Roger de Blonay bit his lip, for he and his had been of Vaud a thousand years, and he little relished the allusion to the quiet manner in which his countrymen submitted to a compelled and foreign dictation.  He bowed a cold acquiescence to the bailiff’s statement, however, as if no farther answer were needed.

“We have other ceremonies that invite our attention,” said Melchior de Willading, who had sufficient acquaintance with his friend’s opinions to understand his silence.

The next group that approached was composed of those who lived by the products of the dairy.  Two cowherds led their beasts, the monotonous tones of whose heavy bells formed a deep and rural accompaniment to the music that regularly preceded each party, while a train of dairy-girls, and of young mountaineers of the class that tend the herds in the summer pasturages, succeeded, a car loaded with the implements of their calling bringing up the rear.  In this little procession, no detail of equipment was wanting.  The milking-stool was strapped to the body of the dairyman; one had the peculiarly constructed pail in his hand, while another bore at his back the deep wooden vessel in which milk is carried up and down the precipices to the chalet.  When they reached the sodded arena, the men commenced milking the cows, the girls set in motion the different processes of the dairy, and the whole united in singing the Ranz des Vaches of the district.  It is generally and erroneously believed that there is a particular air which is known throughout Switzerland by this name, whereas in truth nearly every canton has its own song of the mountains, each varying from the others in the notes, as well as in the words, and we might almost add in the language.  The Ranz des Vaches of Vaud is in the patois of the country, a dialect that is composed of words of Greek and Latin origin, mingled on a foundation of Celtic.  Like our own familiar tune, which was first bestowed in derision, and which a glorious history has enabled us to continue in pride, the words are far too numerous to be repeated.  We shall, however, give the reader a single verse of a song which Swiss feeling has rendered so celebrated, and which is said often to induce the mountaineer in foreign service to desert the mercenary standard and the tame scenes of towns; to return to the magnificent nature that haunts his waking imagination and embellishes his dreams.  It will at once be perceived that the power of this song is chiefly to be found in the recollections to which it gives birth, by recalling the simple charms of rural life, and by reviving the indelible impressions that are made by nature wherever she has laid her hand on the face of the earth with the same majesty as in Switzerland.

  Le zermailli dei Colombiette
  De bon matin, se san leha.—­

  REFRAIN. 
  Ha, ah! ha, ah! 
  Liauba!  Liauba! por aria. 
    Venide tote,
    Bllantz’ et naire,
    Rodz et motaile,
    Dzjouvan’ et etro
    Dezo ou tzehano,
    Io vo z’ ario
    Dezo ou triembllo,
    Io ie triudzo,
    Liauba!  Liauba! por aris.