Fresh blows the wind, a western wind, And from the shores of Erin, Across the wave, a Rover brave Right onward to the Scottish strand The gallant ship is borne; The Warriors leap upon the land, And hark! the Leader of the Band Hath blown his bugle horn. Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, Beside a Grotto of their own, The Seven are laid, and in the shade Away they fly to left, to right Of your fair household, Father Knight, Away the seven fair Campbells fly, With menace proud, and insult loud, The youthful Rovers follow. Cried they, "Your Father loves to roam : Enough for him to find The empty House when he comes home; For us your yellow ringlets comb, For us be fair and kind!" Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie. Some close behind, some side by side, They run, and cry, "Nay let us die, A Lake was near; the shore was steep; There never foot had been; They ran, and with a desperate leap Nor ever more were seen. Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Stream that flows out of the Lake, Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, XVIII. THE PILGRIM'S DREAM; OR, THE STAR AND THE GLOW-WORM. A PILGRIM, when the summer day' A lodging begged beneath a castle's roof; He paced along; and, pensively, Halting beneath a shady tree, Whose moss-grown root might serve for couch or seat, Fixed on a Star his upward eye; Then, from the tenant of the sky He turned, and watched with kindred look, A glow-worm, in a dusky nook, Apparent at his feet. The murmur of a neighbouring stream A pregnant dream within whose shadowy bounds And That whose radiance gleamed from far; And (strange to witness!) from the frame Of the ethereal Orb, there came Intelligible sounds. Much did it taunt the humbler Light That now, when day was fled, and night Hushed the dark earth. fast closing weary eyes, A very Reptile could presume To show her taper in the gloom, As if in rivalship with One Who sate a Ruler on his throne Erected in the skies. "Exalted Star!" the Worm replied, "Abate this unbecoming pride, |