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With Torquil's aid, a gallant fleet, If aught avails their Chieftain's hest Among the islesmen of the west."
The eager Edward said; “ Eternal as his own, my hate Surmounts the bounds of mortal fate,
And dies not with the dead!
As his last accents pray'd
Each rebel corpse was laid !
VI. Thus was their venturous council said. But, ere their sails the galleys spread, Coriskin dark and Coolin high Echoed the dirge's doleful cry. Along that sable lake pass'd slow,Fit scene for such a sight of woe, The sorrowing islesmen, as they bore The murder'd Allan to the shore. At every pause, with dismal shout, Their coronach of grief rung out, And ever, when they moved again, The pipes resumed their clamorous strain, And, with the pibroch's shrilling wail, Mourn'd the young heir of Donagaile. Round and around, from cliff and cave, His answer stern old Coolin gave, Till high upon his misty side Languish'd the mournful notes, and died. For never sounds, by mortal made, Attain'd his high and haggard head, That echoes but the tempest's moan, Or the deep thunder's rending groan.
V. "Let women, Edward, war with words, With curses monks, but men with swords: Nor doubt of living foes, to sate Deepest revenge and deadliest hate.? Now, to the sea ! behold the beach, And see the galleys' pendants stretch Their fluttering length down favoring gale! Aboard, aboard ! and hoist the sail. Hold we our way for Arran first, Where meet in arms our friends dispersed ; Lennox the loyal, De la Haye, And Boyd the bold in battle fray. I long the hardy band to head, And see once more my standard spread.Does noble Ronald share our course, Or stay to raise his island force !”“Come weal, come woe, by Bruce's side," Replied the Chief, “ will Ronald bide. And since two galleys yonder ride, Be mine, so please my liege, dismiss'd To wake to arms the clans of Uist, And all who hear the Minche's roar, On the Long Island's lonely shore. The nearer Isles, with slight delay, Ourselves may summon in our way; And soon on Arran's shore shall meet,
She bounds before the gale,
Is joyous in her sail !
The cords and canvas strain,
As if they laugh'd again.
Than the gay galley bore
And Slapin's cavern'd shore."
1 See Appendix, Note 2 L.
compelled to say it, 80 monstrous, and in a Scottish poet, so 2 « The Brace was, unquestionably, of a temper never sur unnatural a violation of truth and decency, not to say patriotpassed for its humanity, munificence, and nobleness ; yet to ism, that we are really astonished that the author could have represent him sorrowing over the death of the first Plantage-conceived the idea, much more that he could suffer his pen to niet, after the repeated and tremendous ills inflicted by that record it. This wretched abasement on the part of The man on Scotland—the patriot Wallace murdered by his order, Bruce, is farther heightened by the King's half-reprehension of as well as the royal race of Wales, and the very brothers of Prince Edward's noble and stern expression of undying hatred The Bruce, slaughtered by his command-to represent the against his country's spoiler, and his family's assassin --Critijust and generous Robert, we repeat, feeling an instant's com- cal Review passion for the sudden fate of a miscreant like this, is, we are
3 MS. " mountain-shore."
A summons these of war and wrath
That mourns her woes in tongue unknown.To the brave clans of Sleat and Strath,
Strange is the tale-but all too long And, ready at the sight,
Already hath it staid the song Each warrior to his weapons sprung,
Yet who may pass them by, And targe upon his shoulder flung,
That crag and tower in ruins gray," Impatient for the fight.
Nor to their hapless tenant pay Mac-Kinnon's chief, in warfare gray,
The tribute of a sigh ! Had charge to muster their array,
Merrily, merrily bounds the bark
O’er the broad ocean driven,
Her path by Ronin's mountains dark A beacon gleam'd o'er sea and land,
The steersman's hand hath given. From Canna's tower, that, steep and gray,
And Ronin's mountains dark have sent Like falcon-nest o'erhangs the bay.'
Their hunters to the shore, Seek not the giddy crag to climb,
And each his ashen bow unbent, To view the turret scathed by time;
And gave his pastime o'er, It is a task of doubt and fear
And at the Island Lord's command, To aught but goat or mountain-deer.
For hunting spear took warrior's brand. But rest thee on the silver beach,
On Scooreigg next a warning light
Summon'd her warriors to the fight;
A numerous race, ere stern MacLeod
O'er their bleak shores in vengeance strode, And for thy seat by ocean's side,
When all in vain the ocean-cave
Its refuge to his victims gave.
With blazing heath blockades the path;
In dense and stifling volumes rollid,
The vapor fill’d the cavern'd hold! Who in so rude a jail confined
The warrior-threat, the infant's plain, So soft and fair a thrall !
The mother's screams, were heard in vain; And oft, when moon on ocean slept,
The vengeful Chief maintains his fires, That lovely lady sate and wept
Till in the vault? a tribe expires ! Upon the castle-wall,
The bones which strew that cavern's gloom, And turn'd her eye to southern climes,
Too well attest their dismal doom.
Merrily, merrily goes the barko And still, when on the cliff and bay
On a breeze from the northward free, Placid and pale the moonbeams play,
So shoots through the morning sky the lark, And every breeze is mute,
Or the swan through the summer sea. Upon the lone Hebridean's ear
The shores of Mull on the eastward lay,
And all the group of islets gay
That guard famed Staffa round. And sounds, as of a captive lone,
Then all unknown its columns rose, 1 See Appendix, Note 2 M.
We could almost be tempted to believe that he was on his re 2 MS.-" To Canna's turret gray."
turn from Skye when he wrote this portion of his poem :-from 3 " The stanzas which follow are, we think, touchingly Skye, the depository of the 'mighty cup of royal Somerled," beautiful, and breathe a sweet and melancholy tenderness, as well as of Rorie More's' comparatively modern horn'perfectly suitable to the sad tale which they record."-Criti- and that, as he says himself of a minstrel who celebrated the cal Review
hospitalities of Dunvegan-castle in that island, it is pretty 4 MS.--" That crag with crest of ruins gray."
plain, that when this tribute of poetical praise was bestowed,
the horn of Rorie More had not been inactive.'"- Montaly 6 See Appendix, Note 2 N.
6 Ibid. Note 20.
Revier. See Appendix, Note M. 7 MS.—“Till in their smoke," &c.
"Of the prominent beauties which abound in the poem, 8" And so also · merrily, merrily, goes the bark,' in a suc- the most magnificent we consider to be the description of the cession of merriment, which, like Dogberry's tediousness, he celebrated Cave of Fingal, which is conceived in a mighty finds it in his heart to bestow wholly and entirely on us, mind, and is expressed in a strain of poetry, clear, simple, through page after page, or wave after wave of his voyage. and sublime."-British Critic.
His bright and brief career is o'er,
And mute his tuneful strains ; Quench'd is his lamp of varied lore, That loved the light of song to pour ; A distant and a deadly shore
Has LEYDEN's cold remains !
Where dark and undisturbed repose?
The cormorant had found, And the shy seal had quiet home, And welter'd in that wondrous dome, Where, as to shame the temples deck'd By skill of earthly architect, Nature herself, it seem'd, would raise A Minster to her Maker's praise ! Not for a meaner use ascend Her columns, or her arches bend; Nor of a theme less solemn tells That mighty surge that ebbs and swells, And still, between each awful pause, From the high vault an answer draws, In varied tone prolong’d and high, That mocks the organ's melody. Nor doth its entrance front in vain To old Iona’s holy fane, That Nature's voice might seem to say, “Well hast thou done, frail Child of clay! Thy humble powers that stately shrine Task'd high and hard—but witness mine !"
XII. Ever the breeze blows merrily, But the galley ploughs no more the sea. Lest, rounding wild Cantyre, they meet The southern foeman's watchful fleet,
They held unwonted way :-
Upon the eastern bay.
every foe should faint and quail
Before the gale she bounds;
Or the deer before the hounds.
And the Chief of the sandy Coll;
With long and measur'd toll ;-
Away in the billows' roll.
Lord Ronald's call obey,
And lonely Colonsay;
XIII. Now launch'd once more, the inland sea They furrow with fair augury,
And steer for Arran's isle; The sun, ere yet he sunk behind Ben-Ghoil, " the Mountain of the Wind," Gave his grim peaks a greeting kind,
And bade Loch Ranza smile. Thither their destined course they drew; It seem'd the isle her monarch knew, So brilliant was the landward view,
The ocean so serene; Each puny wave in diamonds rollid O'er the calm deep, where hues of gold
With azure strove and green,
1 MS.—“Where niched, his undisturb'd repose."
" Which, when the ruins of thy pile
Cumber the desolated isle,
'Gainst winds, and waves, and spoiler's hand.” 4"We were now treading that illustrious island, which was once the luminary of the Caledonian regions, whence savage clans and roving barbarians derived the benefits of knowledge, and the blessings of religion. To abstract the mind from all local emotion would be impossible, if it were endeavored, and
would be foolish, if it were possible. Whatever withdraws ug from the power of our senses ; whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings. Far from me and from my friends be such frigid philosophy, as may conduct as indir ferent and onmoved over any ground which has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. That man is little to be envied, whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins of Iona."-Johnson.
& See Appendix, Note 2 Q.
The hill, the vale, the tree, the tower, Glow'd with the tints of evening's hour,
The beach was silver sheen, The wind breathed soft as lover's sigh, And, oft renew'd, seem'd oft to die,
With breathless pause between. O who, with speech of war and woes, Would wish to break the soft repose
Of such enchanting scene!
And good King Robert's brow expressid,
As doubtful to approve;
When lovers talk of love.
When, to fulfil our fathers' band,
I was repulsed with scorn;
Again, to pleasure Lorn."
Till fate shall lend more prosperous days." 4 MS.--"And as a way the tears he swept,
He bade shame on him that he wept."
XV. “ Young Lord,” the Royal Bruce' replied, “That question must the Church decide: Yet seems it hard, since rumors state Edith takes Clifford for her mate, The very tie, which she hath broke, To thee should still be binding yoke. But, for my sister Isabel — The mood of woman who can tell ? I guess the Champion of the Rock, Victorious in the tourney shock, That knight unknown, to whom the prize She dealt,-had favor in her eyes; But since our brother Nigel's fate,
no tongue is mine To blame her," &c.
2 MS.-"The princely Bruce."
Keeps lonely couch, and lonely meals ?
The heavy sword or bossy shield.
XVIII. To land King Robert lightly sprung, And thrice aloud his bugle rung With note prolong'd and varied strain, Till bold Ben-Ghoil replied again. Good Douglas then, and De la Haye, Had in a glen a hart at bay, . And Lennox cheer'd the laggard hounds, When waked that horn the greenwood
bounds. " It is the foe!” cried Boyd, who came In breathless haste with eye of flame," It is the foe !- Each valiant lord Fling by his bow, and grasp his sword !"" Not so," replied the good Lord James, “That blast no English bugle claims. Oft have I heard it fire the fight, Cheer the pursuit, or stop the flight. Dead were my heart, and deaf mine ear, If Bruce should call, nor Douglas hear! Each to Loch Ranza's margin spring; That blast was winded by the King !"?
XX. Oh, War! thou hast thy fierce delight, Thy gleams of joy, intensely bright! Such gleams, as from thy polish'd shield Fly dazzling o'er the battle-field ! Such transports wake, severe and high, Amid the pealing conquest cry; Scarce less, when, after battle lost, Muster the remnants of a host, And as each comrade's name they tell Who in the well-fought conflict fell, Knitting stern brow o'er flashing eye, Vow. to avenge them or to die ! Warriors !—and where are warriors found, If not on martial Britain's ground ? And who, when waked with note of fire, Love more than they the British lyre ? Know ye not,-hearts to honor dear! That joy, deep-thrilling, stern, severe, At which the heart-strings vibrate high, And wake the fountains of the eye ? And blame ye, then, the Bruce, if trace Of tear is on his manly face, When, scanty relics of the train That hail'd at Scone his early reign, This patriot band around him hung, And to his knees and bosom clung ? Blame ye the Bruce :—his brother blamed, But shared the weakness, while ashamed, With haughty laugh his head he turn'd, And dash'd away the tear he scorn'd.”
XIX. Fast to their mates the tidings spread, And fast to shore the warriors sped. Bursting from glen and greenwood tree, High waked their loyal jubilee! Around the royal Bruce they crowd, And clasp'd his hands, and wept aloud. Veterans of early fields were there, Whose helmets press’d their hoary hair, Whose swords and axes bore a stain From life-blood of the red-hair'd Dane;' And boys, whose hands scarce brook'd to
1 See Appendix, Note 2T.
When Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead.