Sidor som bilder

and dangerous expedition. The minstrel was im- the head of an army superior to his own. The pressed with a belief, which the event verified, words of the set theme, or melody, to which the that he was to be slain in the approaching feud; pipe variations are applied, run thus in Gaelic: and hence the Gaelic words, " Cha till mi tuille; Piobaireachd Dhonuil, piobaireachd Dhonuil; ged thillis Macleod, cha till Macrimmon,” “I shall Piobaireachd Dhonuil Duidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; never return; although Macleod returns, yet Mack-Piobaireachd Dhonuil Duidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; rimmon shall never return!" The piece is but too Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi. well known, from its being the strain with which The pipe summons of Donald the Black, the emigrants from the west highlands and isles The pipe summons of Donald the Black, usually take leave of their native shore.

The war-pipe and the pennon are on the gathering-place at Inverlochy.

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Lone on the outskirts of the host,
The weary sentinel held post,
And heard, through darkness, far aloof,
The frequent clang of courser's hoof,

Where held the cloak'd patrol their course,
And spurr'd 'gainst storm the swerving horse;

But there are sounds in Allan's ear
Patrol nor sentinel may hear;
And sights before his eyes aghast
Invisible to them have pass'd,

When down the destined plain
"Twixt Britain and the bands of France,
Wild as marsh-borne meteors glance,
Strange phantoms wheel'd a revel dance,
And doom'd the future slain.-

Such forms were seen, such sounds were


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ENCHANTRESS, farewell, who so oft has decoy'd me,
At the close of the evening, through woodlands to

Where the forester, lated, with wonder espied me
Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for home.
Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers wild,

The language alternate of rapture and wo:
O! none but some lover, whose heart-strings are


The pang that I feel at our parting can know. Each joy thou couldst double, and when there came sorrow,

Or pale disappointment, to darken my way,
What voice was like thine, that could sing of to-


Till forgot in the strain was the grief of to-day!
But when friends drop around us in life's weary

Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet remain-


The languor of pain, and the chillness of age.
'Twas thou that once taught me, in accents bewail-

To sing how a warrior lay stretch'd on the plain,
And a maiden hung o'er him with aid unavailing,
And held to his lips the cold goblet in vain ;
As vain those enchantments, O queen of wild


To a bard when the reign of his fancy is o'er,
And the quick pulse of feeling in apathy slumbers.
Farewell then! Enchantress! I meet thee no


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The grief, queen of numbers, thou canst not as- No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, And thou, little guardian, alone stretch'd before him,

Unhonour'd the pilgrim from life should depart?


Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart? And, O! was it meet that, no requiem read o'er

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But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,

To lay down thy head like the meek mountain


Hardships and danger despising for fame,

When, wilder'd, he drops from some cliff huge in Furnishing story for glory's bright annal,

Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and hame!


And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying,

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Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through channel,

If love could change notes like the bird on the


Now I'll ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae wander'd, Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me.

Enough, now thy story in annals of glory,

Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and Spain;

No more shalt thou grieve me, no more shalt thou

leave me,

I never will part with my Willie again.


WAKEN, lords and ladies gay,

On the mountain dawns the day,
All the jolly chase is here,

With hawk, and horse, and hunting spear;
Hounds are in their couples yelling,
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,
Merrily, merrily, mingle they,
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay,

The mist has left the mountain gray,
Springlets in the dawn are streaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming;
And foresters have busy been,
To track the buck in thicket green;
Now we come to chant our lay,
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Waken, lords and ladies gay,
To the greenwood haste away
We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot, and tall of size ;
We can show the marks he made,
When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd;
You shall see him brought to bay,
"Waken, lords and ladies gay."

Louder, louder chant the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee,
Run a course as well as we:
Time, stern huntsman! who can balk,
Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk:
Think of this, and rise with day,
Gentle lords and ladies gay.



THE forest of Glenmore is drear,

It is all of black pine and the dark oak tree; And the midnight wind to the mountain deer Is whistling the forest lullaby:

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