As if wild woods and waves had pleasure
In listing to the lovely measure.
And ne'er to symphony more sweet
Gave mountain echoes answer meet,
Since, met from mainland and from isle,
Ross, Arran, Ilay, and Argyle,
Each minstrel's tributary lay
Paid homage to the festal day.
Dull and dishonoured were the bard,
Worthless of guerdon and regard,
Deaf to the hope of minstrel fame,
Or lady's smiles, his noblest aim,
Who on that morn's resistless call
Was silent in Artornish hall.

"Wake, Maid of Lorn!" 'twas thus they sung,
And yet more proud the descant rung,
"Wake, Maid of Lorn! high right is ours,
To charm dull sleep from Beauty's bowers;
Earth, Ocean, Air, have nought so shy
But owns the power of minstrelsy.
In Lettermore the timid deer

Will pause, the harp's wild chime to hear;
Rude Heiskar's sealb through surges dark
Will long pursue the minstrel's bark;
To list his notes, the eagle proud
Will poise him on Ben-Caílliach's cloud;
Then let not Maiden's ear disdain
The summons of the minstrel train,
But, while our harps wild music make,
Edith of Lorn, awake, awake!

III

"O wake, while Dawn, with dewy shine,
Wakes Nature's charms to vie with thine!
She bids the mottled thrush rejoice

To mate thy melody of voice;

The dew that on the violet lies

Mocks the dark lustre of thine eyes;
But, Edith, wake, and all we see

Of sweet and fair shall yield to thee!"

66

She comes not yet," grey Ferrand cried;
Brethren, let softer spell be tried,

Those notes prolonged, that soothing theme,
Which best may mix with Beauty's dream,
And whisper, with their silvery tone,
The hope she loves, yet fears to own.'
He spoke, and on the harp-strings died
The strains of flattery and of pride;

دو

b Seals display a taste for music, and will long follow a boat in which any musical instrument is played; and even a tune simply whistled has attractions for them.

More soft, more low, more tender fell
The lay of love he bade them tell.

IV

"Wake, Maid of Lorn! the moments fly,
Which yet that maiden-name allow;
Wake, Maiden, wake! the hour is nigh,
When Love shall claim a plighted vow.
By Fear, thy bosom's fluttering guest,

By Hope, that soon shall fears remove,
We bid thee break the bonds of rest,

And wake thee at the call of Love! "Wake, Edith, wake! in yonder bay Lies many a galley gaily manned, We hear the merry pibrochs play, We see the streamers' silken band. What Chieftain's praise these pibrochs swell, What crest is on these banners wove, The harp, the minstrel, dare not tellThe riddle must be read by Love."

V

Retired her maiden train among,
Edith of Lorn received the song,
But tamed the Minstrel's pride had been
That had her cold demeanour seen;
For not upon her cheek awoke

The glow of pride when Flattery spoke,
Nor could their tenderest numbers bring
One sigh responsive to the string.
As vainly had her maidens vied
In skill to deck the princely bride.
Her locks, in dark-brown length arrayed,
Cathleen of Ulne, 'twas thine to braid;
Young Eva with meet reverence drew
On the light foot the silken shoe,
While on the ankle's slender round
Those strings of pearl fair Bertha wound,
That, bleached Lochryan's depth within,
Seemed dusky still on Edith's skin.
But Einion, of experience old,
Had weightiest task-the mantle's fold
In many an artful plait she tied,
To show the form it seemed to hide,
Till on the floor descending rolled
Its waves of crimson blent with gold.

VI

O! lives there now so cold a maid,
Who thus in beauty's pomp arrayed,
In beauty's proudest pitch of power,
And conquest won-the bridal hour-

With every charm that wins the heart,
By Nature given, enhanced by Art,
Could yet the fair reflection view,
In the bright mirror pictured true,
And not one dimple on her cheek
A tell-tale consciousness bespeak ?-
Lives still such maid ?-Fair damsels, say,
For further vouches not my lay,

Save that such lived in Britain's isle,
When Lorn's bright Edith scorned to smile.

VII

But Morag, to whose fostering care
Proud Lorn had given his daughter fair,
Morag, who saw a mother's aid
By all a daughter's love repaid,
(Strict was that bond-most kind of all-
Inviolate in Highland hall-)
Grey Morag sate a space apart,
In Edith's eyes to read her heart.
In vain the attendants' fond appeal
To Morag's skill, to Morag's zeal;
She marked her child receive their care,
Cold as the image sculptured fair,
(Form of some sainted patroness,)
Which cloistered maids combine to dress;
She marked-and knew her nursling's heart
In the vain pomp took little part.
Wistful a while she gazed-then pressed
The maiden to her anxious breast
In finished loveliness-and led
To where a turret's airy head,
Slender and steep, and battled round,
O'erlooked, dark Mull! thy mighty Sound,
Where thwarting tides, with mingled roar,
Part thy swarth hills from Morvern's shore.

The Sound of Mull, which divides that island from the continent of Scotland, is one of the most striking scenes which the Hebrides afford to the traveller. Sailing from Oban to Aros, or Tobermory, through a narrow channel, yet deep enough to bear vessels of the largest burthen, he has on his left the bold and mountainous shores of Mull; on the right those of that district of Argyleshire called Morven or Morvern, successively indented by deep saltwater lochs, running up many miles inland. To the south-eastward arises a prodigious range of mountains, among which Cruachan Ben is pre-eminent. And to the north-east is the no less huge and picturesque range of the Ardnamurchan hills. Many ruinous castles, situated generally upon cliffs overhanging the ocean, add interest to the scene. Those of Dunolly and Dunstaffnage are first passed, then that of Duart, formerly belonging to the chief of the warlike and powerful sept of Macleans, and the scene of Miss Baillie's beautiful tragedy, entitled the Family Legend. Still passing on to the northward, Artornish and Aros become visible upon the opposite shores, and lastly, Mingarry, and other ruins of less-distinguished note.

**

VIII

Daughter," she said, "these seas behold,
Round twice a hundred islands d rolled,
From Hirt, that hears their northern roar,
To the green Ilay's fertile shore;

e

Or mainland turn, where many a tower
Owns thy bold father's feudal power,
Each on its own dark cape reclined,
And listening to its own wild wind,
From where Mingarry, sternly placed,
O'erawes the woodland and the waste,
To where Dunstaffnage hears the raging
Of Connal with his rocks engaging.
Think'st thou, amid this ample round,
A single brow but thine has frowned,
To sadden this auspicious morn,
That bids the daughter of high Lorn
Impledge her spousal faith to wed
The Heir of mighty Somerled;f
Ronald, from many a hero sprung,
The fair, the valiant, and the young,
LORD OF THE ISLES, whose lofty name
A thousand bards have given to fame,

a The number of the western isles of Scotland exceeds two hundred. e The castle of Mingarry is situated on the sea-coast of the district of Ardnamurchan. The ruins, which are tolerably entire, are surrounded by a very high wall, forming a kind of polygon, for the purpose of adapting itself to the projecting angles of a precipice overhanging the sea, on which the castle stands. It was anciently the residence of the Maclans, a clan of MacDonalds, descended from Ian, or John, a grandson of Angus Og, Lord of the Isles.

f Somerled was thane of Argyle and Lord of the Isles, about the middle of the twelfth century. He seems to have exercised his autho rity in both capacities, independent of the crown of Scotland, against which he often stood in hostility. He made various incursions upon the western Lowlands during the reign of Malcolm IV., and seems to have made peace with him upon the terms of an independent prince, about the year 1157. In 1164 he resumed the war against Malcolm, and invaded Scotland with a large, but probably a tumultuary army, collected in the isles, in the mainland of Argyleshire, and in the neighbouring provinces of Ireland. He was defeated and slain in an engagement with a very inferior force, near Renfrew. His son Gillicolane fell in the same battle. This mighty chieftain married a daughter of Olaus, king of Man. From him our genealogists deduce two dynasties, distinguished in the stormy history of the middle ages; the Lords of the Isles descended from his elder son Ronald, and the Lords of Lorn, who took their surname of M'Dougal, as descended of his second son Dougal.

The representative of this independent principality, for such it seems to have been, though acknowledging occasionally the preeminence of the Scottish crown, was, at the period of the poem, Angus, called Angus Og; but the name has been, euphoniæ gratia, exchanged for that of Ronald, which frequently occurs in the genealogy. Angus was a protector of Robert Bruce, whom he received in his castle of Dunnaverty, during the time of his greatest distress.

The mate of monarchs, and allied

On equal terms with England's pride.-
From chieftain's tower to bondsman's cot,
Who hears the tale, and triumphs not?
The damsel dons her best attire,
The shepherd lights his beltane fire,
Joy, Joy! each warder's horn hath sung,
Joy, Joy! each matin bell hath rung;
The holy priest says grateful mass,
Loud shouts each hardy galla-glass,h
No mountain den holds outcast boor,
Of heart so dull, of soul so poor,
But he hath flung his task aside,
And claimed this morn for holy-tide;
Yet, empress of this joyful day,
Edith is sad while all are gay."

66

IX

Proud Edith's soul came to her eye,
Resentment checked the struggling sigh,
Her hurrying hand indignant dried
The burning tears of injured pride-
Morag, forbear! or lend thy praise
To swell yon hireling harpers' lays;
Make to yon maids thy boast of power,
That they may waste a wondering hour,
Telling of banners proudly borne,
Of pealing bell and bugle-horn,
Or, theme more dear, of robes of price,
Crownlets and gawds of rare device.
But thou, experienced as thou art,

Think'st thou with these to cheat the heart,
That, bound in strong affection's chain,
Looks for return and looks in vain ?
No! sum thine Edith's wretched lot
In these brief words-He loves her not!

X

"Debate it not-too long I strove
To call his cold observance love,
All blinded by the league that styled
Edith of Lorn,-while, yet a child,
She tripped the heath by Morag's side,-
The brave Lord Ronald's destined bride.
Ere yet I saw him, while afar

His broadsword blazed in Scotland's war,
Trained to believe our fates the same,
My bosom throbbed when Ronald's name
Came gracing Fame's heroic tale,
Like perfume on the summer gale.
What pilgrim sought our halls, nor told
Of Ronald's deeds in battle bold;

h See" Macbeth," act i. scene 2.