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XXII-818

As if an infant's touch could urge
Their headlong passage down the verge,
With step and weapon forward flung,
Upon the mountain-side they hung.
The mountaineer cast glance of pride
Along Benledi's living side,

Then fixed his eye and sable brow

Full on Fitz-James: "How sayest thou now?
These are Clan-Alpine's warriors true;
And, Saxon,-I am Roderick Dhu!"

Fitz-James was brave.-Though to his heart
The life-blood thrilled with sudden start,
He manned himself with dauntless air,
Returned the chief his haughty stare,
His back against a rock he bore,
And firmly placed his foot before:-
"Come one, come all! this rock shall fly
From its firm base as soon as I."

Sir Roderick marked; and in his eyes
Respect was mingled with surprise,
And the stern joy which warriors feel

In foemen worthy of their steel.
Short space he stood;-then waved his hand:
Down sunk the disappearing band;

Each warrior vanished where he stood,

In broom or bracken, heath or wood;
Sunk brand, and spear, and bended bow,
In osiers pale and copses low:

It seemed as if their mother Earth
Had swallowed up her warlike birth.
The wind's last breath had tossed in air,
Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair,-
The next but swept a lone hillside,
Where heath and fern were waving wide.

The sun's last glance was glinted back

From spear and glaive, from targe and jack,—

The next, all unreflected, shone

On bracken green and cold gray stone.

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The kirk was decked at morning-tide,

The tapers glimmered fair;

The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,

And dame and knight are there.

They sought her baith by bower and ha'

The ladie was not seen!

She's o'er the Border, and awa'

Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean.

HIGHLAND SONG: PIBROCH OF DONUIL DHU

IBROCH of Donuil Dhu,

PIBR

Pibroch of Donuil,

Wake thy wild voice anew,

Summon Clan-Conuil.

Come away, come away,

Hark to the summons!
Come in your war array,
Gentles and commons.

Come from deep glen and

From mountain so rocky,

The war-pipe and pennon
Are at Inverlochy.

Come every hill plaid and

True heart that wears one,
Come every steel blade and
Strong hand that bears one.

Leave untended the herd,

The flock without shelter;
Leave the corpse uninterred,
The bride at the altar;
Leave the deer, leave the steer,
Leave nets and barges:
Come with your fighting-gear,
Broadswords and targes.

Come as the winds come when
Forests are rended,

Come as the waves come when

Navies are stranded:

Faster come, faster come,

Faster and faster,

Chief, vassal, page, and groom,

Tenant and master.

Fast they come, fast they come;
See how they gather!

Wide waves the eagle plume,

Blended with heather.

Cast your plaids, draw your blades,

Forward each man set!

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,

Knell for the onset!

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"The swan," she said, "the lake's clear breast May barter for the eagle's nest;

The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn,
Ben-Cruaichan fall and crush Kilchurn;

Our kilted clans, when blood is high,
Before their foes may turn and fly:
But I, were all these marvels done,
Would never wed the Earlie's son."

Still in the water-lily's shade

Her wonted nest the wild-swan made;
Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever,
Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river;
To shun the clash of foeman's steel,

No Highland brogue has turned the heel:
But Nora's heart is lost and won,-

She's wedded to the Earlie's son!

THE BALLAD OF THE RED HARLAW›

In The Antiquary›

HE herring loves the merry moonlight,

THE

The mackerel loves the wind,

But the oyster loves the dredging-sang,

For they come of a gentle kind.

Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carle,
And listen great and sma',

And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl
That fought on the red Harlaw.

The cronach's cried on Bennachie,
And doun the Don and a',

And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be
For the sair field of Harlaw.

They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds,

They hae bridled a hundred black,

With a chafron of steel on each horse's head,

And a good knight upon his back.

They hadna ridden a mile, a mile,

A mile but barely ten,

When Donald came branking down the brae

Wi' twenty thousand men.

Their tartans they were waving wide,

Their glaives were glancing clear,

The pibrochs rung frae side to side,
Would deafen ye to hear.

The great Earl in his stirrup stood,

That Highland host to see.

"Now here a knight that's stout and good

May prove a jeopardie:

"What wouldst thou do, my squire so gay,

That rides beside my reyne,—

Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day,
And I were Roland Cheyne?

"To turn the rein were sin and shame,
To fight were wondrous peril,—
What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne,
Were ye Glenallan's Earl!” —

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