The Minstrel heard the far halloo,

And joyful from the shore withdrew.

CANTO THE THIRD.

The Gathering.

I.

TIME rolls his ceaseless course.

The race of yore,

Who danced our infancy upon their knee,
And told our marvelling boyhood legends store,
Of their strange ventures happ'd by land or sea,
How are they blotted from the things that be!

How few, all weak and withered of their force,
Wait, on the verge of dark eternity,

Like stranded wrecks, the tide returning hoarse, To sweep them from our sight! Time rolls his cease less course.

Yet live there still who can remember well,

How, when a mountain chief his bugle blew,
Both field and forest, dingle, cliff, and dell,
And solitary heath, the signal knew;
And fast the faithful clan around him drew.
What time the warning note was keenly wound,
What time aloft their kindred banner flew,

While clamorous war-pipes yell'd the gathering

sound,

[round.

And while the Fiery Cross glanced, like a meteor,

II.

The summer dawn's reflected hue

To purple changed Loch-Katrine blue;
Mildly and soft the western breeze
Just kiss'd the lake, just stirr'd the trees,
And the pleased lake, like maiden coy,
Trembled but dimpled not for joy;
The mountain shadows on her breast
Were neither broken nor at rest;

Of their stan vendu slepi How the „cted &

How t alvin nd withered of their five, W. t. on the “e 1 of dark eto nity,

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e varying na aas Fenly wonn↳ their kind. 219 ban er

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