MALBROOCK.

TRANSLATED BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

ALBROOCK, the prince of commanders,
Is gone to the war in Flanders;

His fame is like Alexander's;

But when will he ever come home?
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine.

For Trinity Feast is over,

And has brought no knews from Dover,

And Easter is pass'd, moreover,

And Malbroock still delays.

"He's dead! He's dead as a herring!

For I beheld his berring,

And four officers transferring

His corpse away from the field.

"One officer carried his sabre,

And he carried it not without labour,
Much envying his next neighbour,

Who only bore a shield.

66

And cover'd a hero's brains.

Now having got so far, I

Find, that by the Lord Harry!-

The fourth is left nothing to carry ;-
So there the thing remains."
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine.

J. P. DE BERANGER. TRANSLATED BY AMELIA B. EDWARDS.

N Paris a queer little man you may see,

A little man all in grey;

Rosy and round as an apple is he,

Content with the present, whate'er it may be,

While from care and from cash he is equally free,

And merry both night and day!

Ma foi! I laugh at the world," says he,

"I laugh at the world, and the world laughs at me!" What a gay little man in grey!

He runs after the girls, like a great many more,

This little man all in grey;

He sings, falls in love and in debt o'er and o'er,

And drinks without wasting a thought on the score;

And then in the face of a dun shuts his door,

Or keeps out of the bailiff's way.

Ma foi! I laugh at the world," says he,

I laugh at the world, and the world laughs at me!"

What a gay little man in grey!

When the rain comes in through the broken panes,

This little man all in grey

Goes to bed content, and never complains,

And, though winter be chilling the blood in his veins,
Blows his frost-bitten fingers, and merrily feigns

Not to care for a fire to-day!

Ma foi! I laugh at the world," says he,

'I laugh at the world, and the world laughs at me!" little man in grey!

What a gay

The prettiest wife one need wish to possess
Has this little man all in grey;

But the world will talk, and I must confess

That her exquisite taste, and her elegant dress
Lead others to wonder-perhaps to guess

That her lovers, perchance, may pay.

Still her husband looks on. "Ma foi!" says he,-

I laugh at the world, and the world laughs at me

e!"

What a gay little man in grey!

Now rack'd by the gout, on his comfortless bed

Lies this little man all in grey;

And the priest, with his book and his shaven head,

Comes and talks of the devil, the grave, and the dead,

Till the sick man's patience is wholly fled,

And he frightens the priest away!

"Ma foi! I laugh at the devil," says he,

I laugh at the world, and the world laughs at me!" What a gay little man in grey!