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XIX.

BOAT SONG.

Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances !
Honor'd and bless'd be the ever-green Pine!
Long may the tree, in his banner that glances,
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line!
Heaven send it happy dew,

Earth lend it sap anew,

Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow,
While every Highland glen

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Send our shout back agen,

Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"1

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.

1 Besides his ordinary name and surname, which were chiefly used in the intercourse with the Lowlands, every Highland chief had an epithet expressive of his patriarchal dignity as head of the clan, and which was common to all his predecessors and successors, as Pharaoh to the kings of Egypt, or Arsaces to those of Parthia. This name was usually a patronymic, expressive of his descent from the founder of the family. Thus the Duke of Argyle is called MacCallum More, or the son of Colin the Great. Sometimes, however, it is derived from armorial distinctions, or the memory of some great feat; thus Lord Seaforth, as chief of the Mackenzies, or Clan-Kenneth, bears the epithet of Caber-fae, or Buck's Head, as representative of Colin Fitzgerald, founder of the family, who saved the Scottish king when endangered by a stag. But

Moor'd in the rifted rock,

Proof to the tempest's shock,

Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow;
Menteith and Breadalbane, then,
Echo his praise again,

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· Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

XX.

Proudly our pibroch has thrill'd in Glen Fruin,

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.1 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 again,

"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

besides this title, which belonged to his office and dignity, the chieftain had usually another peculiar to himself, which distinguished him from the chieftains of the same race. This was sometimes derived from complexion, as dhu or roy; sometimes from size, as beg or more; at other times, from some 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 honor of a favorite 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. 1 See Appendix, Note E.

Row, vassals, row for the pride of the Highlands!
Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine!
O! 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,

Honor'd and blessed in their shadow might grow!
Loud should Clan-Alpine then

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Ring from her deepest glen,
'Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"1

XXI.

With all her joyful female band,

2

Had Lady Margaret sought the strand.
Loose on the breeze their tresses flew,
And high their snowy arms they threw,
As echoing back with shrill acclaim,
And chorus wild, the Chieftain's name;
While, prompt to please, with mother's art,
The darling passion of his heart,
The Dame called Ellen to the strand
To greet her kinsman ere he land:
“Come, loiterer, come! a Douglas thou,
And shun to wreathe a victor's brow?" -
Reluctantly and slow, the maid

The unwelcome summoning obey'd,

1" However we may dislike the geographical song and chorus, half English and half Erse, which is sung in praise of the warrior, we must allow that, in other respects, the hero of a poem has seldom, if ever, been introduced with finer effect, or in a manner better calculated to excite the expectations of the reader, than on the present occasion." - Critical Review. 2 MS.: The chorus to the chieftain's fame."

And, when a distant bugle rung,

In the mid-path aside she sprung:

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List, Allan-Bane! From mainland cast, I hear my father's signal blast.

Be ours," she cried, "the skiff to guide,
And waft him from the mountain-side."
Then, like a sunbeam, swift and bright,
She darted to her shallop light,

And, eagerly while Roderick scann'd,
For her dear form, his mother's band,
The islet far behind her lay,

And she had landed in the bay.

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 press'd,
Such holy drops her tresses steep'd,
Though 'twas an hero's eye that weep'd.
Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue 1
Her filial welcomes crowded hung,

1 MS.: "Nor while on Ellen's faltering tongue
Her filial greetings eager hung,

Mark'd not that awe (affection's proof)
Still held yon gentle youth aloof;

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
In my poor follower's glistening eye?
I'll tell thee: he recalls the day,
When in my praise he led the lay
O'er the arch'd gate of Bothwell proud,
While many a minstrel answer'd loud,
When Percy's Norman pennon won
In bloody field before me shone,
And twice ten knights, the least a name
As mighty as yon Chief may claim,
Gracing my pomp, behind me came.
Yet trust me, Malcolm, not so proud
Was I of all that marshall'd crowd,

No! not till Douglas named his name,
Although the youth was Malcolm Græme,
Then with flushed cheek and downcast eye,
Their greeting was confused and shy."

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