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1 "The pibroch of Donald the Black." This song was written for Campbell's Albyn's Anthology, 1816. It may also be seen, set to music, in Thomson's Collection, 1830.
2 Compare this with the gathering-song in the third canto of the Lady of the Lake, ante.
3 "I will never go with him.'
The frost-wind soon shall sweep away
Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Cualchuirn 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!
Then courage, courage, courage, Grigalach!
Courage, courage, courage, &c.
If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles,
Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the Would never wed the Earlie's son."
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Griga.
lach! Still in the water-lily's shade
Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, &c.
While there's leaves in the forest, and foam on the
river, To shun the clash of foeman's steel,
MacGregor, despite them, shall flourish 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.
Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt !
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 3 For the history of the clan, sce 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 3 " Rob Roy MacGregor's own designation was of Inner- of Glenfalloch."— Introduction to Rob Roy, Waverley Novels, snaid; but he appears to have acquired a right of some kinil or rol. vü. 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-grains shiver, Bless him, 'mid his land's disaster,
And measureless thy joy or grief, 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 The 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 harpsicord, 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 carle, 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' bo * Know'st thou not me?” the Deep Voice cried; For the sair field of Harlaw.
“ So long enjoy'd, so oft misusedAlternate, 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,
1 Mr., afterwards Sir William Arbuthnot, the Lord Provost Walter Scott's; and these Verses, with their heading, are now of Edinburgh, who had the honour to entertain the Grand- given from the newspapers of 1816. Duke, now Emperor of Russia, 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.
some cases, 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 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 wondrous 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 rebels. 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!--nothing, 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 Quarrel.