeared in 1874, and was highly creditable to the taste and judgment of the author. In 1851 Mr Martin was married to Miss Helen Faucit, an accomplished and popular actress. The Burial-march of Dundee.—From the 'Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers.' I Sound the fife, and cry the slogan Let the pibroch shake the air With its wild triumphant music, Worthy of the freight we bear. Hear once more the battle-song On his dauntless bosom bore Good King Robert's heart-the priceless To our dear Redeemer's shore ! Lo! we bring the conquering Græme, Whence his spirit took its flight, Lies the royal banner's fold- Never shall we hear the voice that, Clearer than the trumpet's call, Bade us strike for king and country, Bade us win the field, or fall! II. On the beights of Killiecrankie And the Pass was wrapped in gloom, When the clansmen rose together From their lair amidst the broom. Then we belted on our tartans, And our bonnets down we drew, As we felt our broadswords' edges, And we proved them to be true; And we prayed the prayer of soldiers, And we cried the gathering-cry, And we clasped the hands of kinsmen, And we swore to do or die! Then our leader rode before us, On his war-horse black as nightWell the Cameronian rebels Knew that charger in the fight!— And a cry of exultation From the bearded warriors rose; Soldiers! I have sworn a vow; For his country and King James! Think of what his race endureThink on him whom butchers murdered On the field of Magus Muir: By his sacred blood I charge ye, By the ruined hearth and shrineBy the blighted hopes of Scotland, By your injuries and mineStrike this day as if the anvil Lay beneath your blows the while, Be they Covenanting traitors, Or the brood of false Argyle; How they fared within the North, Search for him that was Dundee !' III. Loudly then the hills re-echoed And they harder drew their breath; And the distant tramp of horses, Next we saw the squadrons come, Leslie's foot and Leven's troopers Marching to the tuck of drum; Through the scattered wood of birches O'er the broken ground and heath, Wound the long battalion slowly, Till they gained the field beneath: Judge how looked the Saxons then, Flashed the broadsword of Lochiel! Amongst the foremost of our bandOn we poured until we met them Foot to foot, and hand to hand. Horse and man went down like drift-wood When the floods are black at Yule, And their carcases are whirling In the Garry's deepest pool. Horse and man went down before us When that strbborn fight was done! IV. And the evening-star was shining And the clansmen's clamorous cheer: Shot, and steel, and scorching flame, V. Open wide the vaults of Athol, To receive another guest! Sonnet to Britain, by the D Than outlive the land's disgrace ! Reck not of the after-time: Sle p in peace with kindred ashes Chieftain than our own Duudee! of W. From Bon Gaultier.' Halt! Shoulder arms! Recover! As you were! Where the grim despot muttered Sauve qui peut! Of armies, in the centre of his troop The soldier stands-unmovable. not rash Until the forces of the fo man droop; Then knocks the Frenchman to eternal smash, FRANCES BROWN. This lady, blind from infancy, is a more remarkable instance of the poetical faculty existing apart, as it were, from the outer world than that of Dr. Blacklock. FRANCES BROWN, daughter of the postmaster of Stanorlar, a village in the county Donegal, Ireland, was born in 1816. When only eighteen months old, she lost her eyesight from small-pox. She learned something from hearing her brothers and sisters reading over their tasks; her friends and relatives read to her such books as the remote village afforded, and at length she became acquainted with Scott's novels, Pope's Homer, and Byron's 'Childe Harold.' She wrote some verses which appeared in the 'Irish Penny Journal,' and in 1841 sent a number of small poems to the Athenæum.' The editor introduced her to public notice: her pieces were greatly admired; and in 1844 she ventured on the publication of a volume, The Star of Atteghei, the Vision of Schwartz, and other Poems. Shortly afterwards, a small pension of £20 a year was settled on the poetess; and the Marquis of Lansdowne is said to have presented her with a sum of £100. In 1847 she issued a second volume, Lyrics' and 'Miscellaneous Poems,' and she has contributed largely to periodical works. The poetry of Miss Brown, especially her lyrical pieces, is remarkable for clear poetic feeling and diction; while the energy displayed, from her childhood, by this almost friendless girl, raises,' as the editor of her first volume remarked, 'at once the interest and the character of her muse.' The Last Friends. One of the United Irishmen, who lately returned to his country, after many years of exile, being asked what had induced him to revisit Ireland when all his friends were gone, answered: I came back to see the mountains.' I come to my country, but not with the hope That brightened my youth like the cloud-lighting bow, When my path was afar by the Tanais' lone track; The dust of my kindred is scattered afar They lie in the desert, the wild, and the wave; Whose hope rose so high, though in sorrow it set; Oh, where are the brave hearts that bounded of old? Ay, green as they rose to the eyes of my youth, When brothers in heart in their shadows we met: For their summits are sacred to liberty yet! Like ocean retiring, the morning mists now Roll back from the mountains that girdle our land; And sunlight encircles each heath-covered brow, For which time hath no furrow and tyrants no brand: LORD HOUGHTON. -June 16, 1843. Several volumes of graceful, meditative poetry, and records of foreign travel, were published between 1833 and 1844 by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES, called to the House of Peers in 1863 as BARON HOUGHTON. These are: Memorials of a Tour in Greece,' 1833; 'Memorials of a Residence on the Continent,' 1838; Poetry for the People,' 1840; 'Poems, Legendary and Historical,' 1844; 'Palm Leaves, 1844. Lord Houghton was born in that enviable rank of Society, the English country-gentleman. He is cldest son of the late |