XXII-818 As if an infant's touch could urge Then fixed his eye and sable brow Full on Fitz-James: "How sayest thou now? Fitz-James was brave.-Though to his heart Sir Roderick marked; and in his eyes In foemen worthy of their steel. Each warrior vanished where he stood, In broom or bracken, heath or wood; It seemed as if their mother Earth 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. 13073 13074 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 from deep glen and From mountain so rocky, The war-pipe and pennon Come every hill plaid and True heart that wears one, Leave untended the herd, The flock without shelter; Come as the winds come when 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; 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! 13075 "The swan," she said, "the lake's clear breast May barter for the eagle's nest; The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn, Our kilted clans, when blood is high, Still in the water-lily's shade Her wonted nest the wild-swan made; No Highland brogue has turned the heel: 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 I will sing of Glenallan's Earl The cronach's cried on Bennachie, And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be 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, 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, "To turn the rein were sin and shame, |