XIII. Speed, Malise, speed! the dun deer's hide Speed, Malise, speed! such cause of haste Bend 'gainst the steepy hill thy breast, The wounded hind thou track'st not now, Are in thy course-speed, Malise, speed' [MS.-"Dread messenger of fate and fear, Herald of danger, fate, and fear, Stretch onward in thy fleet career! Thou track'st not now the stricken doe, Nor maiden coy through greenwood bough."1 XIV. Fast as the fatal symbol flies, In arms the huts and hamlets rise; 1["The description of the starting of the 'fiery cross' bears more marks of labour than most of Mr Scott's poetry, and borders, perhaps, upon straining and exaggeration; yet is shows great power."-JEFFREY.] The lark's blithe carol, from the cloud, XV. Speed, Malise, speed! the lake is past, And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half seen, At Roderick's side shall fill his place!— And o'er him streams his widow's tear. [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 gone on the mountain, 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 since become the war-march, or Gathering of the clan. Coronach on Sir Lauchlan, Chief of Maclean. 66 Which of all the Senachies Can trace thy line from the root up to Paradise, But Macvuirih, the son of Fergus? No sooner had thine ancient stately tree Taken firm root in Albion, Than one of thy forefathers fell at Harlaw. 'Twas then we lost a chief of deathless name "'Tis no base weed-no planted tree, Nor a seedling of last Autumn; Nor a sapling planted at Beltain; 1 Wide, wide around were spread its lofty branches But the topmost bough is lowly laid! Thou hast forsaken us before Sawaine. 2 "Thy dwelling is the winter house ; Loud, sad, sad, and mighty is thy death-song! Oh! courteous champion of Montrose! Oh! stately warrior of the Celtic Isles ! Thou shalt buckle thy harness on no more!" The coronach has for some years past been superseded at funerals by the use of the bagpipe; and that also is, like many other Highland peculiarities, falling into disuse, unless in remote districts.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. 2 Hallowe'en. Like a summer-dried fountain, When our need was the sorest. The font, reappearing, From the rain-drops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering, To Duncan no morrow! The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest. Fleet foot on the correi,1 Sage counsel in cumber, Red hand in the foray, How sound is thy slumber! Thou art gone, and for ever!2 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 |