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“The pibroch of Donald the Black.' This song was 9 Compare this with the gathering-song in the third canto written for Campbell's Albyn's Anthology, 1816. It may also of the Lady of the Lake, ante. he seen, set to music, in Thomson's Collection, 1830.
3“I will never go with him."
See also Mr. Thoinson's Scottish Collection. 1892
The frost-wind soon shall sweep away
Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchurn and her That lustre deep from glen and brae;
towers, Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone,
Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours; May blithely wed the Earlie's son.".
We're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach !
Landless, landless, landless, &c.
MacGregor has still both his heart and his sword! The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn,
Then courage, courage, courage, Grigalacb! Ben-Cruaichan fall, and crush Kilchurn;
Courage, courage, corage, &o.
If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles, But I, were all these marvels done,
Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the Would never wed the Earlie's son."
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Griga IV.
lach! Still in the water-lily's shade
Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, &c.
While there's leaves in the forest, and foam on the Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river;
river, To shun the clash of foeman's steel,
MacGregor, despite them, shall Aourish for ever! No Highland brogue has turn'd the heel;
Come then, Grigalach, come then, Grigalach, But Nora's heart is lost and won,
Come then, come then, come then, &c. -She's wedded to the Earlie's son!
Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shal
career, O'er the peak of Ben-Lomond the galley shall steer, And the rocks of Craig-Royston 8 like icicles melt,
Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt! Macgregor's Gathering.
Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach |
Gather, gather, gather, &c.
1 " The MacGregor is come."
other to the property or possession of Craig-Royston, a domain • Por the history of the clan, see Introduction to Rob Roy, of rock and forest, lying on the east side of Loch Lomond, Waverley Novels, vol. vii.
where that beautiful lake stretches into the dusky mountains 8 " Rob Roy MacGregor's own designation was of Inner- of Glenfalloch."-Introduction to Rob Roy, Waverley Novels. sneid; but he appears to have acquired a right of some kind or vol. vii. p. 31.
Thou, of every good the Giver,
“ Redeem mine hours—the space is briefGrant him long to bless his own !
While in my glass the sand-crains shiver, Bless him, 'mid his land's disaster,
And measureless thy joy or griet, For her rights who battled brave,
When TIME and thou shalt part for ever!” Of the land of foemen master,
Chap. x Bless him who their wrongs forgave.
(3.)—ELSPETH'S BALLAD. (1.)-TIME.
“ As the Antiquary lifted the latch of the hut, he “ The window of a turret, which projected at an was surprised to hear the shrill tremulous voice of angle with the wall, and thus came to be very near Elspeth chanting forth an old ballad in a wild and Lovel's apartment, was half open, and from that doleful recitative:”— quarter he heard again the same music which had probably broken short his dream. With its visionary Tue herring loves the merry moon-light, character it had lost much of its charms—it was now The mackerel loves the wind, nothing more than an air on the har sicord, tolerably But the oyster loves the dredging sang, well performed—such is the caprice of imagination For they come of a gentle kind. as affecting the fine arts. A female voice sung, with some taste and great simplicity, something between a Now haud your tongue, baith wife and carlo, song and a hymn, in words to the following effect :"_ And listen great and sma',
And I will sing of Glenallan's Earl “ Why sit'st thou by that ruin'd hall,
That fought on the red Harlaw.
The cronach's cried on Bennachie,
And doun the Don and a',
And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be “ Know'st thou not me?" the Deep Voice cried ; For the sair field of Harlaw.
“ So long enjoy’d, so oft misused Alternate, in thy fickle pride,
They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds, Desired, neglected, and accused !
They hae bridled a hundred black,
With a chafron of steel on each horse's head, “ Before my breath, like blazing flax,
And a good knight upon his back.
They hadna ridden a mile, a mile,
A mile, but barely ten,
* Mr., afterwards Sir William Arbuthnot, the Lord Provost Walter Scott's; and these Verses, with their heading, ano non of Edinburgh, who had the honour to entertain the Grand- given from the newspapers of 1816. Duke, now Emperor ia, was a personal friend of Sir
When Donald came branking down the brae failed, eked it out with invention. I believe that, in Wi’ twenty thousand men.
where actual names are affixed to the sup
posed quotations, it would be to little purpose to seek Their tartans they were waving wide,
them in the works of the authors referred to. In Their glaives were glancing clear,
some cases, I have been entertained when Dr. Watts The pibrochs rung frae side to side,
and other graver authors have been ransacked in vain Would deafen ye to hear.
for stanzas for which the novelist alone was responsi
ble.”—Introduction to Chronicles of the Canongate. 'The great Earl in his stirrups stood, That Highland host to see:
1. “ Now here a knight that 's stout and good
I knew Anselmo. He was shrewd and prudent, May prove a jeopardie:
Wisdom and cunning had their shares of him;
But he was shrewish as a wayward child, “ What would'st thou do, my squire so gay,
And pleased again by toys which childhood please : That rides beside my reyne,
As-book of fables graced with print of wood, Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day,
Or else the jingling of a rusty medal, And I were Roland Cheyne?
Or the rare melody of some old ditty,
That first was sung to please King Pepin's cradle. “ To turn the rein were sin and shame, To fight were wond'rous peril,
(2.)-CHAP, IX. What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne,
“ Be brave," she cried, “ you yet may be our guest Were ye Glenallan's Earl ?”
Our haunted room was ever held the best:
If, then, your valour can the fight sustain “ Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide,
Of rustling curtains, and the clinking chain; And ye were Roland Cheyne,
If your courageous tongue have powers to talk, The spear should be in my horse's side,
When round your bed the horrid ghost shall walk And the bridle upon his mane.
If you dare ask it why it leaves its tomb,
I'll see your sheets well air'd, and show the room. “ If they hae twenty thousand blades,
True Story And we twice ten times ten, Yet they hae but their tartan plaids,
(3.)-CHAP. XI. And we are mail-clad men.
Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this vision sent,
And order'd all the pageants as they went; “ My horse shall ride through ranks sae rude, Sometimes that only 'twas wild Fancy's play, As through the moorland fern,
The loose and scatter'd relics of the day.
But what they draw from their own ancient customs He turn’d him right and round again,
Or constitute themselves, yet they are no rebeis. Said, Scorn na at my mither;
Brome. Light loves I may get mony a ane, But minnie ne'er anither.
Here has been such a stormy encounter,
About I know not what !-Dothing, indeed;
Competitions, degrees, and comparatives
Of soldiership! “The scraps of poetry which have been in most cases
A Faire Quarrel tacked to the beginning of chapters in these Novels, are sometimes quoted either from reading or from
(6.)-CHAP. XX. memory, but, in the general case, are pure invention.
If you fail honour here, I found it too troublesome to turn to the collection of Never presume to serve her any more; the British Poets to discover apposite mottoes, and, in Bid farewell to the integrity of arms, the situation of the theatrical mechanist, who, when the And the honourable name of soldier white paper which represented his shower of snow was Fall from you, like a shiver'd wreath of laurel exhausted, continued the shower by snowing brown, I By thunder struck from a desertlesse forehead. drew on my memory as long as I could, and when that
A Faire Quera
Mine is the poor residuum of the cup,
Vapid, and dull, and tasteless, only soiling
With its base dregs the vessel that contains it. By magic stairs he went as deep as hell, And if in devils' possession gold be kept,
(14.)-CHAP. XXXVII. He brought some sure from thence—'tis hid in
Yes! I love Justice well-as well as you do caves, Known, save to me, to none
But, since the good dame 's blind, she shall excuse The Wonder of a Kingdome.
If, time and reason fitting, I prove dumb;-
The breath I utter now shall be no means
To take away from me my breath in future.
Old Play. And credit to beg in the first style.Beggar's Bush.
Well, well, at worst, 'tis neither theft nor coinage, (9.)-CHAP. xxx.
Granting I knew all that you charge me with. Who is he?-One that for the lack of land
What, tho' the tomb hath born a second birth, Shall fight upon the water-he hath challenged And given the wealth to one that knew not on't, Formerly the grand whale; and by his titles Yet fair exchange was never robbery, Of Leviathan, Behemoth, and so forth.
Far less pure bounty
Old Play. He tilted with a sword-fish-Marry, sir, Th' aquatic had the best-the argument
(16.)-CHAP. XL. Still galls our champion's breech.
Life ebbs from such old age, unmark'd and silent, Old Play As the slow neap-tide leaves yon stranded galley.-
Late she rock'd merrily at the least impulse (10.)-CHAP. xxxi.
That wind or wave could give; but now her keel
Till, bedded on the strand, she shall remain
Old Pluy. Heap the fair plain, and bleaken all before us.
So, while the Goose, of whom the fable told, (11.)-CHAP. XXXIII.
Incumbent, brooded o'er her eggs of gold, Remorse-she ne'er forsakes us !
With hand outstretch'd, impatient to destroy, A bloodhound stanch-she tracks our rapid step Stole on her secret nest the cruel Boy, Through the wild labyrinth of youthful frenzy, Whose gripe rapacious changed her splendid dream Unheard, perchance, until old age hath tamed us; For wings vain fluttering, and for dying scream. Then in our lair, when Time hath chill'd our joints,
The Loves of the Sea-Weeds. And maim'd our hope of combat, or of flight, We hear her deep-mouth'd bay, announcing all
(18.)-CHAP. XLII. Of wrath and woe and punishment that bides us. Let those go see who will—I like it not
Old Play. For, say he was a slave to rank and pomp,
And all the nothings he is now divorced from (12.)-CHAP. xxxiv.
By the hard doom of stern necessity; Still in nis dead hand clench'd remain the strings Yet is it sad to mark his alter'd brow, That thrill his father's heart-e'en as the limb, Where Vanity adjusts her flimsy veil Lopp'd off and laid in grave, retains, they tell us, O'er the deep wrinkles of repentant Anguish. Strange commerce with the mutilated stump,
Old Play. Whose nerves are twinging still in maim'dexistence.
Fortune, you say, flies from us—She but circles, (13.)-CHAP. xxxv.
Like the fleet sea-bird round the fowler's skiff,Life, with you,
Lost in the mist one moment, and the next Glows in the brain and dances in the arteries; Brushing the white sail with her whiter wing, "Tis like the wine some joyous guest hath quaffd, As if to court the aim.—Experience watches, That glands the heart and elevates the fancy :
And has her on the wheel.