May boast itself the fairest flower
In glen, or copse, or forest dingle.
Though fair her gems of azure hue,
Beneath the dew-drop's weight reclining;
I've seen an eye of lovelier blue,

More sweet through wat'ry lustre shining.
The summer sun that dew shall dry,
Ere yet the day be past its morrow;
Nor longer in my false love's eye
Remain'd the tear of parting sorrow.

TO A LADY.

WITH FLOWERS FROM A ROMAN WALL.

TAKE these flowers, which, purple waving,
On the ruin'd rampart grew,
Where, the sons of freedom braving,
Rome's imperial standards flew.
Warriors from the breach of danger
Pluck no longer laurels there:
They but yield the passing stranger
Wild-flower wreaths for Beauty's hair.

THE RESOLVE.*

IN IMITATION OF AN OLD ENGLISH POEM.-1809.

My wayward fate I needs must plain,
Though bootless be the theme:

I loved, and was beloved again,

Yet all was but a dream:

For, as her love was quickly got,

So it was quickly gone;

No more I'll bask in flame so hot,

But coldly dwell alone.

Not maid more bright than maid was e'er
My fancy shall beguile,

By flattering word, or feigned tear,
By gesture, look, or smile:

No more I'll call the shaft fair shot,
Till it has fairly flown,

Nor scorch me at a flame so hot;-
I'll rather freeze alone.

Each ambush'd Cupid I'll defy,

In cheek, or chin, or brow,

And deem the glance of woman's eye
As weak as woman's vow:
I'll lightly hold the lady's heart,
That is but lightly won;
I'll steel my breast to beauty's art,
And learn to live alone.

The flaunting torch soon blazes out,
The diamond's ray abides;
The flame its glory hurls about,
The gem its lustre hides;
Such gem I fondly deem'd was mine,
And glow'd a diamond stone,,
But, since each eye may see it shine,
I'll darkling dwell alone.

No waking dream shall tinge my thought
With dyes so bright and vain,
No silken net, so slightly wrought,
Shall tangle me again :

No more I'll pay so dear for wit,
I'll live upon mine own,

Nor shall wild passion trouble it,-
I'll rather dwell alone.

And thus I'll hush my heart to rest,-
Thy loving labour's lost;

Thou shalt no more be wildly blest,
To be so strangely crost:

The widow'd turtles mateless die,

The phoenix is but one;

They seek no loves-no more will I-
I'll rather dwell alone."

[Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register of 1809.] *(Edinburgh Annual Register, 1809.]

EPITAPH,t

DESIGNED FOR A MONUMENT

IN LITCHFIELD CATHEDRAL, AT THE BURIAL-PLACE OF
THE FAMILY OF MISS SEWARD.

AMID these aisles, where once his precepts show'd
The Heavenward pathway which in life he trode,
This simple tablet marks a Father's bier,
And those he loved in life, in death are near;
For him, for them, a Daughter bade it rise,
Memorial of domestic charities.

Still wouldst thou know why o'er the marble spread,
In female grace the willow droops her head;
Why on her branches, silent and unstrung,
The minstrel harp is emblematic hung;
What poet's voice is smother'd here in dust
Till waked to join the chorus of the just,-
Lo! one brief line an answer sad supplies,
Honour'd, beloved, and mourn'd, here SEWARD lies!
Her worth, her warmth of heart, let friendship say,-
Go seek her genius in her living lay.

THE RETURN TO ULSTER. ONCE again, but how changed since my wand'rings began

I have heard the deep voice of the Lagan and Bann,
And the pines of Clanbrassil resound to the roar,
That wearies the echoes of fair Tullamore.
Alas! my poor bosom, and why shouldst thou burn!
With the scenes of my youth can its raptures return?
Can I live the dear life of delusion again,

That flow'd when these echoes first mix'd with my strain?

It was then that around me, though poor and unknown,

High spells of mysterious enchantment were thrown; The streams were of silver, of diamond the dew, The land was an Eden, for fancy was new.

I had heard of our bards, and my soul was on fire At the rush of their verse, and the sweep of their

lyre:

To me 'twas not legend, nor tale to the ear,
But a vision of noontide, distinguish'd and clear.

Ultonia's old heroes awoke at the call,

And renew'd the wild pomp of the chase and the hall;

And the standard of Fion flash'd fierce from on high; Like a burst of the sun when the tempest is nigh.§ It seem'd that the harp of green Erin once more Could renew all the glories she boasted of yore.Yet why at remembrance, fond heart, shouldst thou burn?

They were days of delusion, and cannot return.

ON THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE.*

"O TELL me, Harper, wherefore flow
Thy wayward notes of wail and wo
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 erne 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 treach'rous cruelty.
"Their flag was furl'd, 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 warm'd that nand,
At midnight arm'd 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 cloaked the hill,
Though wild and pitiless, had still

Far more than Southron 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 gray-hair'd master's misery. Were each gray hair a minstrel string, Each chord should imprecations fling, Till startled Scotland loud should ring,

'Revenge for blood and treachery!"

[The following succinct account of this too celebrated event may be sufficient for this place:

"In the beginning of the year 1692, an action of unexampled barbarity disgraced the government of King William III. in Scotland. In the August preceding, a proclamation had been issued, offering an indemnity to such insurgents as should take the oaths to the King and Queen, on or before the last day of December; and the chiefs of such tribes as had been in arms for James, soon after took advantage of the proclamation. But Macdonald of Glencoe was prevented by accident, rather than design from tendering his submission within the limited time. In the end of December he went to Colonel Hill, who commanded the garrison in Fort William, to take the oaths of allegiance to the government; and the latter having furnished him with a letter to Sir Colin Campbell, Sheriff of the county of Argyll, directed him to repair immediately to Inverary, to make his submission in a legal manner before that magistrate. Ba the way to Inverary lay through almost impassable mountains, the season was extremely rigorous, and the whole country was covered with a deep snow. So eager, however, was Macdonald to take the oaths before the limited time should expire, that, though the road lay within half a mile of his own house, he stopped not to visit his family, and, after various obstructions, arrived at Inverary. The time had elapsed, and the sheriff hesitated to receive his submission; but Macdonald prevailed by his importunities, and even tears, in inducing that functionary to administer to him the oath of allegiance, and to certify the cause of his delay. At this time Sir John Dalrym ple afterwards Earl of Stair, being in attendance upon William as Secretary of State for Scotland, took advantage of Macdonald's neglecting to take the oath within the time prescribed. and procured from the King a warrant of military execution against that chief and his whole clan. This was done at the instigation of the Earl of Breadalbane, whose lands the Glencoe men had plundered, and whose treachery to government in negotiating with the Highland clans, Macdonald himself had exposed. The King was accordingly persuaded that Glencoe was the main obstacle to the pacification of the Highlands; and the fact of the unfortunate chief's submission having been concealed, the sanguinary orders for proceeding to military execution against his clan were in consequence obtained. The warrant was both • [First published in Thomson's Select Melodies, 1814.]

PROLOGUE

TO MISS BAILLIE'S PLAY OF THE FAMILY LEGEND.† 'Tis sweet to hear expiring Summer's sigh, Through forests tinged with russet, wail and die 'Tis sweet and sad the latest notes to hear Of distant music, dying on the ear; But far more sadly sweet, on foreign strand, We list the legends of our native land, Link'd as they come with every tender tie, Memorials dear of youth and infancy.

Chief, thy wild tales, romantic Caledon,
Wake keen remembrance in each hardy son.
Whether on India's burning coasts he toil,
Or till Arcadia's winter fetter'd soil,

He hears with throbbing heart and moisten'd eyes,
And, as he hears, what dear illusions rise!
It opens on his soul his native dell,

The woods wild waving, and the water's swell:
Tradition's theme, the tower that threats the plain
The mossy cairn that hides the hero slain;
The cot beneath whose simple porch were told,
By gray-hair'd patriarch, the tales of old,
The infant group that hush'd their sports the while
And the dear maid who listen'd with a smile.
The wanderer, while the vision warms his brain,
Is denizen of Scotland once again.

Are such keen feelings to the crowd confined,
And sleep they in the Poet's gifted mind?
Oh no! For She, within whose mighty page
Each tyrant Passion shows his wo and rage,
Has felt the wizard influence they inspire,
And to your own traditions tuned her lyre.
Yourselves shall judge-whoe'er has raised the sail
By Mull's dark coast, has heard this evening's tale.
The plaided boatman, resting on his oar,
Points to the fatal rock amid the roar
Of whitening waves, and tells whate'er to-night
Our humble stage shall offer to your sight,
Proudly preferr'd that first our efforts give
Scenes glowing from her pen to breathe and live;
More proudly yet, should Caledon approve
The filial token of a Daughter's love.

FAREWELL TO MACKENZIE, HIGH CHIEF OF KINTAIL.-FROM THE GAELIC

(1915.)

The original verses are arranged to a beautiful Gaelic air, of which the chorus is adapted to the signed and countersigned by the King's own hand, and the Secretary urged the officers who commanded in the Highlands to execute their orders with the utmost rigour. Campbell of Glenlyon, a captain in Arzyll's regiment, and two subalterns, were ordered to repair to Glencoe on the first of February with a hun dred and twenty men. Campbell being uncle to young Macdo nald's wife, was received by the father with all manner of friendship and hospitality. The men were lodged at free quarters in the houses of his tenants, and received the kindest entertainment. Till the 13th of the month the troops lived in the utmost barmony and familiarity with the people; and on the very night of the massacre, the officers passed the evening at eands in Macdonald's house. In the night, Lieutenant Lindsay, with a party of soldiers, called in a friendly manner at his door, and was instantly admitted. Macdonald, while in the act of rising to receive his guest, already dressed: but she was stripped naked by the soldiers, who was shot dead through the back with two bullets. His wife had tore the rings off her fingers with their teeth. The slaughter now became general, and neither age nor infirmity was spared. Some women, m defending their children, were killed; boys imploring mercy, were shot dead by officers on whose knees they hang. In one place nine persons, as they sat enjoying themselves at table, were butchered by the soldiers. In Inverrigeon, Campbell's own quarters, nine men were first bound by the soldiers, and then shot by the troops; and several who fled to the mountains perished by at intervals, one by one. Nearly forty persons were massacred owed their lives to a tempestuous night. famine and the inclemency of the season. Those who escaped Hamilton, who had received the charge of the execution from Lieutenant-Colonel Dalrymple, was on his march with four hundred men, to guard all the passes from the valley of Glencoe; but he was obliged to stop by the severity of the weather, which proved the safety of the unfortunate clan. Next day he entered the valley, laid the houses in ashes, and carried away the cattle and spoil, which were divided among the officers and soldiers."-Article "BRITAIN" Encue. Britannica.-New Edition.]

able success on the Edinburgh stage in the winter of 190910 [Miss Baillie's Family Legend was produced with consider The prologue was spoken on that occasion by the Author's friend.

Mr. Daniel Terry. 1

I Arcadia, or Nova Scotia.

double pull upon the oars of a galley, and which is therefore distinct from the ordinary jorrams, or boatsongs. They were composed by the Family Bard upon the departure of the Earl of Seaforth, who was obliged to take refuge in Spain, after an unsuccessful effort at insurrection in favour of the Stuart family, in the year 1718.

FAREWELL to Mackenneth, great Earl of the North,
The Lord of Lochcarron, Glenshiel, and Seaforth;
To the Chieftain this morning his course who began,
Launching forth on the billows his bark like a swan.
For a far foreign land he has hoisted his sail,
Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail!

O swift be the galley, and hardy her crew,
May her captain be skilful, her mariners true,
In danger undaunted, unwearied by toil,
Though the whirlwind should rise, and the ocean

should boil:

On the brave vessel's gunnel I drank his honail.
And farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail!

Awake in thy chamber, thou sweet southland gale!
Like the sighs of his people, breathe soft on his sail;
Be prolong d as regret, that his vassals must know,
Be fair as their faith, and sincere as their wo:
Be so soft, and so fair, and so faithful, sweet gale,
Wafting onward Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail!

Be his pilot experienced, and trusty, and wise,
To measure the seas and to study the skies:
May he hoist all his canvass from streamer to deck,
But O! crowd it higher when wafting him back-
Till the cliffs of Skooroora, and Conan's glad vale,
Shall welcome Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail!

IMITATION

OF THE PRECEDING SONG.t

So sung the old Bard, in the grief of his heart, When he saw his loved Lord from his people depart. Now mute on thy mountains, O Albyn, are heard Nor the voice of the song, nor the harp of the bard; Or its strings are but waked by the stern winter gale, As they mourn for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail.

From the far Southland Border a Minstrel came forth,

And he waited the hour that some Bard of the north
His hand on the harp of the ancient should cast,
And bid its wild numbers mix high with the blast;
But no bard was there left in the land of the Gael,
To lament for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail.

And shalt thou then sleep, did the Minstrel exclaim,
Like the son of the lowly, unnoticed by fame?
No, son of Fitzgerald! in accents of wo,

The song thou hast loved o'er thy coffin shall flow,
And teach thy wild mountains to join in the wail,
That laments for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail.

Bonail, or Bonallez, the old Scottish phrase for a feast at parting with a friend.

These verses were written shortly after the death of Lord Seaforth, the last male representative of his illustrious house. He

a nobleman of extraordinary talents, who must have made for lumaelf a lasting reputation, had not his political exertions

In vain, the bright course of thy talents to wrong.
Fate deaden'd thine ear and imprison'd thy tongue;
For brighter o'er all her obstructions arose
The glow of the genius they could not oppose;
And who in the land of the Saxon or Gael,
Might match with Mackenzie, High Chief of Kin-
tail?

Thy sons rose around thee in light and in love,
All a father could hope, all a friend could approve;
What 'vails it the tale of thy sorrows to tell,-
In the spring-time of youth and of promise they fell!
Of the line of Fitzgerald remains not a male,
To bear the proud name of the Chief of Kintail.

And thou, gentle Dame, who must bear to thy grief,
For thy clan and thy country the cares of a Chief,
Of thy husband, and father, and brethren, bereft;
Whom brief rolling moons in six changes have left,
To thine ear of affection, how sad is the hail,
That salutes thee the Heir of the line of Kintail !

WAR-SONG OF LACHLAN,

HIGH CHIEF OF MACLEAN. FROM THE GAELIC.

This song appears to be imperfect, or at least, like many of the Gaelic poems, makes a rapid transition from one subject to another; from the situation, opens the song by lamenting the absence of her namely, of one of the daughters of the clan, who Chieftain. The translator has endeavoured to imilover, to an eulogium over the military glories of the tate the abrupt style of the original.

A WEARY month has wander'd o'er
Since last we parted on the shore;
Heaven! that I saw thee, Love, once more,
Safe on that shore again!-
'Twas valiant Lachlan gave the word:
Lachlan, of many a galley lord:
He call'd his kindred bands on board,
And launch'd them on the main.
Clan-Gillians is to ocean gone:
Clan-Gillian, fierce in foray known;
Rejoicing in the glory won

In many a bloody broil:
For wide is heard the thundering fray,
The rout, the ruin, the dismay,
When from the twilight glens away

Clan-Gillian drives the spoil.

Wo to the hills that shall rebound
Our banner'd bag-pipes' maddening sound;
Clan-Gillian's onset echoing round,

Shall shake their inmost cell.
Wo to the bark whose crew shall gaze,
Where Lachlan's silken streamer plays!
The fools might face the lightning's blaze
As wisely and as well!

been checked by the painful natural infirmities alluded to in the fourth stanzas.]

[The Honourable Lady Hood, daughter of the last Lord Sea forth, widow of Admiral Sir Samuel Hood, now Mrs. Stewart Mackenzie, of Seaforth and Giasserton, 1833.]

§ 1. c. The clan of Maclean, literally the race of Gillian.