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Fresh blows the wind, a western wind,

And from the shores of Erin,

Across the wave, a Rover brave

To Binnorie is steering:

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,

The Solitude of Binnorie.

Beside a Grotto of their own,
With boughs above them closing,
The Seven are laid, and in the shade
They lie like Fawns reposing.
But now, upstarting with affright
At noise of Man and Steed,
Away they fly to left, to right —
Of your fair household, Father Knight,
Methinks you take small heed!
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The Solitude of Binnorie.

Away the seven fair Campbells fly,

And, over Hill and Hollow,

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,

Like clouds in stormy weather,

They run, and cry, "Nay let us die,

And let us die together."

A Lake was near; the shore was steep;

There never foot had been;

They ran, and with a desperate leap

Together plunged into the deep,

Nor ever more were seen.

Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,

Stream that flows out of the Lake,
As through the glen it rambles,
Repeats a moan o'er moss and stone,
For those seven lovely Campbells.
Seven little Islands, green and bare,
Have risen from out the deep:
The Fishers say, those Sisters fair
By Faeries are all buried there,
And there together sleep.
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The Solitude of Binnorie.

XVIII.

THE

PILGRIM'S DREAM;

OR,

THE STAR AND THE GLOW-WORM.

A Pilgrim, when the summer day

Had closed upon his weary way,

A lodging begged beneath a castle's roof;

But him the haughty Warder spurned;

And from the gate the Pilgrim turned,

To seek such covert as the field

Or heath-besprinkled copse might yield,

Or lofty wood, shower-proof.

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

Induced a soft and slumberous dream,

A pregnant dream within whose shadowy bounds

He recognised the earth-born Star,

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,

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