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XIII. Speed, Malise, speed! the dun deer's hide On fleeter foot was never tied. Speed, Malise, speed ! such cause of haste Thine active sinews never braced. Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast, Burst down like torrent from its crest; With short and springing footstep pass The trembling bog and false morass; Across the brook like roebuck bound, And thread the brake like questing hound; The crag is high, the scaur is deep, Yet shrink not from the desperate leap : Parch'd are thy burning lips and brow, Yet by the fountain pause Herald of battle, fate, and fear, Stretch onward in thy fleet career! The wounded hind thou track'st not now, Pursuest not maid through greenwood bougn, Nor pliest thou now thy flying pace, With rivals in the mountain race; But danger, death, and warrior deed, Are in thy course-speed, Malise, speed !
*[MS.—“Dread messenger of fate and fear, L
Herald of danger, fate, and fear,
1 [“The description of the starting of the 'fiery cross' bears more marks of labour than most of Mr Scott's poetry, and bor. ders, perhaps, upon straining and exaggeration ; yet is shown great power."-JEFFREY.]
The lark's blithe carol, from the cloud,
- What woeful accents load the gale?
1[MS.--"Seems all too lively and too loud."] ? (MS.-“ 'Tis woman's scream, 'tis childhood's wail."] The Coronach of the Highlanders, like the Ulalatus of the XVI.
He is lost to the forest,
Romans and the Ululoo of the Irish, was a wild expression of lamentation, poured forth by the mourners over the body of a departed friend. When the words of it were articulate, they expressed the praises of the deceased, and the loss the clan would sustain by his death. The following is a lamentation of this kind, literally translated from the Gaelic, to some of the ideas of which the text stands indebted. The tune is so popular, that it has sin ce become the war-march, or Gathering of the clan.
Coronach on Sir Lauchlan, Chief of Maclean.
" Which of all the Senachies
“ 'Tis no base weed-no planted tree,
Nor a seedling of last Autumn;
“Thy dwelling is the winter house ;
Loud, sad, sad, and mighty is thy death-song!
The coronach has for some years past been superseded at funerals by the use of the bagpipe; and that also is, like many other Highland peculiarities, falling into disuse, unless in remote districts.
Bell's fire, or Whitsunday.
Like a summer-dried fountain,
When our need was the sorest.
From the rain-drops shall borrow,
To Duncan uw morrow!
Takes the ears that are hoary,
Wails manhood in glory.
Waft the leaves that are searest,
When blighting was nearest.
Fleet foot on the correi,
Sage counsel in cumber,
How sound is thy slumber!
Like the foam on the river,
Thou art gone, and for ever!2
1 Or corri. The hollow side of the hill, where game usually lies.
2 [“Mr Scott is such a master of versification, that the most complicated metre does not for an instant arrest the progress of his imagination; its difficulties usually operate as a salutary