ON THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE

1814

'O, TELL me, Harper, wherefore flow
Thy wayward notes of wail and woe
Far down the desert of Glencoe,

Where none may list their melody?
Say, harp'st thou to the mists that fly,
Or to the dun-deer glancing by,
Or to the eagle that from high
Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy?'

'No, not to these, for they have rest,-
The mist-wreath has the mountain-crest,
The stag his lair, the rene her nest,
Abode of lone security.

But those for whom I pour the lay,
Not wild-wood deep nor mountain gray,
Not this deep dell that shrouds from day,
Could screen from treacherous cruelty.

'Their flag was furled and mute their drum, The very household dogs were dumb,

Unwont to bay at guests that come

In guise of hospitality.

His blithest notes the piper plied,
Her gayest snood the maiden tied,
The dame her distaff flung aside

To tend her kindly housewifery.

'The hand that mingled in the meal At midnight drew the felon steel,

And gave the host's kind breast to feel

Meed for his hospitality!

The friendly hearth which warmed that hand
At midnight armed it with the brand

That bade destruction's flames expand
Their red and fearful blazonry.

'Then woman's shriek was heard in vain,
Nor infancy's unpitied plain,

More than the warrior's groan, could gain
Respite from ruthless butchery!

The winter wind that whistled shrill,

The snows that night that cloked the hill,
Though wild and pitiless, had still

Far more than Southern clemency.

'Long have my harp's best notes been gone, Few are its strings and faint their tone,

They can but sound in desert lone

Their grey-haired master's misery.

Were each grey hair a minstrel string, Each chord should imprecations fling, Till startled Scotland loud should ring, "Revenge for blood and treachery!"''

SONG

FOR THE ANNIVERSARY MEETING OF THE PITT CLUB

OF SCOTLAND

1814

O, DREAD was the time, and more dreadful the omen,

When the brave on Marengo lay slaughtered in vain, And beholding broad Europe bowed down by her foemen,

PITT closed in his anguish the map of her reign!

Not the fate of broad Europe could bend his brave

spirit

To take for his country the safety of shame;

O, then in her triumph remember his merit,

And hallow the goblet that flows to his name.

Round the husbandman's head while he traces the

furrow

The mists of the winter may mingle with rain, He may plough it with labour and sow it in sorrow, And sigh while he fears he has sowed it in vain;

He may die ere his children shall reap in their gladness, But the blithe harvest-home shall remember his

claim;

And their jubilee-shout shall be softened with sadness, While they hallow the goblet that flows to his name.

Though anxious and timeless his life was expended,
In toils for our country preserved by his care,
Though he died ere one ray o'er the nations ascended,
To light the long darkness of doubt and despair;
The storms he endured in our Britain's December,
The perils his wisdom foresaw and o'ercame,
In her glory's rich harvest shall Britain remember,
And hallow the goblet that flows to his name.

Nor forget His gray head who, all dark in affliction,
Is deaf to the tale of our victories won,
And to sounds the most dear to paternal affection,
The shout of his people applauding his Son;
By his firmness unmoved in success and disaster,

By his long reign of virtue, remember his claim! With our tribute to PITT join the praise of his Master, Though a tear stain the goblet that flows to his name.

Yet again fill the wine-cup and change the sad measure, The rites of our grief and our gratitude paid,

To our Prince, to our Heroes, devote the bright treasure, The wisdom that planned, and the zeal that obeyed! Fill WELLINGTON'S cup till it beam like his glory,

Forget not our own brave DALHOUSIE and GRÆME; A thousand years hence hearts shall bound at their story,

And hallow the goblet that flows to their fame.