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And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can The much loved remains of her master defended, tell,

And chased the hill fox and the raven away. Farewell, my lov'd harp! my last treasure, farewell!

How long didst thou think that his silence was

slumber? THE MAID OF TORO.

When the wind waved his garment, how oft 1, Low shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro,

didst thou start! "And weak were the whispers that waved the dark How many long days and long weeks didst thou wool,

number, All as a fair maiden, bewildered in sorrow, Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart? Sorely sigh'd to the breezes, and wept to the And, O! was it meet, that, no requium read o'er food.

him, “O, saints! from the mansions of bliss lowly bend-No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, ing;

And thou, little guardian, alone strelehed before Sweet Virgio! who hearest the suppliant's cry; him, Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending, Unhonoured the pilgrim from life should depart? My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die!

When a prince to the fate of the peasant has All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle, yielded, With the breezes they rise, with the breezes The tapestry waves dark roumd the dim-lighted they fail,

hall; Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, dread rattle,

And pages stand mute by the canopied pall: And the chase's wild clamour, came loading the Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches gale.

are gleaming; Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so dreary; In the proudly arched chapel the banners are Slowly approaching a warrior was seen;

beaming; Life's ebbing tide mark'd his footsteps so weary, Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming,

Cleft was his helmet, and wo was his mien. Lamenting a chief of the people should fall. “O, save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying! But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,

0, save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low! To lay down thy head like the meek mountain Deadly cold on you heath thy brave Henry is lying; lamb; And fast through the woodland approaches the When, wildered, he drops from some cliffhuge in foe.”—

stature, Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow,

And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. And scarce could she hear them, benumb’d with And more stately thy couch by this desert lake despair:

lying, And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro, Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying, For ever he set to the brave and the fair. With one faithful triend but to witness thy dying,

In the arms of Hellvellyn and Catchedicam. HELLVELLYN.

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN. In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition, perish- The first stanza of this ballad is ancient. The

Air-- Border Melody. ed by losing his way on the mountain Hellvellyn. His remains were not discovered till three months

others were written for Mr. Campbell's Albyn's

Anthology. afterwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier bitch, his constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of “ War weep ye by the tide, ladie? Cumberland and Westmoreland.

Why weep ye by the tide?

I'll wed ye to my youngest son, I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn,

And ye sall be his bride: Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed mis

And ye sall be his bride, ladie,

Sae comely to be seen” ty and wide; All was still, save by fits when the eagle was

But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean. yelling, And starting around me the echoes replied. “ Now let this wilful grief be done, On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was And dry that cheek so pale; bending,

Young Frank is chief of Errington, And Catchedicam its left verge was defending,

And lord of Langley-dale; One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, His step is first in peaceful ha', When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer His sword in battle keen"had died.

But aye she loot the tears down fa'

For Jock of Hazeldean. Dark green was the spot mid the brown mountain-heather,

“ A chain o'gold ye sall not lack, Where the pilgrim of nature lay stretched in Nor braid to bind your hair; decay,

Nor metiled hound, nor managed hawk,
Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather, Nor palfrey fresh and fair;
Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless And you, the foremost o' them a',

Shall ride our forest queen".
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, But aye she loot the tears down fa'
For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended, For Jock of Hazeldean.

be red,

The kirk was deck'd at morning-tide,

Come every steel blade, and The tapers glimmer'd fair;

Strong hand that bears one.
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,

Leave untended the herd,
And dame and knight are there.

The flock without shelter;
They sought her both by bower and ha',

Leave the corpse uninterr'd,
The ladie was not seen!

The bride at the altar;
She's o'er the border, and awa'

Leave the deer, leave the steer,
Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.

Leave nets and barges;

Come with your fighting gear,

Broad swords and targes.
Air-Gadil gu lo."

Come as the winds come, when
O HUSR thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight;

Forests are rended; Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright;

Come as the waves come, when The woods and the glens, from the towers which

Navies are stranded; we see,

Faster come, faster come,
They all are belonging, dear baby, to thee.

Faster and faster,
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadil gu lo,

Chief, vassal, page, and groom,
O ho ro, i ri ri, &c.

Tenant and master.
O fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows,

Fast they come, fast they come; It calls but the warders that gaard thy repose;

See how they gather! Their bows would be bended, their blades would

Wide waves the eagle plume,

Blended with heather. Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.

Cast your plaids, draw your blades, O ho ro, i ri ri, &c.

Forward each man set!

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu, O hush thee, my babie, the time soon will come,

Knell for the onset! When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum;

NORA'S VOW. Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you

Written for Albyn's Anthology. may, For strife comes with manhood, and waking with

Air-Cha teid mis a chaoidh. day.

In the original Gaelic, the lady makes protestaO ho ro, i ri ri, &c.

tions that she will not go with the Red earl's son

until the swan should build in the cliff, and the PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU.

eagle in the lake-until one mountain should change Written for Albyn's Anthology.

places with another, and so forth. It is but fair to Air-Piobair of Dhonuil Duidhit

add, that there is no authority for supposing that This is a very ancient pibroch belonging to the she altered her mind--except the vehemence of clan Mac-Donald, and supposed to refer to the her protestation. expedition of Donald Balloch, who, in 1431, lanched from the Isles with a considerable force, invaded HEAR what highland Nora said, Lochaber, and at Inverlochy defeated and put to " The earlie's son I will not wed, flight the earls of Marr and Caithness, though at Should all the race of nature die, the head of an army superior to his own. The

And none be left but he and I. words of the set theme, or melody, to which the For all the gold, for all the gear, pipe variations are applied, run thus in Gaelic: And all the hands both far and near, Piobaireachd Dhonuil, piobaireachd Dhonuil;

That ever valour lost or won, Piobaireachd Dhonuil Duidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; I would not wed the earlie's son." Piobaireachd Dhunuil Duidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil;

“A maiden's vows," old Callum spoke, Piob agus bratach air faiche Ioverlochi.

“Are lightly made, and lightly broke; The pipe-summons of Donald the Black,

The heather on the mountain's height
The pipe-summons of Donald the Black,
The war-pipe and the pennon are on the gathering-place

Begins to bloom in purple light; at Inverlochy.

The frost-wind soon shall sweep away

That lustre deep from glen and brae;
PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu,

Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone,
Pibroch of Donuil,

May blithly wed the earlie's son."
Wake thy wild voice ancw,

" The swan,” she said, "the lake's clear breast Summon Clan-Conuil.

May barter for the eagle's nest;
Come away, come away,

The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn,
Hark to the summons!

Ben-Cruaichan fall, and crush Kilchurn,
Come in your war array,

Our kilteil clans, when blood is high,
Gentles and commons.

Before their foes may turn and fly;
Come from deep glen, and

But I, were all these marvels done,
From mountain so rocky,

Would never wed the earlie's son."
The war-pipe and pennon

Still in the water-lily's shade
Are at Inverlochy:

Her wonted nest the wild swan made,
Come every hill-plaid, and

Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever,
True heart that wears one,

Still downward foams the Awe's fierce rirer; • "Sleep on till day.” These words, adapted to a melo To shun the clash of foeman's steel, dy somewhat different from the origin), are sung in

iny No highland brogue has turned the heel; friend Mr. Terry's drama of Guy Mannering. + The płbroch' of Donald the Blacke

"I will never go with him."

Donald Cuird's come again! But Nora's heart is lost and won,

Donald Caird's come again!
-She's wedded to the earlie's son!

Tell the news in brugh and glen,

Donald Caird's come again!
Written for Albyn': Anthology.

Donald Caird can wire a maukin,
Air-Thain' a Grigalach."

Kens the wiles o' dun deer staukin;

Leisters kipper, makes a shift THESE verses are adapted to a very wild, yet

To shoot a muir-fowl in the drift; lively gathering-tune, used by the Mac-Gregors.

Water-bailiffs, rangers, keepers, The severe treatment of this clan, their outlawry,

He can wauk when they are sleepers; and the proscription of their very name, are allud

Not for bountith or reward ed to in the ballad.

Dare ye mell wi’ Donald Caird. The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the Donald Caird's come again! brae,

Donald Caird's come again!
And the clan has a name that is nameless by day! Gar the bagpipes hum amain,

Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalach! Donald Caird's come again!
Gather, gather, gather, &c.

Donald Caird can drink a gill
Our signal for fight, that from monarchs we crew, Fast as hostler-wife can fill;
Must be heard but by night in our vengeful haloo! Ilka ane that sells good liquor

Then haloo, Gregalach! haloo, Gregalach! Kens how Donald bends a bicker.
Haloo, haloo, haloo, Gregalach, &c.

When he's fou he's stout and saucy,
Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchuirn and

Keeps the cantle of the cawsey; her towers,

Highland chief and lowland laird, Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours:

Maun gi'e room to Donald Caird! We're landless, landless, landless, Gregalach! Donald Caird's come again! Landless, landless, landless, &c.

Donald Caird's come again! But doom'd and devoted by vassal and lord,

Tell the news in brugh and glen, Macgregor has still both his heart and his sword!

Donald Caird's come again! Then courage, courage, courage, Gregalach! Steek the amrie, lock the kist, Courage, courage, courage, &c.

Else some gear may weel be mist;

Donald Caird finds orra things If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles,

Where Allan Gregor fand the tings; Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the

Dunts of kebbeck, taits of woo, eagles!

Whiles a hen and whiles a sow, Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Gre

Webs or duds frae hedge or yardgalach!

'Ware the wuddie, Donald Caird! Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, &c.

Donald Cairıl's come again! While there's leaves in the forest, and foam on Donald Caird's come again! the river,

Dinna let the shirra ken
Mac-Gregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever! Donald Caird's come again!

Come then, Gregalach, come then, Gregalach, On Donald Caird the doom was stern,
Come then, come then, come then, &c.

Craig to tether, legs to airn;
Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed

But Donald Caird, wi’mickle study, shall career;

Caught the gift to cheat the wuddie; O'er the peak of Ben Lomond the galley shall Rings of airn, and bolts of steel, steer,

Fell like ice frae hand and heel!
And the rocks of Craig Royston like icicles melt, Watch the sheep in fauld and glen,
Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt! Donald Caird's come again!
Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalach!

Donald Caird's come again!
Gather, gather, gather, &c.

Donald Caird's come again!

Dinna let the justice ken

Donald Caird's come again!
Air-Malcolm Caird's come again.t

Donald Caird's come again!
Donald Caird's come again!

Air-Cha till mi tuille,"
Tell the news in brugh and glen,

MACKRIMMON, hereditary piper to the laird of
Donala Caird's come again!

Macleod, is said to have composed this lament

when the clan was about to depart upon a distant Donald Caird can lilt anıl sing,

and dangerous expedition. The minstrel was imBlithly dance the hieland fling, Drink till the gudeman be blind,

pressed with a belief, which the event verified,

that he was to be slain in the approaching feud; Fleech till the gudewife be kind;

and herice the Gaelic words,“ Cha till mi trille; Hoop a leglen, clout a pan, Or crack a pow wi’ony man;

ged thillis Maclcod, cha till Macrimmon,” “I

shall never return; although Macleod returns, yet Tell the news in brugh and glen, Donald Caird's come again.

Mackrimmon shall never return!” The piece is

but too well known, from its being the strain with • " The Mac-Gregor is come." + Caird signifies Tinker.

• " We return no more.".

wach the emigrants from the west highlands and 'Tis blith at eve to tell the tale,
isses usually take leave of their native shore. How we succeed, and how we fail,

Whether at Alwyn's* lordly meal,
MACLEOD's wizard flag from the gray eastle sallies, Or lowlier board of Ashestielit
The rowers are seated, unmoor'd are the galleys; While the gay lapers cheerly shine,
Gleam war-axe and broad sword, clang target and! Bickers the fire, and flows the wine-

Days free from thought, and nights from care, As Mackrimmon sings, “ Farewell to Dunvegan My blessing on the forest fair!

for ever! Farewell to each cliff, on which breakers are foam- THE SUN UPON THE WIERULAW-HILL ing;

Air-Rimhin aluin 'stu mo run, Farewell each dark glen, in which red deer are the air, composed by the editor of Albyn's Anroaming;

thology. The words written for Mr. George Farewell lonely SKYE, to lake, mountain, and

Thomson's Scottish Melodies. rirer, Macleod may return but Mackrimmon, shall never!

The sun upon the Wierdlaw-bill, “ Farewell the bright clouds that on Quillan are Iu Ettrick's vale, is sinking sweet, sleeping:

The westland wind is hush and still, Farewell the bright eyes in the Dun that are The lake lies sleeping at my feet. weeping;

Yet not the landscape to mine eye To each minstrel delusion, farewell!--and for Bears those bright hues that once it bore; ever

Though evening, with her richest dye, Mackrimmon departs, to return to you never! Flames o'er the hills of Eitrick's shore. The banshee's wild voice sings the death-dirge be

With listless look along the plain, fore me,

I see Tweed's silver current glide, The pall of the dead for a mantle hangs o'er me:

And coldly mark the holy fane But my heart shall not flag, and my nerves shall

Of Melrose rise in ruined pride. not shiver,

The quiet lake, the balmy air, Though devoted I go-to return again never!

The hill, the stream, the tower, the tree,“ Too oft shall the notes of Mackrinimon's be Are they still such as once they were, wailing

Or is the dreary change in me! Be heard when the Gael on their exile are sailing;

Alas, the warp'd and broken board, Dear land! to the shores, whence unwilling we How can it bear the painter's dye! sever,

The harp of strain'd and tuneless chord, Return-return-return-shall we never!

How to the minstrel's skill reply! Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille!

To aching eyes cach landscape lowers, Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille,

To feverish pulse each gale blows chill; Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille,

And Araby's or Eden's bowers Ged thillis Macleod, cha till Macrimmon!"

Were barren as this moorland hill.


Air-The Maid of Isla.
On Ettrick Forest's mountains dun,

Written for Mr. George Thomson's Scottish Me 'Tis blith to hear the sportsman's gun,

lodies. And seek the heath-frequenting brood

O MAID of Isla, from the cliff, Far through the noon-day solitude;

That looks on troubled wave and sky,
By many a cairn and trenched mound,

Dost thou not see yon little skiff
Where chiefs of yore sleep lone and sound, Contend with ocean galluntly?
And springs, where gray-haired shepherds tell, Now beating 'gainst the breeze and surge,
That still the fairies love to dwell.

And steep'd her leeward deck in foam,
Along the silver streams of Tweed,

Why does she war unequal urge!-'Tis Blith the mimic fly to lead,

O‘Isla's maid, she seeks her home. When to the hook the salmon springs,

O Isla's maid, yon sea-bird mark, And the line whistles through the rings:

Her white wing gleams through mist and spray, The boiling eddy see him try,

Against the storm-clad, louring dark, Then dashing from the current high,

As to the rock she wheels away; Till watchful eye and cautious hand

Where clouds are dark and billows rave, Have led his wasted strength to land.

Why to the shelter should she come 'Tis blith along the midnight tide,

Of cliff, exposed to wind and wave?

O maid of Isla, 'tis her home.
With stalwart arm the boat to guide;
On high the dazzling blaze to rear,

As breeze and tide to yonder skiff,
And heedful plunge the barbed spear;

Thou’rt adverse to the suit I bring, Rock, wood, and scaur, emerging bright, And cold as is yon wintery cliff, Fling on the stream their ruddy light,

Where sea-birds close their wearied wing. And from the bank our banul appears Like gedii, armed with fiery spears.

* Alwyn, the seat of the lord Somerville, now, alas! uate nanted, by the lamented death

of that kind and hospitable

nobleman, the author's nearest neighbour and intimate • Written after a week's shooting and fishing, in which friend. the poet had been engaged with some friende.

+ Ashestiel, the poet's residence at that time.


Yet cold as rock, unkind as wave,

Bands that masses only sung, Still, Isla's maid, to thee I come;

Hands that censers only swung, For in thy love, or in his grave,

Met the northern bow and bill, Must Allan Vourich find bis home.

Heard the war-cry wild and shrill;

Wo to Brochmael's feeble hand,

Wo to Olfrid's bloody brand,
Set to music by John Whitefield, Mus. Doc. Cam. Wo to Saxon cruelty,
The last of our steers on the board has been spread,

O miserere, Domine!
And the last flask of wine in our goblets is red; Weltering amid warriors slain,
Up! up, my brave kinsmen! belt swords and be- Spurn’d by steeds with bloody mane,

Slaughtered down by heathen blade, There are dangers to dare, and there's spoil to be Bangor's peaceful mouks are laid: won.

Word of parting rest unspoke, The eyes, that so lately mix'd glances with ours,

Mass unsung, and bread unbroke; For a space must be dim, as they gaze from the

For their souls for charity, towers,

Sing O miserere, Domine!
And strive to distingaish, through tempest and Bangor! o'er the murder wail,

Long thy ruins told the tale,
The prance of the steed, and the toss of the plume. Shatter'd towers and broken arch
The rain is descending; the wind rises loud;

Long recall’d the woful march;*
And the moon her red beacon has veil'd with a

On thy shrine no tapers burn, cloud;

Never shall thy priests return: 'Tis the better, my mates, for the warder's dull eye

The pilgrim sighs and sings for thee, Shallin confidence slumber, nor dream we are nigh.

O miserere, Domine! Our steeds are impatient! I hear my blith gray!.

THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPINESS; There is life in his hoof-clang, and hope in his weigh;

THE QUEST OF SULTAUX SOLIMAUN. Like the dash of a meteor, the glance of his mane

Written in 1817. Shall marshal your march through the darkness

O, FOR a glance of that gay muse's eye, and rain.

That lighten'd on Bandello's laughing tale, The drawbridge has dropp'd, the bugle has blown; And twinkled with a lustre shrewd and sly, One pledge is to quaff yet—then mount and be

When Giam Battista bacle her vision hail!! gone!

Yet fear not, ladies, the naive detail To their honour and peace, that shall rest with the

Given by the natives of that land canorous; slain;

Italian license loves to leap the pale, To their health, and their glee, that see Teviot

We Britons have the fear of shame before us, again!

And, if not wise in mirth, at least must be decorous. THE MONKS OF BANGOR'S MARCH, In the far eastern clime, no great while since, Air-Ymdaith Mionge.

Lived sultaun Solimaun, a mighty prince, Written for Mr. George Thomson's Welch Melo- Whose eyes, as oft as they performed their round, dies.

Beheld all others fix'd upon the ground; ETHELRID, or Olfrid, king of Northumberland, Whose ears receiv'd the same unvaried phrase, having besieged Chester in 813, and Brockmael, á Sultan! thy vassal hears, and he obeys!" British prince, advancing to relieve it, the reli- All have their tastes—this may the fancy strike gious of the neighbouring monastery of Bangor of such grave folks as pomp and grandeur like; marched in procession, to pray for the success of For me, I love the honest heart and warm their countrymen. But the British being totally of monarch who can amble round his farm, defeated, the heathen victor put the monks to the Or, when the toil of state no more annoys, sword, and destroyed their monastery. The tune in chimney-corner seek domestic joys– to which these verses are adapted, is called the I love a prince will bid the bottle pass, Monks' March, and is supposed to have been Exchanging with his subjects glance and glass; played at their ill-omened procession.

In fitting time, can, gayest of the gay,

Keep up the jest and mingle in the layWhen the beathen trumpet's clang

Such monarchs best our free-born humours suit, Round beleaguer'd Chester rang,

But despots must be stately, stern, and mute. Veiled nun and friar gray

This Solimaun, Serendib had in swayMarch'd from Bangor's fair abbaye;

And where's Serendib? may some critic say:-High their holy anthem sounds,

Good lack, mine honest friend, consult the chart, Cestria's vale the hymn rebounds,

Scare not my Pegasus before l'start!
Floating down the sylvan Dee,

If Rennell has it not, you'll find, may hap,
O miserere, Domine!

The isle laid down in captain Siubad's map, On the long procession goes,

Famed mariner! whose merciless narrations Glory round their crosses glows,

Drove every friend and kinsman out of patience, Aod the Virgin-mother mild

* William of Malmesbury says, that in his time the exIn their peaceful banner smiled;

tent of the ruins of the monastery bore ample witness to Who could think such saintly band

the desolation occasioned by the massacre;-* tot semiruci Duom'd to feel unhallow'd band!

parietes ecclesiarum, tot anfractus porticum, tanta turba

ruderum quantum vix alibi cernas. Such was the divine decree,

+ The hint of the following tale is taken from La CQO misercre, Domine!

miscia Magico, a novel of Giam Battista Casti.

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