SONG *.

BY T. CAMPBELL.

THE brave Roland!-the brave Roland-
False tidings reach'd the Rhenish strand
That he had fall'n in fight;

And thy faithful bosom swoon'd with pain,
O loveliest maiden of Allémayne,

For the loss of thine own true knight.

But why so rash has she ta'en the veil,
In yon Nonnenwerder's cloisters pale?

For her vow had scarce been sworn,
And the fatal mantle o'er her flung,
When the Drachenfells to a trumpet rung-
'Twas her own dear warrior's horn.

Woe, woe! each heart shall bleed, shall break!
She would have hung upon his neck,

Had he come but yester-even;

And he had clasp'd those peerless charms
That shall never, never fill his arms,
Or meet him but in heaven.

Yet Roland the brave, Roland the true,
He could not bid that spot adieu ;

It was dear, still 'midst his woes;
For he loved to breathe the neighb'ring air,
And to think she blest him in her prayer,
When the Halleluiah rose.

There's yet one window of that pile,
Which he built above the nun's green isle,
Thence sad and oft look'd he,

(When the chant and organ sounded slow)
On the mansion of his love below,
For herself he might not see.

She died !-He sought the battle-plain;
Her image fill'd his dying brain,

When he fell, and wish'd to fall:
And her name was in his latest sigh,
When Roland, the flower of chivalry,
Expired at Roncevall.

The tradition which forms the substance of these stanzas is still preserved in Germany. An ancient tower on a height, called the Rolandseck, a few miles above Bonn on the Rhine, is shewn as the habitation which Roland built in sight of a nunnery, into which his mistress had retired on having heard an unfounded account of his death. Whatever may be thought of the credibility of the legend, its scenery must be recollected with pleasure by every one who has ever visited the romantic landscape of the Drachenfells, the Rolandseck, and the beautiful adjacent islet of the Rhine, where a nunnery still stands.

M

THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE LONDON CRIES.

Full is the city with the sons of art,

And trade and joy in every busy street,
Mingling are heard

THOMSON.

I HAVE been dipping lately into the literature of the day, and spent nearly two hours a morning of the last week over the subject of the London Cries. I am fond of decomposing a cheap material of this nature. I allow the volatile parts to escape at their pleasure, and am content with whatever may have been precipitated during the process. I find no such place as the metropolis for the economical indulgence of this my chemical turn. Between the poets and the doctors, there is scarce a virtue in any herb, fruit, or blossom, but has been laid open to all mankind. Many and wonderful have been the discoveries effected in the fields-tongues have been found in trees

books in the running brooks,

Sermons in stones,

and should the marvellous receipt by which these unexpected properties have been detected get into proper hands, we know not what the consequence may be in the city. I have sometimes considered that interesting portion of our fellow-citizens, who compose the performers of the London Cries, in the character of a peripatetic sect, who spend their lives in traversing the porticoes, lanes, and alleys, of this great metropolis, carrying about with them-not vain opinions and dogmas concocted by presumption, a love of singularity and ignorance, but such practical and wholesome fare as has been found useful to men in all ranks and stations.

But passing over this branch of the enquiry, (which I do, be it observed, out of pure tenderness to my respected friend the Stagyrite,) I hasten to contemplate them in a light, in which they appear to the greatest advantage. I do not know of any body of persons who have so many claims to be regarded as the depositaries of that ancient style of minstrelsy, of which we now have but some doubtful and remote traces. Like their romantic brethren of the chivalrous time, they closely adhere to nature in all their performances, preferring plain, unadorned melody, to the corruptions and abuses that now chiefly go under the denomination of harmony. Like these too, the modern fraternity are not tied down in their compositions by these laws, which are found from experience, so much to cramp the imagination, and beneath which the helots of Parnassus, now-a-days, do so piteously groan.' The charge of a syllable-cide hath no terrors for them. Again, what can more clearly demonstrate their lineage, than their cleaving, amidst every obstacle, unto the erratic life so characteristic of the ancient bards. They maintain with strict fidelity the proverbial connexion between poverty and poetry, which has subsisted ever since the days of Amphion, the latest, I believe, of the inspired train that was any thing of a builder. And herein, let me observe,

* See Cowper's letter to Lady Hesketh, justifying certain elisions in his poems.

they have shewn only a just degree of respect for the traditions of their order. They are not backward either, in paying to the Muses those delicate compliments which are not direct enough for flattery, but are sufficiently obvious not to be misunderstood. "The Muses," says a good authority, "contrary to all other ladies, pay no distinction to dress, and never partially mistake the pertness of embroidery for wit, nor the modesty of want for dulness." The hint has not been lost upon the itinerant profession, as every body acquainted with their persons can testify. There is nothing in the economy of the tribe I am so much pleased with, as the simplicity of the female performers-nothing! Surely it must be refreshing to hear one of this dramatis persona, come to the air or recitative at once, without our being compelled to witness a prologue of strange gestures-revolutions of the features, and hemming, which our donnas on the stage or in the drawing-room do labour to grace their songs withal. There is with them no bandying of nods and winks-no languishing bend to set off an ancle or a profile-no coy shuddering ere they launch upon the stream of melodythe hearer is never invited to forget the character in the woman, or to devote himself to a row of fine teeth, whilst his attention should be engaged by the music. The nature of the business of this society does not open an opportunity for the workings of that petty jealousy which oftentimes makes the "green"-room "one" yellow, and exercises the patience of the worthy manager, even unto exhaustion. Each performer is allowed to assume the particular character that pleases him best, and to retain it no longer than his convenience will allow. Never were servants of the public so much disposed, as they have always shewn themselves to be, to follow with due submission and promptitude the taste and judgment of the town; each stands upon his own claims to patronage. There never was a class, depending upon their public exertions, that are so little indebted to the artificial means of acquiring fame. Each one looks to himself as the sole author and supporter of his own celebrity. If there be an individual amongst them of distinguished merit, it will not long lie concealed, for there are no people that come so much, and in so many different agreeable characters, before the public. I have been often greatly struck with the judgment and skill which this company have displayed in suiting their airs or measures to the sense. So much success, indeed, has been attained by them in this branch of the profession, that an experienced ear would be able to descry at a considerable distance, merely from the nature of the movement, the particular commodity which was the subject of it. In proportion as the burden of the chant is valuable and important, as an article of necessity or of luxury, the notes which serve for its vehicle, are solemn and slow. Thus, shrimps, periwinkles, and things of the like subordinate rank, are dismissed in presto time. Poultry of all sorts, on the contrary, even where the names are of the monosyllabic tribe, are uttered with the most dignified andante hesitation. The accuracy and uniformity displayed by them in the execution of this branch of the art have

* The Beggar's Opera.

often surprised me. That there are teachers amongst the body who break-in the youth, and instruct them after the manner that other arts are taught, there can be very little doubt, after one has paid attention to the performances. I do not know whether or not they have the secret of the plan, (invented by Sir R. Steele,) which was to enable a scholar to fix and present to the eye, by means of musical scores, the principles of elocution, so that the key, the tone of voice and manner, in which a passage in prose or verse has been delivered, may be perpetuated with exactness or whether they endeavour to fit a particular cry to the organs of a particular person, upon the principle of the man, who, being to make a speech once for a lord mayor, begged first of all to know the measure of his lordship's mouth. All these points I hand over to persons of more penetration than myself. But I am often in a humour to lose sight of even all these distinguishing perfections in a sort of gratitude, rather vaguely felt I admit, for the existence of such a profession. No man that has not been thoughtridden for a whole week, can understand what I feel, when, in a garret closely pent, and dozing out the day in forgetfulness of every mortal care, I am recalled to a sense of society, by a lusty stave from below. It is then that I pay the greatest veneration to the faculty, it is then that I look upon them as that link which connects the oblivious with the active part of humanity. "It is a pleasure," says Lucretius by the mouth of Lord Bacon, "to stand upon the sea-shore, and to see ships tossed upon the sea: a pleasure to stand in the window of a castle, and to see a battle and the adventures thereof below;" but nothing, in my mind, can equal the joy of him, who being solitary and comfortless, hears the roar of "mackerel," "cod's head,” or “ whiting," in the street, at the distance of three pair backward.

Long Chancery-lane retentive rolls the sound,
And Courts to Courts return it round and round;
Thames wafts it thence to Rufus' roaring hall,
And Hungerford re-echoes bawl for bawl.

A friend of mine, who has lost one of the healthiest looks I have ever seen in the study of acoustics, (he shows his pale cheek with as much pride as a soldier does his wounds,) assures me, that the music of the London Cries can be brought to that perfection, that a person might be metaphorically fed through the ear, and never be asked to use his teeth, by a proper adjustment of the sounds. Particular notes, he says, might convey the taste, flavour, and even nourishment of a particular article of food, to the plenary satisfaction of-I suppose we may at present say-the patient. I do not know, indeed, if Milton had not an eye-or for two reasons in his case, I should say, an ear to this very invention, in the following lines, which I dare say, up to this moment have been regarded as a very ordinary piece of poetry— And ever against EATING cares,

Lap me in soft Lydian (London) airs, &c. &c.

But perhaps, after all, there cannot be found a more excellent use of the compositions we have been considering, than the insight which they give into the natural history of the country, the manners and luxuries of the people. Some study the character of a people in

their proverbs, the theatres have been selected by others for this purpose, others again look for it in their writings. The most rational medium for observation is, as it strikes me, the business of the itinerant body, whom I thus humbly endeavour to celebrate. There is not a day that you may not have at their hands specimens of some of the choicest productions of nature in the animal or vegetable kingdom. You have, as it were, in the streets a living museum, with the eminent peculiarity attending it, that many of the properties of a particular class of productions may be ascertained in it, in the most satisfactory manner. Thus the rarity or abundance of any species of fish-the season when it is most easily found-the length of time during which it can live out of water-its power of resisting putrefaction, and many other curious facts relating to it, may all be familiarly acquired by the meanest capacity without trouble. I own I would not wish for a more accurate calendar for declaring the progress of the seasons, than this very interesting order affords. The Spring, the Summer, the Autumn, are unfolded in the most agreeable manner in the abundant succession of flowers, of fruits, and esculents that attract and confound the senses of the metropolitans at every turn. Verily the country doth come to town to keep her terms with the goodly city-" Nempe inter varias nutritur flora columnas." And when at last stern Winter comes to sadden the year-dejecting prospect!—what an exemplary sample do these missionaries of nourishment hold out, of that provident temper which the ancient sage does so cunningly recommend in the well-known apologue of the ant and the fly. It is they who remember to some purpose that there is a time when nature puts not forth or fruit or herb,-that there is a time when fishermen may not put to sea;-it is they who will lay up for that blank interval a plentiful store of necessaries, and distribute them in the moment of need amongst their fellow-beings. But with still greater precision, than in the case of our natural history, may the state of our domestic living be illustrated by the London cries. There cannot be a better criterion of the advanced condition of our culinary conveniences than the familiar chants-" Pots and pans, and kettles to mend.” "Who'll buy my wooden ware," and such like. The cry of "mats," of which the species is very multiplied, that of "brooms," -“white stone," &c. let the enquirer into our very houses almost, and shew in a very satisfactory way the degree to which we carry the love of cleanliness. Then there are catches about "band-boxes," "knives or scissars to grind," "matches," &c. which declare the scale of our minor comforts. There is, lastly, a well-known cry which specifies in terms, indeed, the peculiar animals which have been domesticated amongst us for our amusement and use. I believe I have now stated enough to induce the public to think more respectfully of this interesting order in future. I am not bound to notice here the various reflections that have been from time out of mind cast upon this body, especially the female characters. Every profession embraces some few who are unworthy of it and should the ladies belonging to this calling be reproached with an abuse of the liberty of speech, we should remember, that it is a fault incident