squalid, fierce, and ragged, seemed to
start from the ground, and surrounded their horses like swarms of bees,
uttering the most discordant cries; and, with the gestures of savages,
rather demanding than beseeching money, which, when granted, seemed only
to render them more insatiable. While, sometimes mingled with the
rest, were seen the bright eyes and olive cheek, and half-pleading,
half-laughing smile of girls, whose extreme youth, scarce emerged
from childhood, rendered doubly striking their utter and unredeemed
abandonment.

"You did not exaggerate the decorum of the Grand Company!" cried the
Knight, gravely, to his new acquaintance.

"Signor," replied the other, "you must not judge of the kernel by the
shell. We are scarcely yet arrived at the camp. These are the outskirts,
occupied rather by the rabble than the soldiers. Twenty thousand men
from the sink, it must be owned, of every town in Italy, follow
the camp, to fight if necessary, but rather for plunder, and for
forage:--such you now behold. Presently you will see those of another
stamp."

The Knight's heart swelled high. "And to such men is Italy given up!"
thought he. His revery was broken by a loud burst of applause from some
convivialists hard by. He turned, and under a long tent, and round a
board covered with wine and viands, sate some thirty or forty bravoes. A
ragged minstrel, or jongleur, with an immense beard and mustachios, was
tuning, with no inconsiderable skill, a lute which had accompanied him
in all his wanderings--and suddenly changing its notes into a wild and
warlike melody, he commenced in a loud and deep voice the following
song:--

The Praise of the Grand Company.

1.

Ho, dark one from the golden South,--
Ho, fair one from the North;
Ho, coat of mail and spear of sheen--
Ho, wherefore ride ye forth?
"We come from mount, we come from cave,
We come across the sea,
In long array, in bright array,
To Montreal's Companie."
Oh, the merry, merry band.
Light heart, and heavy hand--
Oh, the Lances of the Free!

2.

Ho, Princes of the castled height--
Ho, Burghers of the town;
Apulia's strength, Romagna's pride,
And Tusca's old renown!
Why quail ye thus? why pale ye thus?
What spectre do ye see?
"The blood-red flag, and trampling march,
Of Montreal's Companie."
Oh, the sunshine of your life--
Oh, the thunders o