Why, now I have Dame Fortune by the forelock, WHEN the last Laird of Ravenswood to Ravens- And if she 'scapes my grasp, the fault is mine; wood shall ride, And wooe a dead maiden to be his bride, He that hath buffeted with stern adversity, Chap. xviii. (4.)-MOTTOES. (1.)-CHAP. VIII. THE hearth in hall was black and dead, Nor merry bowl nor welcome bed; 66 From the Legend of Montrose. (1.)-ANCIENT GAELIC MELODY. "So saying, Annot Lyle sate down at a little 'Here's sorry cheer," quoth the Heir of Linne. distance upon the bench on which Allan M'Aulay Old Ballad, was placed, and tuning her clairshach, a small [Altered from "The Heir of Linne."] harp, about thirty inches in height, she accompa (2.)-CHAP. XIV. As, to the Autumn breeze's bugle-sound, nied it with her voice. The air was an ancient Gaelic melody, and the words, which were supposed to be very old, were in the same language; Various and vague the dry leaves dance their but we subjoin a translation of them, by Secundus round; M'Pherson, Esq., of Glenforgen; which, although submitted to the fetters of English rhythm, we trust will be found nearly as genuine as the version of Ossian by his celebrated namesake." 1. BIRDS of omen dark and foul, DARK on their journey lour'd the gloomy day, "TUNING her instrument, and receiving an assenting look from Lord Monteith and Allan, Annot Lyle executed the following ballad, which our friend, Mr. Secundus M'Pherson, whose goodness The mansion which received them from the road. we had before to acknowledge, has thus translated into the English tongue:" NOVEMBER'S hail-cloud drifts away, The orphan by the oak was set, Her arms, her feet, were bare; The hail-drops had not melted yet, Amid her raven hair. "And dame," she said, "by all the ties show'd (3.)-SAXON WAR-SONG. THE fire was spreading rapidly through all parts of the castle, when Ulrica, who had first kindled it, appeared on a turret, in the guise of one of the ancient furies, yelling forth a war-song, such as was of yore chanted on the field of battle by the yet heathen Saxons. Her long dishevelled gray hair flew back from her uncovered head; the inebriating delight of gratified vengeance contended in her eyes with the fire of insanity; and she brandished the distaff which she held in her hand, as if she had been one of the Fatal Sisters, who spin and abridge the thread of human life. Tradition has preserved some wild strophes of the barbarous hymn which she chanted wildly amid that scene of fire and slaughter:”— All must perish! 4. The sword cleaveth the helmet; The race of Hengist is gone The name of Horsa is no more! Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the sword! Let your blades drink blood like wine: By the light of the blazing halls! Note." It will readily occur to the antiquary, that these verses are intended to imitate the antique poetry of the Scalds-the minstrels of the old Scandinavians-the race, as the Laureate so happily terms them, 'Stern to inflict, and stubborn to endure, The poetry of the Anglo-Saxons, after their civilization and conversion, was of a different and softer character; but, in the circumstances of Ulrica, she may be not unnaturally supposed to return to the wild strains which animated her forefathers during the times of Paganism and untamed ferocity." Chap. xxxii. (4.)-REBECCA'S HYMN. "It was in the twilight of the day when her trial, if it could be called such, had taken place, that a low knock was heard at the door of Rebecca's prison chamber. It disturbed not the inmate, who was then engaged in the evening prayer recommended by her religion, and which concluded with a hymn, which we have ventured thus to translate into English:" WHEN Israel, of the Lord beloved, Out from the land of bondage came, Her fathers' God before her moved, An awful guide in smoke and flame. By day, along the astonish'd lands The cloudy pillar glided slow; By night, Arabia's crimson'd sands Return'd the fiery column's glow. |