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Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain,
Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade; When the whirlwind has stripp'd every leaf on the
mountain, The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade.
Moor'd in the risted rock,
Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow;
Menteith and Breadalbane, then,
Echo bis praise agen,
And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied ; Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, And the best of Loch-lomond lie dead on her side.
Widow and Saxon maid
Long shall lament our raid, Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe;
Lennox and Leven-glen
Shake when they hear agen, “ Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!”
peculiar exploit, or from some peculiarity of habit or appearance. The line of the text therefore signifies,
Black Roderick, the descendant of Alpine. The song itself is intended as an imitation of the jorrams, or boat songs, of the Highlanders, which were usually composed in honour of a favourite chief. They are so adapted as to keep time with the sweep of the oars, and it is easy to distinguish between those intended to be sung to the oars of a galley, where the stroke is lengthened and doubled, as it were, and those which were timed to the rowers of an ordinary boat.
'[See Appendix, Note E.]
Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands !
Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine ! 0! that the rose-bud that graces yon islands, Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine!
O that some seedling gem,
Worthy such noble stem, Honour'd and bless'd in their shadow might grow!
Loud should Clan-Alpine then
Ring from her deepmost glen,
List, Allan-bane! From mainland cast,
And, eagerly while Roderick scann'd,
XXII. Some feelings are to mortals given, With less of earth in them than heaven : And if there be a human tear From passion's dross refined and clear, A tear so limpid and so meek, It would not stain an angel's cheek, 'Tis that which pious fathers shed Upon a duteous daughter's head! And as the Douglas to his breast His darling Ellen closely pressid, Such holy drops her tresses steep'd, Though 't was an hero's eye that weep'd Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue Her filial welcomes crowded hung, Mark'd she, that fear (affection's proof) Still held a graceful youth aloof; No! not till Douglas named his name, Although the youth was Malcolm Græme.
XXIII. Allan, with wistful look the while, Mark'd Roderick landing on the isle; His master piteously he eyed, Then gazed upon the Chieftain's pride, Then dash'd, with hasty hand, away From his dimm’d eye the gathering spray; And Douglas, as his hand he laid On Malcolm's shoulder, kindly said,
“ Canst thou, young friend, no meaning spy
And, at her whistle, on her hand
XXV. Of stature tall, and slender frame, But firmly knit, was Malcolm Græme. The belted plaid and tartan hose Did ne'er more graceful limbs disclose; His flaxen hair, of sunny hue, Curld closely round his bonnet blue. Train'd to the chase, his eagle eye The ptarmigan in snow could spy: Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heath, He knew, through Lennox and Menteith; Vain was the bound of dark-brown doe, When Malcolm bent his sounding bow, And scarce that doe, though wing’d with fear, Outstripp'd in speed the mountaineer: Right up Ben-Lomond could he press, And not a sob his toil confess. His form accorded with a mind Lively and ardent, frank and kind; A blither heart, till Ellen came, Did never love nor sorrow tame;