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The Cross, thus form'd, he held on high,
With wasted hand, and haggard eye,
And strange and mingled feelings woke,
While his anathema he spoke.

IX.

"Wo to the clansman, who shall view
This symbol of sepulchral yew,
Forgetful that its branches grew

Where weep the heavens their holiest dew
On Alpine's dwelling low!
Deserter of his Chieftain's trust,
He ne'er shall mingle with their dust,
But, from his sires and kindred thrust,
Each clansman's execration just*

Shall doom him wrath and wo."
He paused; the word the vassals took,
With forward step and fiery look,
On high their naked brands they shook,
Their clattering targets wildly strook ;†
And first in murmur low,
Then, like the billow in his course,
That far to seaward finds his source,
And flings to shore his muster'd force,
Burst, with loud roar, their answer hoarse,
"Wo to the traitor, wo!"
Ben-an's gray scalp the accents knew,
The joyous wolf from covert drew,
The exulting eagle screamed afar,-
They knew the voice of Alpine's war.
X.

The shout was hush'd on lake and fell,
The monk resumed his mutter'd spell:
Dismal and low its accents came,

The while he scathed the cross with flame;
And the few words that reach'd the air,
Although the holiest name was there,+
Had more of blasphemy than prayer.
But when he shook above the crowd
Its kindled points, he spoke aloud:-
"Wo to the wretch, who fails to rear
At this dread sign the ready spear!
For, as the flames this symbol sear,
His home, the refuge of his fear,

A kindred fate shall know;
Far o'er its roof the volumed flame
Clan-Alpine's vengeance shall proclaim,
While maids and matrons on his name
Shall call down wretchedness and shame,
And infamy and wo."
Then rose the cry of females shrill
As goss-hawk's whistle on the hill,
Denouncing misery and ill,

Mingled with childhood's babbling trill
Of curses stammer'd slow;
Answering with imprecation dread,
"Sunk be his home in embers red!
And cursed be the meanest shed
That e'er shall hide the houseless head,
We doom to want and wo!"
A sharp and shrieking echo gave,
Coir-Uriskin, thy goblin cave!

And the gray pass where birches wave,
On Beala-nam-bo.

XI.

Then deeper paused the priest anew,
And hard his labouring breath he drew,
While, with set teeth and clenched hand,
And eyes that glowed like fiery brand,
He meditated curse more dread,
And deadlier, on the clansman's head,
[MS.-"Our warriors, on his worthiess bust
Shall speak disgrace and wo."]
[MS.-"Their clattering targets hardly strook :
And first they mutter'd low."]
[MS.-" Although the holy name was there."]
(MS.-"The slowly mutter'd deep Amen."]
[M8.-"Murlagan is the spot decreed."]

The present brogue of the Highlanders is made of half-dried leather, with holes to admit and let out the water; for walking the moors dry-shod is a matter altogether out of question. The ancient buskin was still ruder, being made of undressed deer's hide, with the hair outwards; a circumstance which procured the Highlanders the well-known epithet of Red Shanks. The process is very accurately described by one Elder (himself a Highlander) in the project for a union between England and Scotland, addressed to Henry VIII. We go a-hunting, and after VOL. I.-3 F

Who, summon'd to his Chieftain's aid,
The signal saw and disobey'd.
The crosslet's points of sparkling wood,
He quench'd among the bubbling blood,
And, as again the sign he rear'd,
Hollow and hoarse his voice was heard:
"When flits this Cross from man to man,
Vich-Alpine's summons to his clan,
Burst be the ear that fails to heed!
Palsied the foot that shuns to speed!
May ravens tear the careless eyes,
Wolves make the coward heart their prize!
As sinks that blood-stream in the earth,
So may his heart's-blood drench his hearth!
As dies in hissing gore the spark,
Quench thou his light, Destruction dark!
And be the grace to him denied,
Bought by this sign to all beside !"
He ceased; no echo gave agen
The murmur of the deep Amen.§

XII.

Then Roderick, with impatient look,
From Brian's hand the symbol took:
"Speed, Malise, speed!" he said, and gave
The crosslet to his henchman brave.
"The muster-place be Lanrick mead-
Instant the time-speed, Malise, speed!"
Like heath-bird, when the hawks pursue,
A barge across Loch Katrine flew;
High stood the henchman on the prow,
So rapidly the barge-men row,

The bubbles, where they launch'd the boat,
Were all unbroken and afloat,
Dancing in foam and ripple still,
When it had neared the mainland hill;
And from the silver beach's side
Still was the prow three fathom wide,
When lightly bounded to the land
The messenger of blood and brand.

XIII.

Speed, Malise, speed! the dun deer's hide
On fleeter foot was never tied. T
Speed, Malise, speed! such cause of hastc
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:
Parth'd are thy burning lips and brow,
Yet by the fountain pause not now;
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 bough
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!

XIV.

Fast as the fatal symbol flies,
In arms the huts and hamlets rise:
From winding glen, from upland brown,
They pour'd each hardy tenant down.
Nor slack'd the messenger his pace;,

He show'd the sign, he named the place,

that we have slain red-deer, we flay off the skin by-and-by, and setting of our Eare-foot on the inside thereof, for want of cunning shoemakers, by your grace's pardon, we play the cobblers, compassing and measuring so much thereof as shall reach up to our ankles, pricking the upper part thereof with holes, that the wa ter may repass where it enters, and stretching it up with a strong thong of the same above our said ankles. So, and please your noble grace, we make our shoes. Therefore, we using such manner of shoes, the rough hairy side outwards, in your grace's dominions of England, we be called Roughfooted Scots."-PINKERTON's History, vol. ii. p. 397.

** [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 green wood bough."]

And, pressing forward like the wind,
Left clamour and surprise behind.*
The fisherman forsook the strand,
The swarthy smith took dirk and brand;
With changed cheer, the mower blithe
Left in the half-cut swathe the scythe;
The herds without a keeper stray'd,
The plough was in mid-furrow staid,
The falc'ner toss'd his hawk away,
The hunter left the stag at bay;
Prompt at the signal of alarms,
Each son of Alpine rush'd to arms;
So swept the tumult and affray
Along the margin of Achray.
Alas, thou lovely lake! that e'er
Thy banks should echo sounds of fear!
The rocks, the bosky thickets, sleep
So stilly on thy bosom deep,

The lark's blithe carol, from the cloud,
Seems for the scene too gayly loud.t

XV

Speed, Malise, speed! the lake is past,
Duncraggan's huts appear at last,

And peep, like moss-grown rocks, half seen,
Half hidden in the copse so green;
There mayst thou rest, thy labour done,
Their lord shall speed the signal on.-
As stoops the hawk upon his prey,

The henchman shot him down the way.
-What woful accents load the gale?
The funeral yell, the female wail !+
A gallant hunter's sport is o'er,
A valiant warrior fights no more.
Who, in the battle or the chase,

At Roderick's side shall fill his place!-
Within the hall, where torches' ray
Supplies the excluded beams of day,
Lies Duncan on his lowly bier,
And o'er him streams his widow's tear.
His stripling son stands mournful by,
His youngest weeps, but knows not why;
The village maids and matrons round
The dismal coronach§ resound.

XVI.

CORONACH.

He is gone on the mountain,
He is lost to the forest,

Like a summer-dried fountain,
When our need was the sorest.

The font, re-appearing,

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.

["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 it shows great power."-JEFFREY.]

[MS.-"Seems all too lively and too loud.")

I [MS.-"'Tis woman's scream, 'tis childhood's wail."] 6 The Coronach of the Highlanders, like the Ululatus of the 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. "Which of all the Senachies

Can trace thy line from the root, up to Paradise,
But Macvuiríh, 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.

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The autumn winds rushing
Waft the leaves that are searest,
But our flower was in flushing,
When blighting was nearest.
Fleet foot on the correi,
Sage council in cumber,
Red hand in the foray,

How sound is thy slumber!
Like the dew on the mountain,
Like the foam on the river,
Like the bubble on the fountain,
Thou art gone, and for ever!T
XVII.

See Stumah,** who, the bier beside,
His master's corpse with wonder eyed,
Poor Stumah! whom his least halloo
Could send like lightning o'er the dew,
Bristles his crest, and points his ears,
As if some stranger step he hears.
'Tis not a mourner's muffled tread,
Who comes to sorrow o'er the dead,
But headlong haste, or deadly fear,
Urge the precipitate career.

All stand aghast :-unheeding all,
The henchman bursts into the hall;
Before the dead man's bier he stood;
Held forth the cross besmear'd with blood;
"The muster-place is Lanrick mead;
Speed forth the signal! clansmen, speed!"
XVIII.

Angus, the heir of Duncan's line,tt
Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign.
In haste the stripling to his side
His father's dirk and broadsword tied;
But when he saw his mother's eye
Watch him in speechless agony,
Back to her open'd arms he flew,
Press'd on her lips a fond adieu-
"Alas!" she sobb'd,-" and yet be gone,
And speed thee forth, like Duncan's son!"
One look he cast upon the bier,

Dash'd from his eye the gathering tear,
Breathed deep to clear his labouring breast,
And toss'd aloft his bonnet crest,

Then, like the high-bred colt when, freed,
First he essays his fire and speed,
He vanish'd, and o'er moor and moss
Sped forward with the Fiery Cross.
Suspended was the widow's tear,
While yet his footsteps she could hear;
And when she mark'd the henchman's eye
Wet with unwonted sympathy,
"Kinsman," she said, his race is run,
That should have sped thine errand on;
The oak has fall'n,-the sapling bough
Is all Duncraggan's shelter now.
Yet trust I well, his duty done,
The orphan's God will guard my son.-

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"Thy dwelling is the winter house ;

Loud, sad, sad, and mighty is thy death-song!
Oh! courteous champion of Montrose !
Ob 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.

Or corri. The hollow side of the hill, where game usually

lies. T[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 excitement to his attention, and not unfrequently suggests to him new and unexpected graces of expression. If a careless rhyme, or an ill-constructed phrase, occasionally escape him amidst the irregular torrent of his stanza, the blemish is often imperceptible by the hurried eye of the reader; but when the short lines are yoked in pairs, any dissonance in the jingle, or interruption of the construction, cannot fail to give offence. We learn from Horace, that in the course of a long work, a poet may legitimately indulge in a momentary slumber; but we do not wish to hear him snore."-Quarterly Review.]

**Faithful. The name of a dog.

(MS." Angus, the first of Duncan's line,
Sprung forth and seized the fatal sign,
And then upon his kinsman's bier

Fell Malise's suspended tear.

In haste the stripling to his side

His father's targe and falchion tied."]

And you, in many a danger true,

At Duncan's hest your blades that drew,
To arms, and guard that orphan's head!
Let babes and women wail the dead."
Then weapon-clang, and martial call,
Resounded through the funeral hall,
While from the walls the attendant band
Snatch'd sword and targe, with hurried hand;
And short and flitting energy

Glanced from the mourner's sunken eye,
As if the sounds to warrior dear

Might rouse her Duncan from his bier

But faded soon that borrow'd force;

Grief claim'd his right, and tears their course.

XIX.

Benledi saw the Cross of Fire,

It glanced like lightning up Strath-Ire.*
O'er dale and hill the summons flew,
Nor rest nor pause young Angus knew;
The tear that gather'd in his eye
He left the mountain-breeze to dry;
Until, where Teith's young waters roll,
Betwixt him and a wooded knollt
That graced the sable Strath with green,
The chapel of St. Bride was seen.
Swoln was the stream, remote the bridge,
But Angus paused not on the edge;.
Though the dark waves danced dizzily,
Though reel'd his sympathetic eye,
He dash'd amid the torrent's roar;
His right hand high the crosslet bore,
His left the pole-axe grasp'd, to guide
And stay his footing in the tide.

He stumbled twice the foam splash'd high.
With hoarser swell the stream raced by ;
And had he fall'n,-for ever there,
Farewell Duncraggan's orphan heir!
But still, as if in parting life,
Firmer he grasp'd the Cross of strife,
Until the opposing bank he gain'd,
And up the chapel pathway strain'd.
XX.

A blithesome rout, that morning tide,
Had sought the chapel of Saint Bride.
Her troth Tombea's Mary gave
To Norman, heir of Armandave,
And, issuing from the Gothic arch,
The bridal now resumed their march.
In rude, but glad procession, came
Bonneted sire and coif-clad dame;
And plaided youth, with jest and jeer,
Which snooded maiden would not hear:
And children, that, unwhitting why,
Lent the gay shout their shrilly cry;
And minstrels, that in measures vied
Before the young and bonny bride,
Whose downcast eye and cheek disclose
The tear and blush of morning rose.
With virgin step, and bashful hand,
She held the 'kerchief's snowy band;
The gallant bridegroom, by her side,
Beheld his prize with victor's pride,
And the glad mother in her ear
Was closely whispering word of cheer.
XXI.

Who meets them at the churchyard gate?
The messenger of fear and fate!
Haste in his hurried accent lies,
And grief is swimming in his eyes.

Inspection of the provincial map of Perthshire, or any large map of Scotland, will trace the progress of the signal through the small district of lakes and mountains, which, in exercise of my poetical privilege, I have subjected to the authority of my imaginary chieftain, and which, at the period of my romance, was really occupied by a clan who claimed a descent from Alpine; a clan the most unfortunate, and most persecuted, but neither the least distinguished, least powerful, nor least brave, of the tribes of the Gael. Slioch non rioghridh duchaisach Bha shios an Dun-Staiobhinish Aig an robh crun na Halba othus 'Stag a cheil duchas fast ris."

The first stage of the Fiery Cross is to Duncraggan, a place Dear the Brigg of Turk, where a short stream divides Loch Achray from Loch Vennachar. From thence, it passes towards Callender, and then, turning to the left up the pass of Leny, is con signed to Norman at the chapel of Saint Bride, which stood on a small and romantic knoll in the middle of the valley, called Strath

All dripping from the recent flood,
Panting and travel-soil'd he stood,
The fatal sign of fire and sword
Held forth, and spoke the appointed word:
"The muster-place is Lanrick mead;
Speed forth the signal! Norman, speed!"
And must he change so soon the hand,
Just link'd to his by holy band,

For the fell Cross of blood and brand?
And must the day so blithe that rose,
And promised rapture in the close,
Before its setting hour, divide

The bridegroom from the plighted bride?
O fatal doom!-it must! it must!
Clan-Alpine's cause, her Chieftain's trust,
Her summons dread, brook no delay;
Stretch to the race-away! away!

XXII.

Yet slow he laid his plaid aside,
And, lingering, eyed his lovely bride,
Until he saw the starting tear
Speak wo he might not stop to cheer;
Then, trusting not a second look,
In haste he sped him up the brook,
Nor backward glanced, till on the heat
Where Lubnaig's lake supplies the Teith.
-What in the racer's bosom stirr'd?
The sickening pang of hope deferr'd,
And memory, with a torturing trains
Of all his morning visions vain.
Mingled with love's impatience, came
The manly thirst for martial fame;
The stormy joy of mountaineers,

Ere yet they rush upon the spears;
And zeal for Clan and Chieftain burning,
And hope, from well-fought field returning
With war's red honours on his crest,
To clasp his Mary to his breast.

Stung by such thoughts, o'er bank and brae
Like fire from flint he glanced away,
While high resolve and feeling strong,
Burst into voluntary song.

XXIII SONG.

The heath this night must be my bed,
The bracken curtain for my head,
My lullaby the warder's tread,

Far, far from love and thee, Mary;
To-morrow eve more stilly laid,
My couch may be my bloody plaid,
My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid!
It will not waken me, Mary!
I may not, dare not, fancy nowT
The grief that clouds thy lovely brow,
I dare not think upon thy vow,

And all it promised me, Mary. No fond regret must Norman know; When bursts Clan-Alpine on the foe, His heart must be like bended bow,

His foot like arrow free, Mary. A time will come with feeling fraught,** For if I fall in battle fought, Thy hapless lover's dying thought

Shall be a thought on thee, Mary. And if returned from conquer'd foes, How blithely will the evening close, How sweet, the linnet sing repose,

To my young bride and me, Mary.

Ire. Tomber and Arnandave, or Ardmandave, are names of places in the vicinity. The alarm is then supposed to pass along the lake of Lubnaig, and through the various glens in the district of Balquidder, including the neighbouring tracts of Glenfinlas and Strathgartney.

[MS." And where a steep and wooded knoll

Graced the dark strath with emerald green."]
I [MS." And must he then exchange the hand."]
[MS." And memory brought the torturing train
Of all his morning visions vain;
But mingled with impatience came
The manly love of martial fame."]
Bracken-Fern.

TMS. "I may not, dare not, image now."]
** (MS.-"A time will come for love and faith,

For should thy bridegroom yield his breath,
"Twill cheer him in the hour of death,
The boasted right to thee, Mary."]

XXIV.

Not faster o'er thy heathery braes,
Balquidder, speeds the midnight blaze,*
Rushing, in conflagration strong,
Thy deep ravines and dells along,
Wrapping thy cliffs in purple glow,
And reddening the dark lakes below;
Nor faster speeds it, nor so far,
As o'er thy heaths the voice of war.t
The signal roused to martial coil,
The sullen margin of Loch Voil,

Waked still Loch Doine, and to the source
Alarm'd, Balvaig, thy swampy course;
Thence southward turn'd its rapid road
Adown Strath-Gartney's valley broad,
Till rose in arms each man might claim
A portion in Clan-Alpine's name,

From the gray sire, whose trembling hand
Could hardly buckle on his brand,
To the raw boy, whose shaft and bow,
Were yet scare terror to the crow.
Each valley, each sequester'd glen,
Muster'd its little horde of men,
That met as torrents from the height
In Highland dales their streams unite,
Still gathering, as they pour along,
A voice more loud, a tide more strong,
Till at the rendezvous they stood
By hundreds prompt for blows and blood;
Each train'd to arms since life began,
Owning no tie but to his clan,

No oath, but by his chieftain's hand,
No law, but Roderick Dhu's command.#

XXV.

That summer morn had Roderick Dhu
Survey'd the skirts of Benvenue,
And sent his scouts o'er hill and heath,
To view the frontiers of Menteith.
All backward came with news of truce;
Still lay each martial Græme and Bruce,
In Rednock courts no horsemen wait,
No banner waved on Cardross gate,
On Duchray's towers no beacon shone,
Nor scared the herons from Loch Con;
All seem'd at peace.-Now, wot ye why
The Chieftain with such anxious eye,

* It may be necessary to inform the southern reader, that the heath on the Scottish moorlands is often set fire to, that the sheep may have the advantage of the young herbage produced, in room of the tough old heather plants. This custom (execrated by sportsmen) produces occasionally the most beautiful nocturnal appearances, similar almost to the discharge of a volcano. This simile is not new to poetry. The charge of a warrior, in the fine ballad of Harlyknute, is said to be like fire to heather set."

[ The eager fidelity with which this fatal signal is hurried on and obeyed, is represented with great spirit and felicity."-JEF FREY.]

The deep and implicit respect paid by the Highland clansmen to their chief, rendered this both a common and a solemn oath. In other respects, they were like most savage nations, capricious in their ideas concerning the obligatory power of oaths. One solemn mode of swearing was by kissing the dirk, imprecating upon themselves death by that, or a similar weapon, if they broke their vow. But for oaths in the usual form, they are said to have had little respect. As for the reverence due to the chief, i may be guessed from the following odd example of a Highland point of honour :

The clan whereto the above-mentioned tribe belongs, is the only one I have heard of, which is without a chief; that is, being divided into families, under several chieftains, without any partícular patriarch of the whole name. And this is a great reproach, as may appear from an affair that fell out at my able, in the Highlands, between one of that name and a Cameron. The provocation given by the latter was- Name your chief -The return of it at once was. You are a fool.' They went out next morning, but having early notice of it, I sent a small party of soldiers after them, which, in all probability, prevented some barbarous mischief that might have ensued: for the chiefless Highlander, who is himself a petty chieftain, was going to the place appoint ed with a small-sword and pistol, whereas the Cameron (an old man) took with him only his broadsword, according to the agree

ment.

When all was over, and I had, at least seemingly reconciled them. I was told the words, of which I seemed to think but slight ly, were, to one of the clan, the greatest of all provocations." Letters from Scotland, vol. ii p. 221.

This is a very steep and most romantic hollow in the mountain of Benvenue, overhanging the south-eastern extremity of Loch Katrine. It is surrounded with stupendous rocks, and overshadowed with birch-trees, mingled with oaks, the spontaneous production of the mountain, even where its cliffs appear denuded of soil. A dale in so wild a situation, and amid a peo

Ere to the muster he repair,

This western frontier scann'd with care?--
In Benvenue's most darksome cleft,
A fair, though cruel, pledge was left;
For Douglas, to his promise true,
That morning from the isle withdrew,
And in a deep sequester'd dell
Had sought a low and lonely cell.
By many a bard, in Celtic tongue,
Has Coir-nan-Uriskin been sung;§
A softer name the Saxons gave,
And call'd the grot the Goblin-Cave.
XXVI.

It was a wild and strange retreat,
As e'er was trod by outlaw's feet.
The dell, upon the mountain's crest,
Yawn'd like a gash on warrior's breast;
Its trench had staid full many a rock,
Hurl'd by primeval earthquake shock
From Benvenue's gray summit wild,
And here, in random ruin piled,
They frown'd incumbent o'er the spot,
And form'd the rugged sylvan grot.i
The oak and birch, with mingled shade,
At noontide there a twilight made,
Unless when short and sudden shone
Some straggling beam on cliff or stone,
With such a glimpse as prophet's eye
Gains on thy depths, Futurity.
No murmur waked the solemn still,
Save tinkling of a fountain rill;
But when the wind chafed with the lake,
A sullen sound would upward break,
With dashing hollow voice that spoke
The incessant war of wave and rock.
Suspended cliffs, with hideous sway,
Seem'd nodding o'er the cavern gray.
From such a den the wolf had sprung,
In such the wild-cat leaves her young;
Yet Douglas and his daughter fair
Sought for a space their safety there.
Gray Superstition's whisper dread
Debarr'd the spot to vulgar tread;
For there, she said, did fays resort,
And satyrs hold their sylvan court,
By moonlight tread their mystic maze,
And blast the rash beholder's gaze.

ple whose genius bordered on the romantic, did not remain with
out appropriate deities. The name literally implies the Corri, or
Den, of the Wild or Shaggy men. Perhaps this, as conjectured
by Mr. Alexander Campbell, may have originally only implied
its being the haunt of a ferocious banditti. But tradition has as-
cribed to the Urisk, who gives name to the cavern, a figure be
tween a goat and a man; in short, however much the classical
reader may be startled, precisely that of the Grecian Satyr. The
Urisk seems not to have inherited, with the form, the petulance
of the sylvan deity of the classics: his occupation, on the contra
ry, resembled those of Milton's Lubbar Fiend, or of the Scottish
Brownie, though he differed from both in name and appearance.
The risks," says Dr. Graham, "were a sort of lubberly super
naturals, who, like the Brownies, could be gained over by kind
attention, to perform the drudgery of the farm, and it was believed
that many of the families in the Highlands had one of the order
attached to it. They were supposed to be dispersed over the
Highlands, each in his own wild recess, but the solemn stated
meetings of the order were regularly held in this Cave of Benve-
nue. This current superstition, no doubt, alludes to some cir
cumstance in the ancient history of this country."-Scenery on
the Southern Confines of Perthshire, p. 19. 1806.
It must be
owned that the Coir, or Den, does not, in its present state,
meet our ideas of a subterraneous grotto, or cave, being only a
small and narrow cavity, among huge fragments of rocks rudely
piled together. But such a scene is liable to convulsions of na-
ture, which a Lowlander cannot estimate, and which may have
choked up what was originally a cavern. At least the name
and tradition warrant the author of a fictitious tale, to assert
its having been such at the remote period in which this scene

is laid.

("After landing on the skirts of Benvenue, we reach the ceve (or more properly the core) of the goblins, by a steep and narrow defile of a few hundred yards in length. It is a deep cir cular amphitheatre of at least 600 yards of extent in its upper diameter, gradually narrowing towards the base, hemmed in all round by steep and towering rocks, and rendered impenetrable to the rays of the sun by a close covert of luxuriant trees. On the south and west it is bounded by the precipitous shoulder of Benvenue, to the height of at least 500 feet; towards the east, the rock appears at some former period to have tumbled down strew ing the whole course of its fall with immense fragments, which now serve only to give shelter to foxes, wild-cats, and badgers." DR. GRAHAM.]

The Urisk, or Highland satyr. Sec a previous Note.
• Journey from Edinburgh, 1802, p. 109.

13

XXVII.

Now eve with western shadows long,
Floated on Katrine bright and strong,
When Roderick, with a chosen few,
Repass'd the heights of Benvenue.
Above the Goblin-cave they go,
Through the wild pass of Beal-nam-bo;*
The prompt retainers speed before,
To launch the shallop from the shore,
For cross Loch Katrine lies his way
To view the passes of Achray,
And place his clansmen in array.
Yet lags the chief in musing mind,
Unwonted sight, his men behind.
A single page to bear his sword,
Alone attended on his lord ;t

The rest their way through thickets break,
And soon await him by the lake.

It was a fair and gallant sight,

To view them from the neighbouring height,
By the low-levell'd sunbeam's light!
For strength and stature, from the clan,
Each warrior was a chosen man,
As even afar might well be seen,
By their proud step and martial mien.
Their feathers dance, their tartans float,
Their targets gleam, as by the boat
A wild and warlike group they stand,
That well became such mountain-strand.
XXVIII.

Their Chief, with step reluctant, still
Was lingering on the craggy hill,
Hard by where turn'd apart the road
To Douglas's obscure abode.

It was but with that dawning morn,
That Roderick Dhu had proudly sworn
To drown his love in war's wild roar,t
Nor think of Ellen Douglas more;
But he who stems a stream with sand,
And fetters flame with flaxen band,
Has yet a harder task to prove-
By firm resolve to conquer love!
Eve finds the chief, like restless ghost,
Still hovering near his treasure lost;
For though his haughty heart deny
A parting meeting to his eye,
Still fondly strains his anxious ear,
The accents of her voice to hear,
And inly did he curse the breeze

That waked to sound the rustling trees.
But hark! what mingles in the strain?
It is the harp of Allan-bane,

That wakes its measure slow and high,
Attuned to sacred minstrelsy.

What melting voice attends the strings?
'Tis Ellen, or an angel, sings.

XXIX.

HYMN TO THE VIRGIN.

Ave Maria! maiden mild!
Listen to a maiden's prayer!
Thou canst hear though from the wild,
Thou canst save amid despair.

*Bealach-nam-bo, or the pass of cattle, is a most magnificent glade, overhung with aged birch-trees, a little higher up the mountain than the Coir-nan-Uriskin, treated of in a former note. The whole composes the most sublime piece of scenery that imagination can conceive.

A Highland chief, being as absolute in his patriarchal authority as any prince, had a corresponding number of officers attached to his person. He had his body guards, called Luichttach, picked from his clan for strength, activity, and entire devotion to his person. These, according to their deserts, were sure to share abundantly in the rude profusion of his hospitality. It is record ed, for example, by tradition, that Allan MacLean, chief of that clan, happened upon a time to hear one of these favourite retainers observe to his comrade, that their chief grew oldWhence do you infer that?" replied the other."When was it," rejoined the first," that a soldier of Allan's was obliged, as I am now, not only to eat the flesh from the bone, but even to tear off the inner skin, or filament?" The hint was quite sufficient, and MacLean next morning, to relieve his followers from such dire necessity, undertook an inroad on the mainland, the raage of which altogether effaced the memory of his former expe ditions for the like purpose.

Our officer of Engineers, so often quoted, has given us a distinct at of the domestic officers who, independent of Luichttach, or

Safe may we sleep beneath thy care,. Though banish'd, outcast, and reviledMaiden! hear a maiden's prayer;

Mother, hear a suppliant child!

Ave Maria! undefiled!

Ave Maria!

The flinty couch we now must shares
Shall seem with down of eider piled,
If thy protection hover there.

The murky cavern's heavy airl

Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled;
Then, Maiden! hear a maiden's
prayer,
Mother, list a suppliant child!

Ave Maria! Stainless styled!
Foul demons of the earth and air,
From this their wonted haunt exiled,
Shall flee before thy presence fair.
We bow us to our lot of care,

Beneath thy guidance reconciled;
Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer,
And for a father hear a child!

Ave Maria!

Ave Maria!

XXX. Died on the harp the closing hymnUnmoved in attitude and limb, As list ning still, Clan-Alpine's lord Stood leaning on his heavy sword, Until the page with humble sign, Twice pointed to the sun's decline. Then while his plaid he round him cast, "It is the last time-'tis the last," He mutter'd thrice," the last time e'er That angel-voice shall Roderick hear!" It was a goading thought-his stride Hied hastier down the mountain-side; Sullen he flung him in the boat, And instant 'cross the lake it shot. They landed in that silvery bay, And eastward held their hasty way, Till, with the latest beams of light, The band arrived on Lanrick height, Where muster'd, in the vale below, T Clan-Alpine's men in martial show.

XXXI.

A various scene the clansmen made,
Some sate, some stood, some slowly stray'd;
But most, with mantles folded round,
Were couch'd to rest upon the ground,
Scarce to be known by curious eye,
From the deep heather where they lie,
So well was match'd the tartan screen
With heath-bell dark and brackens green;
Unless where, here and there, a blade,
Or lance's point, a glimmer made,,
Like glow-worm twinkling through the shade.
But when, advancing through the gloom,
They saw the Chieftain's eagle plume,
Their shout of welcome, shrill and wide,
Shook the steep mountain's steady side."
Thrice it arose, and lake and fell

Three times return'd the martial yell;

gardes de corps, belonged to the establishment of a Highland
Chief. These are, 1. The Henchman. See these notes p. 451.
2. The Bard. See p. 445. 3. Bladier, or spokesman. 4. Gillie-
more, or sword-bearer, alluded to in the text. 5. Gillie-cas flue,
who carried the chief, if on foot, over the fords. 6. Gillie-com-
straine, who leads the the chief's horse. 7. Gillie-Trushana-
rinsh, the baggage man. 8 The piper. 9. The piper's gillie, or
attendant, who carries the bagpipe. Although this appeared,
naturally enough, very ridiculous to an English officer, who con-
sidered the master of such a retinue as no more than an English
gentleman of 500l. a-year, yet in the circumstances of the chief,
whose strength and importance consisted in the number and at-
tachment of his followers, it was of the last consequence, in point
of policy, to have in his gift subordinate offices, which called im-
mediately round his person those who were most devoted to him,
and, being of value in their estimation, were also the means of
rewarding them
I [MS.-"To drown his grief in war's wild roar,
Nor think of love and Ellen more."]
[MS." The flinty couch my sire must share."]
MS.-"The murky grotto's noxious air."]
TIMS.-"Where broad extending far below,

Muster'd Clan-Alpine's martial show."]
⚫ Letters from Scotland, vol. ii. p. 15.

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