IStandard, Choice and Rare Law and Miscellaneous Books, OoTernment Publications, VVabliiiijfton, D. C. 7 r MINOR POEMS, AND TRANSLATIONS, IN VERSE, FROM ADMIRED COMPOSITIONS OF THE AXCIEXT CELTIC HARDS; 2®itf) il)E (SacUc, AND ILLUSTRATIVE NOTES. BY ROBERT MUNRO. SECOND ISSUE. " It must strike every impartial inquirer into tlie subject, that the Collectors of the ancient, or supposed ancient, compositions of the Highlands have produced to the world poetry which, in sublimity and tenderness, will, it is believed, be admitted to be at least equal to the compositions of the best modern poets, and but little inferior to the most admired among the ancient.''' — IIbnry Mackkniie. in Rrport of Highland Society's CommiUee on Ossian. EDINBURGH: PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR. MDcrci.xix. « « i => 5IO! TO HIS GRACE 22 THE DUKE OF RICHMOND AND LENNOX, K. G. o 00 rRESlDEMT OF THE HIGHLAND SOCIETY OF SCOTLAND, TUIS VOLUME LS, AVITH HIS GRACE S PERMISSIOX, HUMBLY INSCRIBED. O 8 • CONTENTS. PAG a TO THE SEA, ..... 1 THE DESERTED VALLEY, .... 7 THE ESCAPE OF MARY QIEEN OF SCOTS FROM LOCHLEVEN CASTLE, . . . . . 12 TO THE RUINS OF CROOKSTON CASTLE, . .16 THE STORY OF LIFE, .... 20 " SHE TOLD NOT HER SORROW," . . . '23 THE IMPROVIDENT, .... 25 TO A HOUSE FLY, . . . . .27 A DREAM OF LOST JOY, .... 30 THE mourner's SONG, . . . .34 STANZAS " HOW SHOULD I MURMUR AT THE HOUR," 36 LINES " AWAKE ONCE MORE, THOU SIMPLE LYRE," 38 THE TEAR-DROP OF JOY, .... 40 FIRST LOVE, . , . . . .41 TO THE FALSE, . . . . . 43 LUGANO, . . . . . .45 11 CONTENTS. I'AOE THE BROKEN SWOKU, A TRAUITIOXAKY TALE OF CUL- LODEN, ..... 48 SONG—" THE HIGHLAND GARB," . . .59 SONG — " Bv Clyde's clear stream," . . 62 THE wanderer, . . . . .64 epistle to a friend, .... 07 LINES written IN A CHURCH-YAKU IN A LONELY .SCENE OF THE HIGHLANDS, . . . .72 " THE HOURS I THINK OF THEE," ... 73 THE NORK, . . . . . .74 LINES, ON A VIEW OF THE COVENANTERS' TOMB IN THE BOG OF LOCH IN-KETT, GALLOWAY, . . 75 POLITICAL ERROR, . . . . .76 CONTENTS. m TRANSLATIONS FROM THE CELTIC. PAGE THE AGED BAUD's WISH, .... 79 MIANN A BHAIRD AOSDA, . . . .81 NOTES, ..... 100 THE DEATH OF CARRIL, .... 103 BAS CHAIREILL, .... 106 NOTES, ...... 114 FAINASOLLIS, . . . . . 116 FAINE SOLUIS, . . . . .119 NOTES, ..... 128 FRITHIL, . . . , . .131 FRAOCH, . . . . . 133 EXTRACT FROM DERMIC, .... 148 AS-TARRUIXN o' DHIARMAD, . . . 149 EXTRACTS FROM GAUL, .... 152 EXTRACT FROM THE DEATH OF OSSIAN, . . 163 OSSIAn's ADDRESS TO THE SUN, FROM THE ORIGINAL, 168 DUAN OISEIN Do'n GHREIN, . . .169 ULLIn's ADDRESS TO THE SUN, . . . 174 DUAN EILE do'n GHREIN — LE ULAIN, . .175 malvina's dream, .... 176 AISLIN MHALMHINE, . . . .179 POEMS AND TRANSLATIONS. TO THE SEA. BEAUTIFUL, faithlcss Sea ! Thou peerless in magnificence — ■ Thou darkest in fatality ! Heaven be his stay and sure defence Who trusteth in thy constancy ! The hardy one, who, for a life Of little joy and frequent strife, Upon thy changeful breast to roam. Hath bartered all the sweets of home, — "NVhen years have dimmed his lustrous eye And silvered o'er his raven hair, And spared his life to linger by The hearth his childhood loved to share, TO THE SEA. In words of truth vrill oft declare How much his checkered days have known Of pleasure unallojcd hy care, And wretchedness and care anon ; And of thy ever-changing mood, In many a winning hour will tell, How furious now, and now subdued By love and pity, prove thee well — So deadly in thine influence — So fair in thy magnificence — So twined, through safety and through scaith. "With life, and loveliness, and death ! The mariner, how blest with peace, "When winds and waves their tumidts cease What time, becalmed, his bai'k must rest Upon thy calm and tranquil breast, In solitude, in simimer time. In some serene and orient clime, AVhere western zephyrs oft repair To rest their weary pinions there ! That mariner, how light at heart To watch successive suns depart, As oft restoring to his view The blest monotony of blue ! TO THE SEA. Then absence of his wonted cares To fond affection stronger bears The forms in faithful memory set- The soil he never will forget ! He paces much the well-trimmed bark, And views the long familiar mark ; Or, lounging on the prostrate sail, Lists to a messmate's curious tale ; Or wistfully he travels o'er The pages of romantic lore ; Or strives in usefid sport to slay The feathered or the finny prey ; Or from the flute he wins a strain That cheers the heart with pleasing pain. And when long days of musing past Have brought him tedious hours at lust, To steer away he would be fain, And whistles for the breeze in vain. Then, thoughtful bending o'er to view In thee his rude form mirrored true, Thee for no adverse fate he blames, But yields the love a parent claims. TO THE SEA. ever changing, faithless Sea ! When thou putt'st oif tranquillity — When peace and beauty are estranged, And thy mild aspect darkly changed, To revel in a deadly hour Thou dost awake thy ^vrathful power, — then, oppressed by every care. How ^vretched is the mariner ! ■\\Tien darkening clouds are low'ring nigh, And rising winds impetuous fly. The seaman dreads thy conung wrath ; Then, fearful of his dangerous path. Would only seek a friendly shore To rest him till thy fit passed o'er ; Then track thy bosom o'er again. Give thee his love, and thine regain. Though guiltless of a crime 'gainst thee, Though trusting thy fidelity — In hour of dread to thee confined A fi-iendly shore he may not find ; For thou, to have his purpose stay'd, Wilt ruthless summon to thine aid The bursting winds that wander nigh. Obedient to thv revelrv ! TO THE SEA. When torturing hours do still unfold Thy liquid waste of alpine mould ; "Wlien anguish rends his stricken breast, And grief and toil alike molest ; And 3Tt no cheering prospect nigh, No kintlred mourner wandering by, And hope and pity almost gone, And he must toil and weep alone ; — Then how thy wild laugh mocks his cry, — His vain demand for sympathy ! In that dread hour, when to his sight, Like warriors plumed for vengeful fight, Thy mountain-waves come wildly on, Deadly destructive, one by one, Then fame and fortune he'd forego, Nay, murmur not at many a woe ; But he'd have thee stay thy strife. And spare his little span of life ! And when at length divides away His beaten bark — his cherished stay — And he has felt that little space Must bear him to thy cold embrace, TO THE SEA. Tic moots thy mighty nmrderiug billow With only this to smooth liis pillow- That all his griefs axe past ! If there is aught in Nature's plan That might awake regret in man, It is, witching, wanton deep ! To gaze on thy mysterious sleep, When thou, beneath a summer sky. Subdued to vcrj' love, dost lie. And know, that influence to impair Man's little joy, existed there ! THE DESERTED VALLEY. THE DESERTED VALLEY. Once, long ago, with dreamy joy, I hail'd the summer-scented gale That wafted me — light-hearted boy — Afar from thee — my native vale. Our light bark bounded o'er the wave, The sea-bird shriek'd its evening spell ; And I, unheard, but fondly, gave To thee and thine a long farewell ! I soon forgot (to think oft now !) Thy woodland paths and murm'ring rills ; I in a distant land, and thou Reposing 'midst green Albion's hills. 1 soon forgot, while many a change Broke on my view, for I was free To breast the proud Alps' mighty range, Or bask in sunny Italy. THE DESERTED VALLEY. Successive seasons lightly passed ; My steps by youtliful fancy led, And visionary joys ; at last, 1 thought of thee, sweet Stanlymead ! I thought of thee, — ^no idle joy Can long subdue our thoughts of home, Nor pleasure's airy wand destroy Those haunts where memory loves to roam. A wanderer hi those lovely climes Where eastern zephyrs gently glide, I've listened to the vesper chimes, Thought of my Scottish home, and sighed ! In scenes where luxury instals The dazzling state of orient pride, Remcmln-ance of my fathers' halls Has turned the vain display aside. My simple heart was oft beguiled By witchery of woman's eye ; And artful beauty, too, has smiled. To prompt that heart's inconstancj'. THE DESERTED VALLEY. But while the influence strove to dwell, And parting reason still delayed, One imaged charm dissolved the spell, — ■ My country's modest mountain maid ! Oft on the deep, in eves of June, I've leant beneath the slumb'ring sail ; The blue waves murmuring to the moon — ■ I musing on my native vale. Years passed away — ^full forty times My country snuled in summer's glow ; And still I sought in other climes What it could much and well bestow. But prudence came with youth's decay, And taught my long deluded eye That pleasure was a transient ray, And false its winning witchery. Then truant fancy would be fain Once more amidst thy wilds to stray : Hope whispered fond salutes again, And sweetly cheered my homeward way. 10 THE DESERTED VALLEY. yes ! the cliarmcr lent her guDe, And promised me of joy, no less • Than meet again aft'ection's smile, And friendship's gentle hand to press. In vain, alas ! A mournful change Decayed thy beauties ; time's career Had faded thy fair fertile range. And banish'd all I held so dear ! The woodland boughs were spreading still, The crag-topp'd banks were green as ever ; The torrent leaped adown the hill, A silv'ry tribute to the river : But lonely now appeared the wood, As hollow breezes swept its deepness ; Fled from the banks the bleating brood That skipped before across their steepness. And on the hill, beside the^font — Nor through the brook — nor by the river, Mused, — sported, — or wayspcd as wont, The learned, tlie artless, or the lover. THE DESERTED VALLEY. 11 I sought the Httle dear retreat, ") Where many a simple tale was heard : 'Twas sad to see the proud thorns meet, And trample on its velvet sward ! I paced our old ancestral halls : The yielding timbers creaked beneath ; The cold wind whistled through their walls — but it seemed the home of death ! An evil destiny's dark hand Had left its trace in our fair grove ; And death had brought his dreadful brand, And hushed the voice of kindred love ! 12 QUEEN Mary's escape from lociileven. THE ESCAPE OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS FROM LOCIILEVEN CASTLE. The faitliful and brave of her kingdom have sought her, Their prayers are useless, — their threats are in vain : The Murray is proud, and the Douglas has bought her. And lowly she pines in a merciless chain : — see ye yon water by mountains surrounded ? And see ye yon tower on its bosom so fair ? That water is deep, — and these walls iron-bounded, — The Flower of fair Scotland in thraldom is there ! From Edina's bright halls the hard hearted have borne her — From gladness and gi'andcivr, and courtly array, And lords and fair maidens all silently mourn her — Their Queen, their devoted, their beautiful May ! That snnle is now lost in the heavings of sorrow — That love-beaming eye is oppressed by a tear — A captive she pines, — but there's hope on the morrow, — And one who would die for her freedom is near. QUEEN Mary's escape from lochlevkx. 13 The willow-tree weeps on the marge of Loclilevcn, The field is deserted — forsaken the bower ; And the fair moon looks down from her palace in Heaven, To bless with her radiance the languishing flower. — Who lonely is he on the castle's high summit So stately, surveying the charms that are nigh ? Ha ! gallant George Douglas ! fate grant thou mays't win it, — There's love in thy bosom — there's hope in thine eye ! He hasteneth thence while a taper is brightening The iron-barred lattice where ilary has wept, And the signal that gleams in the woodland like lightning Tells of fealty untu-ed, and of constancy kept ! On mountain and moorland a stillness is reigning, No murmur is heard, and no wanderer seen — The portals are fast, and the warder is dreaming, — little he wots of the moment, I ween ! " The dove will not perch on the eagle's wild eyrie — The rose will not blossom where reptiles are free ! These haUs of my kindred are friendless and dreary, And not, my loved Sovereign, a dwelling for thee. — But I, of my tribe, would rejoice to restore thee To bowers where oppression will cease to annoy — Even now the glad hour of departure is o'er thee, — haste, my liege lady, to freedom and joy !" 14 QUEEN Mary's escape from lochlevex. A dear laden boat from the island is stealing — Lo ! swiftly it sweeps o'er the waters so blue — In vain are the castle's dark battlements pealing — Those arms will row well as that bosom beats true ! The moonlight shines forth, and the breezes come stronger : merrily row, nor delay — nor despair — There is wildness in yonder grey tower, for no longer The Flower of fair Scotland in thraldom is there ! On yon strand are bold knights with their proud steeds awaiting, Bright corselets protect gallant bosoms and true ; All doubts now depart, and new hopes are creating — The billow that bears the high prize bursts to view I Joy ! joy ! she is free ! the good father is breathing To Heaven the thanks of each glad cavalier ! The steeds are impatient — the swords are unsheathing — AVhy linger with danger, the moment is dear ? " Douglas ! seek not this frail hand with thy wooing— Its joys and its sorrows another must share — Though well be thy meed — and though earnest thy suing — Yet, turn to yon ambush — thy ]\Iarion is there ! — ■ QUEEN MARY S ESCAPE FROM LOCHLEVEN. 15 Yes ! she doth await thee to whom thou art plighted — Her love be thy guerdon — to her thou art dear, Nor rashly aspire, lest her fondness be blighted !" Thus Mary expressed with a tremulous tear. Her words bore a magic that tlirilled in his bosom ; He found the fair damsel all thoughtful and lone :— One vow — one embrace — and Lochleven's young blossom Has mounted his charger, and dashed in the throng ! see you yon cavalcade far on the mountain By strath and by streamlet, fast, fleetfal, and fair ? 'Midst valour and beauty her danger surmounting — The Flower of fair Scotland in freedom is there I 16 CUOOKSTON CASTLE. TO THE RUINS OF CROOKSTON CASTLE, RENFREWSHIRE. Romantic Crookston ! thy time-stricken walls Do oft allure the pensive mind to stray To the deep shades where solitude impals, In mournful gloom, thy mouldering fragments grey. Meet theme art thou for his imperfect lay, Whose 1)TC is simple, while its tones are wild — Who seeks not lofty language to portray How Nature's charms his musings have heguiled. In scenes where mountains rose, or verdant meadows smiled ! rude memorial of the dreary past ! Here, on thy upland throne, where winds are free. Thou scem'st to frown upon the prospect vast, Like fallen pride, that frets its destiny : And yet the summer sun smiles warm on thee ; The woodland loads the breeze with fragrance sweet ; The winged warblers sport from tower to tree ; From distant glades is heard the lambkin's bleat, And wild luxuriance aU pervades thy lone retreat. CROOKSTON CASTLE. Here busy Fancy claims her own domain, And stays the hour when weary mortals sleep. Lo ! Superstition, v/ith her magic train, Around thy walls their fearful vigils keep ; Fantastic forms parade the thorny steep, And horrid sounds from unkno^vn dungeons swell ; In pale array does abject Beauty weep ; Anon wild shouts and clash of arms prevail — Betimes the awful pause reveals the captive's tale. Forsaken Crookston ! in thy waning hours The curious eye, at this far distant time. May trace, in thy rude lineaments and broken towers, What fan- proportions graced thy golden prime. The bard has strung for thee a plaintive rhyme ; The rustic sings a fond regret for thee ; The traveller leaves his weary path to climb The devious way, to Unger thoughtfully, And scorn the savage hand that fu-st dismantled thee ! The iron hand has revelled in the hall ; The stately roof is prostrate in decay That echoed oft, in times long gone, the call Of bugle-horn, when Lennox led the way Of horse and hound, and many a huntsman gay, U! CROOKSTON CASTLE. To rouse the fleet ones of the forest far ; Or, eager viewing in the distance grey, The beacon's gleam, the harbinger of war, Bade thee awliile adieu, and sped the vengeful car. From tangled forest, or from tented pkiin. They turned to thee — a bold and gallant horde, To win the pleasures of thy glad domain. Or wake tlie clamour of the festive boiird. Where plaided chieftain sat and mail-clad lord, In chivalry's array, in jovial mood, And Beauty smiled her victor knight restored, Well were their pains who won for guerdon good. The blue-eyed Scottish maids those merry chieftains woo'd ! And she sojourned here in gladness once, Whose fate persuades the frequent tear to start ; Whose kingdom was a sad inheritance, AVhose fatal gift— a too confiding heart ! If things inanimate could truth impart. Her injured fame might yet serener shine. The lettered voice of falsehood would depart, And all confess how guiltless she did pine ; So constant to her faith — would it had been divine ! CKOOKSTON CASTLE. 19 And, near the blazing hearth, a modest reveller. With bowl in hand — the Baron's kind behest- He sat at even-tide, the way-worn traveller ; An luiknowia sti-anger, yet a welcome gnest. But all are gone ! — they to their dreamless rest, Fair Scotland's chivalry, and Beauty's pride And soon will Ruin stoop thy rugged crest ; Yet gay Romance will o'er thy cairn preside, And raise a fame for thee, to nobler piles denied I 20 THE STORY OF LIFE. THE STORY OF LIFE. FAIR are the waters that mirtlifiilly glide From their mystical home on the sunny hill-side, Or valley, or meadow, or echoing gi-ot. From spoilers secure, and from cities remote. Beautiful waters ! so gentle and bright, So jojfully leaping, they brn-st into light ; Fond tributes of Kature, abundantly given To temper the burning refulgence of heaven. Affectionate waters ! through sunshine and song They sprinkle the sward as they wander along. And lave the long tresses, and cheer the young flowers, i\Iurmuring the joy of their primitive hours. Onward — while kindred rejoicers draw near, ]*'nlarging its form, and to speed its career, The streamlet in beauty and minstrelsy glides Where Nature in fairest adornment presides ; Kight stays not its journey the forests among, Sweet cadence it gives to the nightingale's song, THE STORY OF LIFE. "21 Save when in the wildwood it lingers to sleep In the secret recess where the willow trees weep — ' O'er moorland, through greenwood, by night and by day, Those waters go gaily and gladly away. But ah ! their rejoicing endures not for ever, The songs of the streamlet are lost in the river. When sullied and mournfully wanders the tide Through the dark frowning haunts of ambition and pride ; And few are the gleams on their marge that remain Of the scenes of past joy they can never regain. Ere the waters of fountain, and streamlet, and river, In the turbulent sea are entombed, and for ever. For ever ! deem that betimes they return From the darkness and toil of their comfortless bourne. To the sunny hill-side, and the echoiag grot, — The valley, or meadow from cities remote, When thither descending, in freshening showers, They lave the long tresses and cheer the young flowers. As they did in the joy of their primitive hours ! Like those waters' career is the story of life From gladness to gloom, from affection to strife. 21 THE STORY OF LIFE. The smiler that basks on its mother's fond breast Is glad — a joy-giver, a blessing — and blest ; But soon to the youthful endearers of home The harbinger dreams of futurity come, While the glee of the hall, and the game of the field. In little misfn-tunes their waniings may }'ield — Earth's titfiil allurements but beckon them on To desolate pathways, to journey alone. Where high hopes will wither, and faithless depart The visions of bliss, the fond dreams of the heart ! And when the lorn wanderer toils 'miilst the strife That ever prevails through the ocean of life — When his long-cheated vision must cease to survey The thoughts, scenes, and friends of a happier day. And a mantle of sorrow around him is cast — 'tis good to recur to the beautiful past, And cherish the tribute that memor}^ pours — The spirit to soothe in its loneliest hours ! SHE TOLD NOT HER SORROW. SHE TOLD 2sOT HER SORROW Her heart was forlorn, Yet she told not her sorrow, Nor the pangs that were borne On the wings of the morrow. She loved ! she believed That his vow was assurance ; But her faith was deceived, And it mocked her endurance. She loved, (0 that gleams Of such love should be slighted ;) But our happiest dreams Are the first to be blighted. She marked a gay band, Then her spirit did falter, — A wealtliier hand He will press at the altar. 24 SHE TOLD NOT HER SORROW. She heard in her grief The bridal bolls pealing ; Still sought no rehef In the charm of revealing. She strove to refrain From her weeping and sighing, Till her heart burst in twain : — serene was her dying I THE liMPROVIDENT. THE IMPROVIDENT. Forlorn and wan, and full of grief, I leave a world of woe, And seek my happy cliildliood's scenes, (Its days I ne'er can know ;) But turn in anguish and despair, At Fate's severe decree — ■ All, all is desolation here — ' There is no home for me ! The genial bonds of kindred love I ever must forego ; No lingerer from aflection's band Is here to calm my woe. The very walls frown on me now. That echoed once my glee ; I cannot weep, though rends my heart- There is no home for me ! THE IMPROVIDENT. The rustic hearth gleams not for me, And cheerless is the tovra ; I have not strength for useful toil — I dread the rich man's frown, ^fy star of hope that brighten'd long The future's aT\'ful sea, Has set for ever to my soul — There is no home for me ! Tlien bring me not plulosophy, Its uses to define, Nor eloquence, nor soft appeals, To teach me to resign — A broken heart — and penury ! What matter I am free, Or what is life itself ? and yet Not any home for me ! Ha ! now I triumph o'er the past — Our hamlet's ivy'd fane ! (To Heaven the poor improvident Will ne'er complain in vain.) The peaceful gi-ave, that bourne sereiio. Bid all my sorrows flee ; — Come, cheer my heart, we must be glad- There is a home for me ! TO A HOUSE FLY. TO A HOUSE FLY. WRITTEN IN WINTER. Poor, shivering, little wanderer, ■\Vliither on vent'rous wing 1 AVhere hast thou been this many a day 1- Thy story say or sing. Hast thou in some warm crevice slept Since the ten thousand fled, And here to wait till they come back, A heavy wager laid ? Ah ! that were sure a foolish task, A wild design and bold. For ill would suit thy little frame The dangers of a cold. Perhaps thou art a traveller Our wintiy homes t' explore ? then thou art a sturdy wight To brave our northern shore ! — ' 28 TO A iiousi: I-LY. Then take thy notes — and rightfully ; Let's see what hast thou there — " The window panes are cold, and such A piping in the air ! " The folks go shivering out and in, Or creep beside their fire, And of their usual clamouring They never, never tire." But no — ^thou art a homeless one, A sort of Wandering Jew — Could I but spy thy little beard, I'd vow ray guessing true. Or art thou come, thou curious one, With thy inquiring stares. To see how, in these biting times, A humble poet fares ? Go then with thy discovery, And say to them that sent,— " He harpeth on right cheerfully, And diets with content." TO A HOUSE FLY. '2i) But I'll suppose, fi-ail one, tliy lot To mine a scmhlance bears ; Thou art a friendless wanderer. And hast thy little fears : Then welcome to my shelter — stay And share my little mess ; I love thee in my solitude, Ev'n for thy loneliness. There ! nestle in my sugar bowl, And sip what pleaseth thee : Thank Heav'n that, of its kindness, sent Enough for thee and me ! 30 A DREAM OF LOST JOY, A DREAM OF LOST JOY. I HAD a bright glimpse of the time, When my spirit was joyous and free, When I dwelt in the Higlilander's clime, And sported in innocent glee. I dreamed — I was tortur'd with joy — For I woke to a bitterer sense Of a sorrow that knows no alloy, And a heart that's bereft of defence. I stood on the scenes of my youth. The friends of my childhood were near, All pictured in beautiful truth, The sportive, the sage, the severe. So ardently lov'd and carressed, 1 felt like a being adored ; AMiile round me they eagerly pressed To welcome their wand'rer restor'd. A DREAM OF LOST JOY. 31 for 1 had been lost to their care ; Afar I had strayed, and hy night — There was no one my danger to share, And no one to guide me aright. The night had been stormy and drear, The wilderness dismal and wild ; The wolf-cry fell oft on my ear, As onward I mournfully toU'd. And long had they sought me, nor slept ; And where could their helpless one roam I And often they prayed and they wept, To have their young wanderer home ! And she, the sweet charmer, was there — My beautiful love, and my first ; She wept in the common despair. Till her young heart was ready to burst. She tenderly drew me aloof, And weeping, and smiling, she strove To chide me, in gentlest reproof, As a truant to duty and love ; A DREAM OF LOST JOY. Besought me, when next I would stra}-, To call her away for my guide, She'd lead me the prettiest way, And homeward by evening-tide. A tear marked her lingering care — I kissed it away — she approved ; — I braided her bcautifid hair. And sung her the songs that she loved. Then we pictured a happier day — A cot on some highland hill-side I'd be a shepherd so gay, And she'd be my dutiful bride ! I woke by excess of my joy — I woke to a harrowing sense Of a sorrow that knows no alloy — Of a heart all bereft of defence. Those scenes are still fair to the view, But comfort for me they have none ; Those pleasures I ne'er can renew — The friends of my childhood are gone ! A DREAM OF LOST JOY. 33 And she, who was faithful as fair, Is wed to a happier mate ; From pity alone can she spare A tear for my lonely estate ! Ye dreams of my scanty repose, Your images torture my head, cease, for my grief to disclose, The joys that for ever have fled ! 34 TUE MOLRNER S SONG. THE MOURNER'S SONG. LAY me down to rest in peace, Prepare my dreamless pillow ; 1 long to be where sorrows cease : Beneath the friendly willow : — Where through my heart no more will move Or fear, or hope, or joy, or love ! Fear : if acquaintance reconciles Spirits of adverse form, — Cheerful might I encounter toils, Nor dread each threatening storm ; But Fear sits brooding o'er my heart To aggravate the coming dart ! Hope : she subdued my anguish long, But I have lost the maid ; Grown wearied of her soothing song She sought a milder shade ; THE MOURNER S SONG. 35 And cold Despair, in triumph wild, Expunged the promise she beguiled ! Joy : once I knew — the season brief, But so intense the measure — ■ Had it been less, I'd less in grief Bewail the absent treasure. Wise man reproves the simple boy, But envies still his store of joy. And Love : the gentle flame, decayed, Has left me dark and lone ; Betraying once, and now betrayed, 'Tis meet I'm now undone : But how sad it is to prove No one that loves — and none to love ! Then I would lay me dowa in peace Upon a dreamless pillow, For all the pangs of sorrow cease Beneath the friendly willow — There will my stricken heart remove From fear, and hope, and joy, and love ! 36 STANZAS. STANZAS. How should I murmur at the hour When Death ■will lend his soothing power I How should my soul complain To part this fragile tenement, By every striving passion spent, And grief subdued in vain ? Should I he loth to yield this breath. Or dread to meet the pangs of death 1 Alas ! the pangs of life Have more of pain, even were they brief ; Nor long endurance brings relief From pangs of mortal strife ! Wearied and worn — 1 do not sleep ; — Oppressed with grief — I do not weep — The grief that melts in tears Exhales and dies : — but tears nor sighs The bosom yields when once the prize Of wild and mortal fears ! STANZAS. 37 t)h , 1 will murmur uot to see The shaft that brings me liberty ; Nor will my soul complain To part its dreary home, and rest "Where passion will no more molest, And grief pursue in vain ! 3» LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. LIKES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. Awake once more, thou simple lyre, Thine artless cords have long been mute, And faded all thou hadst of fire, That gave a voice to lover's lute : What time I swept thee oft and free To themes of mountain minstrelsy. Yet once again, and I presage For thee, a long — a lasting rest : Thy latest tones are hooncd a page, At youthful beauty's high behest — And must I strike in vain ? ah me ! Departed is thy minstrelsy. My lyre ! when for thy minstrel boy Thy wild notes won a rustic wreath ,- Ere I could raise my song of joy, I cast thee on a Highland heath ; LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM. 3f» Doom'd to forsake lov'd forms and thee, For scenes unkind to minstrelsy. Sweet Lady ! tliou hast deigned to ask Of me some tributary lay ; Though much unworthy of the task, I've mused an idle hour away. A witless rhyme I give to thee, Alas ! it has no minstrelsy. When thoughtfully thine eye wUl trace The pages of thy cherished lore, — Say, will it linger here to bless The cheerless l3Te that wakes no more ? scorn not its simplicity, It knows no better minstrelsy. May thy pure joys long yield thee smiles, As merry and as free as now ; May'st thou ne'er feel misfortune's wiles, Nor anxious care impress thy brow— may thy days as gladsome be. As might be wished in minstrelsy ! •10 THE TEAR-DROP OF JOY. THE TEAll-DROr OF JOY To weep is not always a token of sorrow, Nor sadness alone can a tear-drop beguile, For a moment of bliss from the heart's fount may borrow A symbol more sacred to joy than a smile. In grief we may weep for a dear one departed — In care, when the soothings of hope disappear ; And mourners, who languish forlorn, broken-hearted. Have only one balm in their sorrow — a tear ! But the' tear-drop of joy has a better emotion, More tiny in form, and more bright in career ; It has less of revealing, and more of devotion ; 'Tis a visible thought of what most we revere ! With a smile it is oft sweet companionship keeping, — Twin-spirits they seem, every ill to destroy. Dear , if e'er 'tis thy lot to be weeping. May the tear which thou shed'st be the tear-drop of joy. FIRST LOVE. 41 FIRST LOVE. Serene is Kature's majesty, And beautiful her pride. When Summer brings her loveliness To meadow, tree, and tide. And as serenely beautiful, The young enthusiast deems The form that prompts his waking thoughts, And charms his fondest dreams, AVhat time his heart glows warm beneath First love's enchanting beams. The voice of birds — ^the gush of brooks — Young flowers — the milky way — Moonlight upon the midnight deep When winds have died away ! The radiant smiles of infancy — Soft music's magic wile — Remembrance of departed joys And Hope's illusive guile : — These have a soothing influence Through life's enduring toil ! 42 FIRST LOVE. these have pleasing influence And gentle aid impart To win from cold Despondency The care-worn pilgrim's heart — But, in the sweet spring time of life More pleasant far may prove Than aught of beauty or delight Around us, or above, The genial, the bewildering power Of first and faithful love ! The mourner may forget his tears. And sorrow yield to mirth ; The Exile may in time forget The fair land of his birth : Friendship decays — remembered scenes Erewhile in memory set — Joys that have cheered a lonely hour — • Griefs, well remembered yet — May be forgot — but first fond love What heart can e'er forget ? TO THE FALSE. 43 TO THE FALSE. TuuE is thy memory, beauteous one ! For, in our happy days, Thou'st told me oft how good it was To search its dreamy maze : When we compared, in converse sweet, Within our own fair grove, The bygone joys of chUdhood, And the present ones of love ! True is thy memory, once beloved ! But is it still as pure, As it was wont to be, when thou My wanderings would'st allure To worship in the woodland path The radiance that would float In the beaming of thy peerless eye ? Methinks that it is not ! 44 TO THE FALSE. True is thy memory, faithless one ! Is it not to thee now The record — ah, the lasting one — Of many a broken vow ? And can'st thou now, in solitude At the calm hour of even, Think on the past without a pang, Beneath the eye of Heaven ? True is thy memory, hapless one ! In a gay and mirthful crowd I saw thee pass — thy cheek was pale — Thou only would'st be proud ; In that fair throng one heart did beat That once was all divine. But now entombed in sorrow's gulf — wherefore was it thine ? LUGANO. 45 LUGANO. If waters that serenely lie Beneath an ever placid sky, Where Summer loves to linger long, And sunny hours their stay prolong : If mountains, robed in loveliness. That meet the sky with soft caress : Fields, ever fertile, ever fair. And fragrant groves, and healthfid air : If Nature's various charms combined To form a beauty undefined With blessing can a scene invest, Lugano, thou'rt supremely blest ! For seldom fairer galaxy Will greet the pilgrim's wondering eye ; Or beauty and magnificence. That win the eye and charm the sense Invite with more persuasive tongue The homage of the poet's song. 46 LUGANO. Thy lofty hills, majestic piled, Were else tremendous, dark, and wild, But for the bland fertility That beautifies their majesty ; And varied hues of verdure blent On terrace, vale, and battlement, Beguiling with a warm embrace And kind — ^like maiden loveliness That fondles with an angry sire, And turns to love his wildest ire. Thy lake, methinks, a tranquil tide Assumed by Nature in her pride, To image, in its varied blue. The fairest sky she ever drew ! The blooming mead, and mossy cell, The vineyard rich, and golden dell. Proclaim that all the seasons smile To bless the happy Switzer's toil. I envy not his heart who roams Afar from these delightful homes, Where peace presides in hut and hall, With heavenly freedom crowning all ! LUGANO. i7 Scotland ! my own, my native land, I love thy soil from strand to strand ; In humble hut, in field, and fold, In lake and stream, and mountain old, I love thee in thy various forms — I love thee in thy very storms ; And thank the destiny divine That honoured me — a child of thine ! But prejudice, Avith hateful sway. Shall never rule my humble lay, AVhen gift or grace of other clime Induce the tribute of my rhjone. Then will I miirmur not to own That richer woods than thine imbro^vn The hills and plains of Swedish land ; Or how the common parent hand. That gave pecuKar charms to thee. Gave others more fertility ; How sterner aspects far than thine Preside on Alp and Apennine ; How sweeter flowers than thine arise In radiance of Italian skies ; And every charm, combined, reside By fair Lugano's silver tide. 48 THE BROKEN SWORD. THE BROKEN SWORD, A TRADITIONARY TALE OF CULLODEN. It fell on that eventful day The Stuart's hapless cause Was blighted on Culloden field, By stem unyielding laws. The fight was o'er — ^thc vanquished bands Fled far to wood and wild ; — many a tear was shed that day By father and by child. The shades of even robed in gloom The oaks of old Dunean, As by their pathless mazes sped, A wanderer from the plain. A TRADITIOXAEY TALE OF CULLODE>f, 49 Ho was from fell Culloden moor, And of the royal band, Who, then dispersed, pursued the foe O'er the affrighted land ; Destroying them — ah ! darkest deed — With wild and murd'rous hand. His sword, deep d)^ed with Scottish gore, Was broken then in twain ; One half was girded by his side, The rest was with the slain. Onward he went — the green fields lay Four weary miles behind ; The sun went down, the raven croaked To the loud, lamenting wind ; Some shelt'ring covert was his need, But no one could he find. And cold that wintry night came on, And dismal the forest grew ; But the soldier's heart, so bold and brave, No idle terror knew ; Yet he often thought of the carnage red, And the hardy men he slew ! 50 THE BROKEN SWORD, And now the raiu drops beat the sod, Aud the wind nishod litful by — The j'outh looked up — a-well-a-day ! A fearful storm was nigh ; And yet no glimpse of friendly shade Eroke on his wistful eye. And soon the drenching torrent fell ; Tlie tempest bent the trees — ' " Hark ! was not that a female's voice Came wafted by the breeze V Few paces on the traveller went, When, lu ! in a dai-ksome maze, A lovely form lay on the ground. " Kind Heaven, I give thee praise. That led me here," the soldier cried, " This weeping one to raise." He placed her by a sheltering bush, And wrung her tresses fair, Then, fondly kneeling by her side. Bestowed a gen'rous care ; And, sooth to tell, it was her meed. For she was wond'rous fair. A TRADITIONARY TALE OF CVLLODEN. 51 Soon passed away the wintry gale, The storm subdued its might, And, piercing through the greenwood veil. The moon shone warm and bright, — As if in pity for that pair, Lone wand'ring in the night. Then of the wanderer's mournful cause The soldier fain would know — '•' wherefore thus forlorn abroad. And why this bitter woe V The storm had fled — the rain had ceased- The loud wind died away ; The sweeping clouds, by sudden tits, Disclosed the moon's pale ray. Then as the maid's returning strength The soldier's care repaid, She murmured forth her pensive tale Beneath an oaken shade. 52 THE BROKEN SWORD, Not far, witliin the forest's bounds. From other homes remote, Young Flora's dwelling stood serene — A fair sequcster'd cot. Her fathers, there, for ages past, Had dwelt in peace secure ; With cheerful toil, and rosy health, Their little joys were sure. Till civil discord turned to grief The cheerful peasant's mirth— Dissever'd many a friendly tie. And darken'd many a hearth. And how their household joys decayed. The maiden wept to tell : How first on fatal Sherift-niuir Her father's kinsmen fell. She told how, seven long 3'ears before, A youthful brother went. For England bound, on mission dire, By secret conclaye sent. A TRADITIONARY TALE OF CULLOUEN. 53 Eut tidings soon amvccl that lie And many more were lost ; The vessel, in a storm, went down Upon the English coast. Then stricken by the sudden grief, Her aged mother lay, Nor left her bed of sickness once Until her dying day ! But calm content would still attend The husband's rural toil. And joy within their humble home Appear 'd once more to smile. " Till 0," she said, " our clansmen came Adown the hills in glee, Their pibroch wail it was that brought This bitter woe to me ! " My father plumed his bonnet then, And girded his claymore ; And took the targe our ancestors In many a conflict bore : 54 THE BROKEN SWORD, ' I go to figlit for my rrince's right,' lu joyful mood, said he — ' ]>iit ru return when the red coats mourn Our certain victory !' " He gave my mother a parting kiss, And he gave me another. And he bounded away ; but a feaiful gloom, As he went, came o'er my mother. " She (lru\v mo to her tender breast. And tearfully she said, ' May kinder fate avert the doom My vision'd eyes have read — ' I saw thy father's lifeless form Upon a cold heath bed ! ' But pray Avith me, my daughter, — pray That Heaven may be thy guide, If e'er thou shou'dst, an orphan, stray On life's uncertain tide.' She bless'd me with her parting breath, Then slowly closed her eyes in death I A TRADITIONARY TALE OF CULLODEX. 55 " With no one near to share ray grief, I watchM her all the night, Till passing winds bore mournfully The pealings of the tight. " And when they ceased, I long'd to know What to my sire befell. Soldier ! — in pity for my woe, Spare not the worst to tell !" She said, and by the moonlight clear Her weeping eyes they bent On the soldier's broken sword — to hear, grief ! the loud lament That wrung her sorrowing heart, as she Fell faintly by the old oak tree ! A cot within a pleasant glade — A dwelling meet for joy ; — No sound is heard save wood-bird's note — And waters murm'ring by. 5(5 THE BROKEN SWORD, A lovely solitude, without. In charm that never dies : A ilrcary aspect reigns witliin — J'ale death, and tears, and sighs ! Two youthful ones are lonely by The bier of a dead mother : There is the maiden, woe-begone, — And there, — ^her long-lost brother : For such was he, the soldier youth, "Who, in the storm, that night Descry'd and rais'd the weeping one A\Tien wandering from the fight. He was not lost, as had been said. In times of discontent. For he espoused the royal cause, 2\ or did the dire intent AVhioh he set uut to execute ; And now with those came he Who, on Culloden, fought for George, And won the victory ! A TRADITIONAKY TALE ClF CL'LLODEN. 57 Dim shone the morrow's sick'nmg beams Upon Culloden heath, Tlie hopes and fears of yesterday- Had left but grief and death. And many a tnie and valiant heart Then found a desert grave, "^^'^lile unavailing tears bewail 'd The faithful and the brave. It was a feai-ful thing to gaze Upon the scene around ; The perished flowers of Higliland might Bestrewed the crimson ground ; The dew that sought the heather-bell On their cold breasts was found ! With dismal calls, and wailings loud, Resounding o'er the wild. The mother sought her husband there, The father sought his child. 58 THE BROKEN SWORD. Amidst the slain were weepers twain, A pluided form attending — Young Flora and her brother o'er Their father's corse were bendina;. He lay like a fallen eagle there, His high brow dyed with gore ; His hands outstretched : one grasped his dirk, The other his claymore. Seven prostrate Southi'ons by his side — Proofs of his valour ere he died ! Then fondly kneeling by her sire, To pray for his spirit fled, The maiden from his breast -nithdrew The fragment of a blade. One glance towards her brother's side — One piercing shriek — the last That burst from that sweet maiden's soul, And all her giiefs were past — The steel that crush'd her father's life. Her brother wielded in the strife ! THE HIGHLAND GARB. A9 THE HIGHLAND GARB. WRITTEN FOR THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY DINNER OF THE HIGHLAND GARB SOCIETY. * In the days when Scotia's fame was young, " A long time ago," Her Highland sons, in Highland garb, " Were dress'd fi'om top to toe ;" And well the plaided heroes graced Hill, forest, glen, and lea, Like eagles of their mountain land. As noble and as free. * Several years ago, an ardent desire to perpetuate the national costume of their ancestors prompted a few Highlanders in Glasgow to institute a society for that object, and the support of a charitable fund. From the excellence of the design, and the perseverance of its founders, the " High- land Garb Society " speedily flourished, acquiring eminent patronage and a large increase of members. The first grand anniversary meeting took place in the Ossianic Hall, in the winter of 1839. The banquet was attended by several hundred High- landers, all attired in the national garb. Few circumstances could have been better calculated to gratify a Highland heart than the display which was there presented. So great was the enthusiasm which prevailed on the occasion, that several natives of Ireland, rejoicing in Highland descent, came from their distant homes to participate in the harmony, and warm their breasts in the Garb of Old Gaul. 66 THE HIGHLAND GARB. Fill high the cup, and he the toast, — Tlie Highland Garh of yore ! Tlie Highland hills, the Highland hearts. The pil^rochd — tlie claymore ! The Highland hills, 4 THE AGED UAUU S WISH. VIII. Slow wafted by the gentle wind, The voice of lambs shall greet my ear ; Then anxious ewes shall answer, kind, When their approaching brood they hear. IX. ! let me hear the huntsman's voice, On boundless heath, when hounds pursue ! Then will my heart again rejoice. And youth light up my cheek anew ! X. Fresh vigour wakes me while I hear The horn, the hoimd, the whizzing bow — Hark ! hark ! they shout—" Fall'n is the deer !"- I seem to skip by mountain brow ! XI. Ah ! yonder is the faithful hound. My constant friend at night and morn ; And, lo ! the rocks that would resound, In other days, my joyous horn ! MIANN A nilAlKD AOSDA. YIII. 8ruthadh air sgeith ua h-osaig nihiii, Glaodhan maoth nan cro mu'ui chluais, 'N sin freagi-aiclh a mheanmh-spreigh, 'Nuair cliluinn, an gineil, 's iad a ruitli a nuas. IX. A ceum an t-sealgair ri mo chluais I Le sranna ghath, a's chon feagh sleibli 'N sin dearsaidli an oig' air mo ghruaidh, 'Nnair dh-eireas toirm air sealg an fiieidh. Duisgidh smior am cbnaimh, 'nuair cbluimi, Mi tailmrich dlios, a's clion, a's shreang, 'Nuaii- ghlaodhar— " Thuit an damli !" Tha mo bhuinn a leum gu beo ri ard nam beann . XI. 'N sin chi mi, air leam, an gadhar, A leanadb mi an-mocb a's moch ; 'S na sleibb bu nihiamiach leam 'tbagball 'S na creagan a freagairt do'n dos. 86 TIIK AGED BARDS WISH. XII. The well-known cave now meets my gaze, Whore generous shelter soothed by night : How cheering was the log's warm blaze, While from the cup we drank delight ! XIII. Then smok'd the feast, from mountains stored, While Treig's l^' clear wave would music pour ; Though spirits shi'iek'd and tempests roared, We slept secure, and scorned their power. XIV. I see Ben-ard of stately brow, 'Midst thousand hills the chief, and best ; The dreams of stags are on his prow ; The clouds repose upon his crest. XV. I see Scur-eilt above my vale. Where first the cuckoo tunes her voice ; Where trees in lasting bloom prevail, And flowers and light gazelles rejoice. JIIANN A BUAIHD AOSDA. i'7 XII. Chi mi 'u uamh a ghabh gu lial 'S gu trie ar ceuinaibh roi 'n oidlioh' ; Dhuisgeadh ar suuut le blathas a crann, 'S an solas chuach a bha mor aoibhneas. XIII. Bha ceo air fleagh bharr an fheidli An deoch a Treig 's an tonn ar ceol, Ge d' sheinneadli taisg 's ge d' ranadh sleibh, Sinnte 's an uaimh bu slieamh ar neoil. XIV. Chi mi Beinn-ard is aillidh tiamh, Ceann-feadhna air mhile beann, Bha aisliug nan damh na ciabh, 'S i leabaidh nan nial a ceann. XV. Chi mi Sgorr-eild' air bruach a glilinn' An goir a chuach gu binn an tos. A's gorm mheall-aUt' na mile giubhas Nan luban nan earba, 's nan Ion. aa THE AGED BARDS WISH. XVI. Let tender ducklings skim with speed The placid lake of stately pines, Where stretches far the woody mead, And mountain-ash in softness twines. XVII. The beauteous swan of snowy breast Glides graceful o'er the yielding wave ; When soaring o'er the mountain's crest How lightsoniely the clouds she'll brave ! XVIII. Her stormy wing she oft hath led To frigid regions, distant, wide. Where vent'rous sail may ne'er be spread. Nor oaken prow the wave divide. XIX. Swan ! fi-om land of waves returned : — On mountain heights thy stay prolong — And sing of thy aftections niouniod : I love to hear th' aerial song ! MIANN A BHAIRD AOSDA. o9 XYI. Biodli tuiiiu og a snamli le sunut, Thar linne 's mine giubhas, gu luath, Srath ghiubhais uain' aig a ceann, A' lubadh chaoran dearg air bruaicli. XVII. Biodh ear aluinn an uchd bhain, A snamh le spreigb air bharr nan tonn, 'Nuair thogas i sgiath an au'd, A measg nan nial cha'n fhas i trom. XVIII. 'S trie i 'g astar thar a chuain, Gu asraidh fhuar nan ioma' ronn, Far nach togar breid ri crann, 'S nach sgoilt srun dharaich tonn I XIX. Bi thusa ri dosan nan torn, Is cumha' do ghaol ann ad bheul, Eala' thriall o tliir nan tonn 'S tu seinn dhomh ciuil an aird nan speur. 90 THE AGED BARDS WISH. XX. Awake the sootliing strain on high ! Pour out the tidings of thy sorrow ; — And Echo from the timeful sky The woeful tale will fondly borrow ! XXI. Now spread thy wmgs across the main — IMay fav'ring winds their aid impart ! ! pleasant was thy parting strain — The love-song of thy wounded heart ! XXII. Youth ! (3) from what far distant shore Thy voice of sorrow, tempest borne 1 His journey he'll retrace no more, Who left my hoary locks forlorn. XXIII. Do tearful eyes th^ grief bespeak, Virgin ! of the whitest hand ? May joy eternal bless the cheek Tliat rests in the forsretful land ! MIANN A BHAIRD AOSDA. 91 XX. ! eirich thus' le t'orau ciuin, 'S cuir naiglieachd bliochd do bhroiu an ceill ; 'S glacaidh uiac-tall gacli ciuil, An giitli tursa sin od' bheul. XXI. Tog do sgiath gu li-ard tLar cliuan, Glac do luatlias blio neart na gaoith, 'S eibhinn anu am chluais am fuaim, O'd chridhe leoint' — an t-oran gaoil. XXII. Co an tir on gluais a' ghaoth, Tha giulan glaoidh do bhroin on chreig ? 'Oigeir a cbaidh uainn a thriall, 'S a dh-fhag mo chiabh gblas gu'n taic. XXIII. B'eil deoir do ruisg ! thusa ribhinn, Is mine mais' 's a's gile lamb 1 Solas gn'n cbrioch do'n gliruaidb mbaoith, A cbaoidh nach gluais on leabaidb chaoil ! !)2 TUE AGED bard's WISH. XXIV. Wind ! since faded is my sight — Where grows the reed of mournful sound 1 It lives with those who shun thy might, And sport in liquid depths profound ! XXV. I raise me with an arm of strength ; Beside yon birch let me repose ; At burning noon my wearied length May rest beneath its weeping boughs. XXVI. Then shalt thou come, gentle dream ! The stars of night shall be thy track ; In joyfid music wilt thou gleam, And bring my da)'s of gladness back. XXVII. See, my Soul ! the virgin fair Beside the monarch of the grove ; Her white hand 'midst her golden hair — Her mild eye on her youthful love ! MIANN A BHAIRD AOSDA. 93 XXIV. Iiuisibh, threg mo shuil, a ghaoth', C ait' ain beil a chuilc' a fas, Le glaodhan broin 's na brie r'a taobh, Le sgiath gun deo a ciunail blair. XXV. Togaibh mi — caraibh le'r laimb threin, 'S cuiribli mo cheann fo bharrach ur, 'X uair dh' eireas a' ghrian gu h-ard, Biodh a sgiath uain' os-ceaun mo sbul. XXVI. An sin thig thu ! aisling cUiiiin, Tha 'g astar dlu measg reuU na h-6idhch', Biodh gniomh m' oidhche ann ad cheol ; Toirt aimsir mo mbuim gu'm chuimhn' ? XXVII. I m' anam faic an ribhinn 6g, Fo sgeith an daraich, righ nam flath, 'S a lamh shneachd' measg a ciabhan oir, 'S a meall-shuil cliiuin air 6g a graidh. 94 THE AGED BARD's WISH. XXVIII. He sings I she listens silently — Her heart pants to his tuneful breath — Love gently speeds from eye to eye : The stag stays listful on the heath. XXIX. The sound has ceased ! her bosom glows, And heaves upon her lover's breast : Her lips, fresh as the stainless rose, Close to her lover's lips are press'd. XXX. May bliss await the lovely pair Who woke my soul to lost delight ! Bliss to her soul, that beauteous fair — ■ The virgin of the ringlets bright I XXXI. Forsake me not : dream of joy ! Bring back, once more, th' ecstatic spell Thou wilt not hear : I sadly lie — (> hills beloved, farewell ! farewell ! MI ANN A BHAIRD AOSDA. 95 XXVIII. E-san a' seinn ri taobh 's i balbli, Le creidh leiim 's a snanili' na cheol, An gaol bho sliuil gu suil a falbh, Cuir stad air feidli nau sleibhtean mor. XXIX. Nis thi-eig am fuaim, 's tha cliabh geal niin, Ri uchd 's ri cridbe gaoil a' fas, 'S a bilidh ur mar ros gun smal, Ma bbeul a gaoil gu dlu an sas. XXX. Solas gun chriocli do'n chomunn chaomb, A dbuisg dbomb m' aobbneas ait nach pill, A's beannacbd do t'anams' a ruin A nigbean cbiuin nan cuacb-cbiabh grinn. XXXI. 'X do tbreig tbu mi aisling nam buadb ? Pill fatbast — aon cbeum beag — pOl 1 Cba cbluinn sibb mi Ocboin ! 's mi truagb I — A bbeannaibb mo gbraidb — slan leibb ! 96 THE AGED BAKd's WISH. XXXII. Farewell ! ye youthfiil company ! Farewell I Virgiu, all divine ! The joys of summer bloom for thee — But winter's lasting chill is mine I XXXllI. ! bear me to the foaming tide, AVhere torrents fall with thund'riug roar A harp and shell be at my side — And shield my sires in battle wore : XXXIV. Then, ye whisp'riug winds ! draw near- O'er the dark deep, friendly come : And, to the Isle of Heroes, <■*) bear My shade to its eternal home ! XXXV. Tliere, those who went of old, abide ; They hear not music's soothing tone ; There Ossian old, and Daol reside. When night shall come, the Bard is gone ! MIANN A BHAIRP AOSDA. 97 XXXII. Slan le comuun caomh na h-6ige A's oigheannan boidheach, slan leibh. Cha le'ir dhomh sibh, dhuibhse tha sanihradh, Ach dhomsa geamhradh a chaoidh. XXXIII. ! cuir nio chluais ri fuaim Eas-mor Le chronan a' tearnadh o'n chreig — Bi'dh cruit agus slige ri'm thaobh, 'S an sgiath a dhiou mo shinnsir sa' chatli. XXXIV. Thig le cairdeas thar a chuain, Osag mhin a ghluais gu mall, Tog mo cheo air sgiath do luathais, 'S imich grad gu eilean f hlaitheis. XXXV. Far 'ra beil na laoicli a dh-f halbh bho shean An cadal trom gun dol le ceol Fosglaibh-sa thalla Oisein a's Dhaoil, Thig anjjidliche 's cha bhi 'm brad air bhratli. 98 THE A0E1> BAKU S WJMI. XXXVI. But all 1 ere yet luy shade will stray Ou Ardven, where the Minstrels dwell ; My harp and shell will cheer the way : And then, dear shell and harp, farewell ! MIA.W A ItllAIUl) AOSDA. 99 XXXVI. Ach ! m' an tig i seal ra' an triall mo cheo, Gu teach nam bard air Ard-bheinn as nach pill, Fair cruit 's mo siilige dh-iunnsaidli 'n roid, An sin, mo cliruit, 's mo shlige ghraidh, slan le'ibh 1 NOTES. Tub Poem is to be understood as the sentiments expressed In- the Hard on his deathbed. lie had lived to an ohi age in a state of pastoral sinipli- cit.v ; and now, on the eve of his dissolution, rei;ills those pursuits, scenes, and ciriiinistances which afforded hini delight in his earl^ days. Note 2, Stanza XIII. p Treio's clear travc ' Loch Treic; is in the Braes of Lochaber. This may afford some evidence as to the scene of the Poem. lir.n-ard and Sciif-cill, mentioned in the succeeding stanzas, are now unknown ; but the former (which signifies hiijh mountain) n;.ay be the primitive name of Pen-Nevis; and the great waterfall, alluded to in the thirty-third stanza, may have been F.ns-bha, in the same district. Note 3, Stanza XXII. p. 90. Youth ! from what/ar distant shore' Thy voice (if sorrow, lempesl borne f" Tradition says that allusion is here made to a son of the Pard, who had perished on a foreign co.ast while on a warlike expedition. His grief has been awakened by the appearance of" the virgin of tbo whitest hand," who had been the betrothed of the departed hero. NOTES. 101 NoTB 4, Stanza XXIV. p. !)(!. ■ "to the Isle of Heroes bear My shade" - The ancient Celts believed Heaven to be situated in a beautiful is!anrl in the Western Ocean, where tlie sun went to repose in the evening, among the shades of departed heroes. They imagined that all the amusements in which they took delight whilst inhabitants of earth, were pursued with- out alloy in " Flathinnis," the island of the brave or noble. It would be impossible to convey an adequate description of the Celtic paradise ; but the following translation, from the effort of an ancient bard to impart some notion of its imaginary excellence, may be found interest- Stflf JJsle of heroes. In former days there lived in Skerr a Druid of liigh renown. The blast of wind waited for his commands at the gate ; he rode the tempest, and the troubled wave offered itself as a pillow for his repose. His eye followed the sun by day ; his thoughts travelled from star to star in the season of night. He thirsted after things unseen — he sighed over the narrow circle which surrounded his days. He often sat in silence beneath the sound of l.is groves ; and he blamed the careless billows that rolled between him and the green " Isle of the West." One day as he sat pensive upon a rock, a storm arose on the sea; a cloud, under whose squally skirts the foaming waters complained, rushed sud- denly into the bay. From its dark bosom issued forth a boat ; its white sails bent to the wind ; around were a hundred moving oars ; but it was void of mariners ; itself seeming to live and move. An unusual terror seized the aged Druid. He heard a voice though he saw no human form. " Arise ! behold the boat of the heroes — arise, and see the green isle of those who have passed away !" He felt a strange force on his limbs ; he saw no person ; but he moved to the boat. Stepping into it, he exclaimed — " My foot in the barge of beauty : strange it would be if my heart were sad !" The wind immediately changed — in the bosom of the cloud he sailed away. Seven days gleamed faintly round him ; seven nights added their gloom to his darkness. His ears were stunned with shrill voices. The dull 102 NOTK.<. niiirmiir of winds passoil him on either sicio. lie slept not, .vet his eyes were not heavy ; lie ate not, yet he was not liungrry. On the eightli day the waves swelled into mountains — the boat rolled violently from side to side — the darkness thickened around him, when a thousand voices at once cried aloud, " The Isle, the Isle !" Tlie hillows opened wide before him ; the calm land of the departed rushed in lisht on his eyes. It was not a light that da/zled, but a pure, discriminating, and placid light, which called forth every object to view in its most perfect form. The isle spread large before him, like a pleasing dream of the soul ; where distance fades not on the sight — where nearness fatigues not the eye. It had its gently sloping hills of green ; nor did they wholly want their clouds; but the clouds were bright and transparent, and each involved in its bosom the source of a stream ; — a beauteous stream, which, wandering down the steep, was like the faint notes of the half- touched harp to the distant ear. The valleys were open and free to the ocean ; trees loaded with leaves, which scarcely waved to the light breeze, were scattered on the green declivities and rising grounds. The rude winds walked not on the mountains ; no storm took its course through the sky. AH was calm and bright. The pure sun of autumn shone from his blue sky on the fields. He hastened not to tlie west for repose ; nor was he seen to rise from the cast. He sits in his mid-day height, and looks obliquely on the noble isle. In each valley is its slow-moving stream The pure waters swell over its banks, yet abstain from the fields. The showers disturb them not ; nor are they lessened by the heat of the sun. On the rising hill are the halls of the departed — the high-roofed dwellings of the bards of old. The original of this legend of Celtic mythology is contained in a very old and curious MS. in the possession of Jlr iMackenzie, the Compiler of the" Beauties of Gaelic Poetry," &c. and will form part of an interesting Collection of Celtic Talcs and Legends now preparing for publication. THE DEATH OF CARRIL. This I'oeiu describes tlic tragical death of C'arril, tlie bravest and most accomplished of the sons of Fingal, King of Morven. Gaul, the most experienced warrior in the bands of Fingal, and only survivor of the royal race of Clan Jloirne, of whom he held command tni- der.the famous flag and special advice of Fingal, was always honoured and regarded above any man of either clan. He occupied the seat next to the king, and enjoyed the best and most delicious messes. This, in his declin. ing years, created the ill-will and aversion of the ambitious sons of Fingal — Ciirril in particular. Taking advantage of some difference which arose betwixt them at a banquet, Carril disputed the birth of Gaul by dint of arms. The champions entered the lists, and engaged each other in wrest- ling, whereby they could not decide the cause upon that day, the victory fluctuating betwixt them. The day following, they met, clad in armour, and furnished with sword and lance, contrary to the persuasion of Fingal. After both had shown much courage and bravery, Gaul gave the decisive stroke— Carril fell, mortally wounded, and was lamented by his father for many days. Gaul fled, full of grief, and concealed himself in a cave, not choosing to rely upon the friendship of Fingal till his days of mourning elapsed. The poem opens at the engagement, and ends with the lamen- tation of Fingal and the bards over the remains of Carril. " BasC'haireill" is taken from a manuscript collection made from oral tradition sixty-five years ago, and now in the possession of the Highland Society of Scotland. 104 THE DEATH OF CARRIL, THE DEATH OF CARRIL. In Tara's hall, (the hall of tuneful lyres !) Tlie feast was spread (i) — the cup dispelled our woes ! 'Twas then dissension woke the heroes' ire, And Carril mild, and mighty Moma rose. II. They rose to wrestle, and they strove with might, Their trampling sounded like the ocean's roar ; Loudly their bosoms panted in the fight ; — The anxious nobles gazed in anguish sore. III. With fearful vigour now they twined and turned ; Th' uprended earth yields to their tread away ; Throughout the day the furious conflict burned. And night descended on the equal fray. BAS CHAIREILL. 106 BAS CHAIREILL, An taigh Teamhra nan emit ciuil, Air dhuinne a bhi stcach niu'n 61, Dhuisg an iomarbhaidh na laoich ; Caireall caomh, a's j\I6mad mor. II. l)h' eirich gu spaimeacbd na siiiun, Bu truime na'n tuinn cuilg an cos Srdinicb an cuim' chluinnte cian 'S an Fhiann gu cianail fo sprochd. III. Clachan agus talamh trom, Treachailte le'm buinn san stri ; A' cliarachd re fad an la, Gun fhios co dhiu b' fhearr sa' gbniomh. Km; the death of carril. IV. Insatiate still : soon as the morn arose The heroes met, for mortal strife arrayed : Tlie sprightly Carril, vanquisher of foes, And Gaul the stem, renowned for piercing blades. In deadly clasp the champions now unite, Or, round their arms they speed in wild career ; The brave Fingalians mourned the dreadful light, The clanging din resounded fur and near. VI. Now flash their rapid arms with living fire — Their sno>vy breasts bedewed with liquid toil ; Their tough spears shivered in the contest dire, Their targes cloven to the crimson soil. VII. Carril the kind, the valiant hero, fell : Breathless he lay beneath his portly foe ; Fierce, cruel was the stroke — alas, to tell ! — That, in the combat, laid the fav'rite low ! BAS CHAIREILL. 107 IV. Air madainn an daiTa maireach Cbaidh na suinu an dail a cheile Caireall colgarra nam buadh Agus Goll nan cruaidli lann geura. Dli' iathadh, dh' iomaradh, agus thairneadh, lad gu naisinneach sa' chumasg Gu cuidreacli, cudthroamach, gabhaidh, Bu chian le each gair am buillean. VI. Bu mhiuig teine d'an armaibh 'S cobhar garbh de'n cueasan geala Chaidh na sleaghan rigbne bhearnadh, 'S an sgiathan gu lar a gbeairadh. VII. Thuit Caireall caoin, calma, ceanal, Gun anail fo'n chruinue chrodha 'S beudach, baolach, borb, a bhuille Leag an curaidh sa' chruaidh chomhrag. \M THE DEATH OF CARRll.. VTTI. " Carril I my child ! my own — ray lovely boy ! Thy wounds afflict thy sire, and many a friend : Said Fingal, mournful in his altered joy : As mourns the sun, wlien wintry clouds impend IX. " Carril ! my darling ! dreary is the hour ! — Thine eyes are closed— thy teeth of whiteness fast- Thy beauty altered like the fiided flower — Thy strength departed like the desert blast ! X. " Not ever more to seek the battle held Shalt thou, my fair, be seen with manly tread ; No more, young warrior, shall thy sounding shieW 15e heard, approaching to thy father's aid : XI. " Ilads't thou been vanquished by a stranger host, Or by the Monarch of the World's <2' proud peers- Tlien I'd revenge thy death, Carril, lost !— Upon the Britons of triumphant spears ! BAS CIIAIREILL. 109 VIII. Mo laogh, mo leanabh, mo ghradsa ! 'S truagh a cliraidh do bhas an t-athair Gun robh Fionn na aigneadli cianail Bu tmira' e na ghrian fo phlathadh. IX. Chaireill ! a mhic, a ruinean ! Dhruid do shuil a's glalais do dheud-gheal Ghluais do neart mar osaig bhuamsa Cliaochail do shnuadh mar bid a gbeugan ! X. Cha'n fhaicear ni's mo thu tighinn Air an t-sligbe cbura na comb-stri, Cha mo cbluinn mi fuam do sgeitlie 'Ghaoil nam beum a tigb'nn do'm chombnadh. XI. 'S truadh nach b'ann le ainneart cboimheacb No rigb an dombainn a bhuailt' thu ; 'S bheirinn-sa' t'eirig a Chaireill Bho Bbreatunnaich nan arm buadhach. 110 Tllfc; DEATH UF rAKRIl,. XII. '■ liopose in Ijliss ! thou graceful in the tlirong : Thou swept tliy hundreds in the fields of fame ; Far hast thou travelled — farther still has gone The high renown thy deeds of valour claim. XTTI. " Fair didst thou shine — enlivening and gay — Amidst a hundred cMefs in Tara's hall ; Oppressed with sorrow, we bewail to-day Our dark bereavement — thy untimely fiill ! XIV. " Would thou had'st tlied amidst a battling throng, Youth of the spai'kling eye and auburn hair ! The race of Comhal would avenge the wrong. And give the foe destruction and despair I XV. " The sad Fingalians raise their dismal strain ; Their pride, their treasure, they must now doplorv ; For him does Fingal pensively complain, Who in the heroes' hall can smile no more i BAS CHAIKEILL. 1 1 1 XII. Beauuachd leat a Cliaireill cheutaich 'S iomadh ceud a dhiong thu'n comlirag B"fhad a' thriall thu b'fhaide cbliu ort Anns gacli iul an d' fhuair tliu eolas. XIII. 1)11 luliiiirneach, niisneacbail, meanmnaoh, Thu 'n taigli Teamhra measg nan ceudan ; A laoicli f huileachdaich san toracbd Sgeula bbroin an diugb mar dheug tbu ! XIV. 'S truagb uacb ann an catb-nam milidb, Thuit tbu mbin-laicb nan dual ar-bbuidb ! 'S bbiodb sliocbd Cbumbaill toirt dbiu toracbd Feadb gacb roid da'n leon 'san araicb. XV. 'S tursacb, deui-acb, ceol na Feine Caoidh an treun-laocb b' eibbinn gaire 'S tiombaidb, doilicb, Fionn ga d' bhron Nacb faicear beo tbu 'n teach nan armunn. IIJ THE DKAJII OF CARUIL. XVI. " JlaiiC, Maids of Sorra ! niise your strains of woe For him, your fav'rite, in his early grave ! Pale as the mist that dims the mountain's brow, Ye tearful mourn the comely and the brave ! XVIl. " Oft on the pebbly strand he loved to stray. Or track the stormy deep in bold career ; Oft in the chace, with many a soothing lay, He cheered the huntsmen when they roused the deer. XVIII. " But lowly now his stately form is laid, Stript of his armour and liis fair array ; Serene he slumbers in his narrow bed, By yondor mead, whore weeping mourners stray. XIX. " Farewell, thou brave, best, beautiful, beloved ! Active and eloquent, — in battle true ! A stream of strength thou, in the carnage, proved : Prince of the matchless blades— a last adieu !"' BAS CHAIREILL. 113 XVI. Oighean Shora seiiinear bron leo A leth an ogain chaoimh, ailiJh, Mar cheo nam beann tha gar muthaiun 'S snitheach, cumhach, ar lag mharan. XVII. Air chuan nan leug is cian a gbluaisethe Thar siunainnean ceanubhan cair-gheal Ceolmhor, ceUeircacli , 'san leirg, Ri linn seilg a taghach lan-dhamh. XVIII. Tha'n laoch fairechail, toirteU, calma Gun iomairt, gun arm, gun iiidheam 'S cumhann comhnard t-ionad chomlinaidh An cois an Loin gur mor an pruthar ! XIX. A laoich mheanmhnaicli, mhuimich, bhuadhaich, Labhraich, laidir, luainnich, bheuchdaich, Mar shruth neart-mhor a measg namhaid Soiridh leat a ghraidh nan geur-lann! H NOTES, Note 1, Stanza I. p. 104. " In Tara's hall, (the hall of tuneful lyres !) The feast was spread" " Tara," or, as it is soinetimcs wTitten, " Temora," is supposed by some etymologists to be derived from " Ti(jh-mor-rath," i. c. " Tlic house of the great circle." Should this derivation be correct, it is to be inferred that the form of the edifice was circular and spacious. However this may be, it is manifest throughout tlie whole poems of Ossian that it was a seat of royalty, and the resort of the numerous chiefs for conviviality, and re- laxation after the fatigues of the chase, as well as for preparation for con- templated warlike exploits. AMien thus congregated, music and wine abounded. That these assemblies wore very numerous is evident from the allusion made to Tara in the " Lament for Ossian," of which the following is a literal translation :— " The numbers that were in my time, In Tara of the sweet-sounding strings, Were fourteen liundred and fifty. Of our dear friends without blame, Without mentioning the young king of Fail, * Nor the wounded, tlie aged, and the young women, Nor the youngsters who waited on the swords." It is natural to suppose that on occasion of so many doughty chiefs being met, the rival princes would evince mutual jealousy of each other's bravery, which they would be disposed to exhibit to the utmost ; the more particu- * An abbreviation of" loQisloU," the primitive name of Ireland. NOTES. 115 larly as the fair sex were witnesses of their prowess. An encounter, how- ever, of such a nature as forms the subject of this poem, betwixt two in- dividuals of such high repute, and held in such esteem, could not fail to bo disapproved of by the more grave and sedate of those assembled, which the tenor of the poem shows to ba,ve been the case. " Tuneful lyres." In theoriglnal, " tuneful emits." " Cruit " is the name of a stringed instrument used of old in Scotland and Ireland, which was the same with the AVelsh crwcid or crwth. For a long time past it has been confined to North Wales, so that the people of that part of the principality have been accustomed to consider it as being exclusively their own. Note 2, Stanza XI. p. 108. TJic Monarch of the World " The Roman Emperor Severus, who died a. d. 211, is frequently distin- guished by this title in the compositions of the ancient Celtic bards. The following stanza of the Gaelic has been omitted in the translation, as conveying in substance the same ideas as in preceding verses. It is, however, given here in the original for the perusal of the Gaelic reader. It occurs as the sixteenth. 'S dosgach aig a ghaisgeach euchdail Thuit gun teugbhail anns a chumasg Mar neul oidhche ghluais e bhuaine 'S e sin an sgeul truagh ia cumbainn. FAINASOLLIS. The following Poem of Ossian is remarkable for its variety of versions, ge- nerally agreeing throughout in the narrative of incidents, but differing ma- terially as to the catastrophe. This circumstance was probably inevitable, and may plausibly be accounted for from the oral transmission of the story througli such a long series of ages. The present translator's inducement in having made preference of the version here given was on account of its superior beauty, and that its authenticity has been clearly ascertained so far back as the beginning of the seventeenth century. That it must at that period have been considered as the most genuine is evident from its having been recognised by John Maekay, a bard of the time, better known to Highlanders by the cognomen of " Piobaire Dall."* In order to gra- tify the curious reader, several of the different versions of the catastrophe of this poem are subjoined to it. The following is an account, as traditionally given, of the incidents which occurred previous to the opening of the poem : — Myro, son of the king of Sora, f sailing once along the Irish coast, came to a bay remarkable for its beautiful seclusion. Surveying the smooth expanse, he beheld a group of nymphs desportiiig themselves, as they thought, unseen, and enjoying the cool of the summer eve among the •See his Address to Sir Alex.-inder Macdonald of Slcnt, in the " Beauties of Gaelic Poetry," in which the original ot the following poem appears, as well as the information embodied in the preliminary narrative. f Sorcha in the original. It is uncertain what island was known by this'denomination in the times of Ossian. It may bo supposed, however, to be one of the Orkneys, from the affinity betwixt ttie names. Sorcha was probably derived from two words, now obsolete, —ore, a whale, and a, an island : the Isle of Whales. The island is frequently mentioned in the poems of Ossian, and seems to have been noted for the cruelty i>f its inhabitants. FAINASOLLIS. 117 waters. For a time ho fancied them daughters of the sea, and continued to gaze with admiration and awe ; but observing, as lie drew nearer, that their forms were entirely human, he made all sail to ascertain who they were. On seeing his approach, they hastened, with fear and modesty, to conceal themselves in the crevice of an adjoining rock. Determined to make captive of the fairest, Jlyro landed, discovered the ladies in their concealment, and carried off the most handsome. Suffused with tears, she implored him for liberty— telling him her name was " Faine-Soluis," (i. e. Beam of Light,) and that her father was king of that part of Ire- land. Unmoved by her entreaties, he conveyed her to his boat, and bore her off to his own country. To her, however, Sora was a place of torment, the thoughts of kindred and home embittering every hour of her existence there. She at length formed the resolution of attempting her escape, and having one day sallied forth to the beach, as had been her custom, and observing Myro's pleasure-boat afloat, and no one within view, unmoored it, and, committing herself to the mercy of the elements, nimbly leaped on board. A favourable breeze having sprung up, she was driven upon the coast of Scotland, at a>pot where Fingal and his attendants were refreshing themselves after hunting. Her eyes beamed with joy as she recognised the hero. After mutual salutations, she informed the King of Morven of what had happened, and, imploring his protection, as Myro was in pursuit, assured him of her determination to die rather than return. The sequel of the story is related in the poem. 118 FAINASOIXIS. FAINASOLLIS. As Fingal with a chosen train, By Roya's murm'ring Fall delayed. They spied upon the misty main A bark that bore a lonely maid. II. And sooth, she was a gallant bark. And lightsomely on ocean sped, Nor lingered, till she won l>er mark — The creek by Roya's loud cascade. III. forth came a form of love and light, Fair as the beams of summer skies ; Like ocean's foam her bosom white, But ah ! bedewed with tears and sighs. FAINE SOLUIS. H^ FAINE SOLUIS. I. La do dh' Fhionn le beagan sluaigh, Aig Eas-ruadli nan eibhe mall, Chunnacas a' seoladh o'n lear Curacli ceo agits bean ann. II. 'S b'e sin curach bu mhath glens A' ruith na steud air agbaidh cuain, Clos cha d'rinneadli leis no tamh Gus an d' rainig e 'n t-Eas-ruadh. III. 'S dh'eirich as maise mna, B' ionann dealradh dli'i 's do'n gbre'in, 'S a h-ucM mar chobhar nan tonn, Le fliuch-osnaich tbrom a cleibh. 120 X'AINASOLLIS. IV. Admiring, as the maid drew nigh, The princes stood upon the plain ; For wond'rous lovely to the eye Was she who now had left the main. V. Then tearful spoke that lovely one : — " If thou art Fingal, aid me hence : Thy count'nance is the wanderer's sun — Thy shield, the helpless one's defence !" VI. In soothing voice the monai-ch said, " beauteous branch in sorrow's blight, If hardy swords can give thee aid, Our dauntless hearts will prove wight !" VII. " 0, I'm pursued on yonder sea ! — He comes — a chief of savage fame ! The son of Sora's king is he — Myro the Fierce, by rightflil name !" FAIKE SOLUIS. 1-1 IV. Is sheas sinn uil' air an raon, Na flaithean caoin a's mi fein : A bhean a thaiuig thar lear, Bha sinn gu leir roimpe seimh. " 'S mo chomraich ort ma 's tu Fionn," ('S e labhair ruim am maise mna) " 'S i d' gnuis do'n anrach a gliriau 'S i do sgiath ceann-uiglie na baigh." VI. 'S a gheug na maise fo dliriuchd broin, 'S e labhair gu foil mi fhem, ;Ma 's urra gorm-lannan do dhion Bidh ar cri nach tiom d'an reir. VII. " Torachd a ta orms' air miiir, Laoch is mor guin air mo lorg, Alac righ Sorcha sgiath nan arm, Triath d'an ainm am Maighre borb. 122 FAINASOLLIS. VIII. " Thy cause, fair wand'rer, I'll defend, Whoe'er ho be would thee allure ; And in despite of Myro's might. In Fingal's hall thou'lt rest secure. IX. " The Hall of Rocks is near at hand, Where they, the Sons of Song, abide ; There generous cheer, and friendsliip bland, Await the wanderer of the tide !" X. Then came in view, like fleetfiil steed, A chief whose stature none excelled : Ploughing the deep with angry speed, The very course the maiden held. XL Tall were his masts, and white his sails ; Swiftly he came, that sullen lord : — " Welcome ! proud rider of the gale — To Fingal's feast, or Fingal's sword." FAINE SOLUIS. VIII. 'S glacam do chomraich a bhean, Ro' aon f hear a th'air do thi ; 'S a dh'aindeoin a Mhaighre bhiiirb, Bi'dh tu am bruth Fhinu aig sith. IX. Tha talla nan creag aig laimb, Aite taimh clanna nan fonn, Far am faigh an t-annracb baigh, A thig thar bharca nan tonn. X. Sin chunnacas a tighinn' mar steud Loach a bha mheud thar gach fear, A caitheamh na fairge gii dian An taobh ciand' a ghabh a bhean. XL B' ard a chroinn, bu gheal a shiuil, Bu mhire 'n t-iuil na cobhar sruth ; " Thig a mharcaich nan steud stuadhach Gu cuilra Fhinn nam buadh an diugh,' 124 FAINASOLLIS. XII. With scornful eye, and hauglity mien, And ponderous weapon by his side — Ringing his shield with vauntfiil din — He came — defying, and defied ! XIII. Gaul, royal Momi's son, advanced, And hurled his dart with sudden aim ; In speedy flight the weapon glanced. And clove th' intruder's shield in twain. XIV. Oscar arose to follow Gaul, (Whose might in battle ne'er was foiled !) Arose the noble heroes all, Spectators of the onset wild, XV. Then Oscar in his fury sent, With his left hand, a fiery dart — fatal shaft ! — aim unmeant ! It pierced the hapless maiden's heart ! FAINE SOLUIS. 1"25 XII. Bha chlaidheamhe trom toirteil uach gana Gu teann air a shlios gu reidh ; Sgiath dhrimneach dhubh air a leis, 'S e 'g iomairt chleas air a chle. XIII. Thug Goll mac Moma 'n urchair gheur, A's air an treun do thilg e sleagh ; B' i 'n urchair bu truime beum, D'a sgeith do rinn si da bhloidh. XIV. Dh' eirich Oscar 's dh-eirich Goll Bherreadh losga 16m 's gach cath, 'S dh' eirich iad uile na sloigh A' dh' amharc comhrag nam flath. XV. Sin thUg Oscar le lan-fheirg A chraosach dhearg le laimh chli Do mharbhadh leis bean an f hir 'S mor an cion do rinneadh I'i. 126 FAINASOLLIS. XVT. By Roya's Fall she's laid at rest, The Beautiful — the Beam of Light !- Upon each lovely linger placed A golden ring — ^her royal right. FAINE SOLtriS. XVI. Thiodldaiceadh leinn aig an Eas, Faine-solais bu ghlan lith, 'S chiiir sinn air ban'aibh a meoir Fain oir mar onair gin rigb. NOTES. A VERSION of the story of FainasoIIis is to be found in a collection of an- cient poems in the possession of the Highland Society of Scotland, which belonged at one time, as ascertained by an inscription on the 3IS. itself, to the Reverend James Macgregor, Dean of Lismore, the metropolitan church of the see of Argyle. It appears, from dates affixed to it, to have been written at different periods from 1512 to 1529. This manuscript distinguishes the genuine poetry of Ossian from the imi- tations made of it by later bards, and ascertains the degree of accuracy with which ancient poems have been transmitted by tradition for the last three hundred years, during the latter century of which the order of bards has been extinct, and ancient manners and customs have suffered a great and rapid change in the Highlands. Some of the poems in this and other collections agree witli pieces taken from oral recitation in different parts of the Highlands and Isles. The test which such an agreement afiords, at a distance of so many centuries, of the fidelity of tradition, cannot but be curious to such as have not had an opportunity of observing the strength which memory can attain when unassisted by writing, and prompted to exertion by the love of poetry and. song.* The catastrophe in the story of l-'ainasoUis, in the version given by the Dean of Lismore, mentions the fall of Alyro (there called Dayro Borb) by Gaul after a severe conflict ; the placing of a gold ring on each of his fingers after his death, and his interment near the waterfall : while FainasoIIis lives, and sojourns a year with Fingal in ]\Iorven. The following is a literal translation of the concluding part of the poem in the collection re- ferred to : — Gaul of the glowing spirit rushed on To hew down the hero, who stood as a rock of ice. Whoever should then behold them, Furious would seem the strife of death I The hajid of Morni's son laid low The King of Sera's son— tale of grief ! » See the Committee of the Highland Society's Report on Ossian. NOTES, 1-'*^ Sad were our people for the coming of the maid, On whose accopiit the hero fell in dread affray. After the mighty had fallen On ocean's strand, <> deed of woe ! The daughter of the King of the wave-surrounded land Remained for a year in the land of Fingal. We buried, by the siile of the water-fall. The man of might and of prowess ; And we placed on the point of each finger A ring of gold, in honour of the King. Macpherson introduces another version of FainasoUis, by way of episode, in the third Book of Fingal. There the lady is killed by a shaft from the bow of her pursuer, and Fingal himself avenges her death by slaying the ferocious Borbar, as Macpherson calls IVIyro. The following is a literal translation of the concluding part of the Gaelic poem adopted by that translator : — He (Myro) rushed on in his fury; He hailed neither Fingal or his people ; The unerring arrow flew from his hand, And the maiden fell. The strife of mighty feats Bore down the King of Sora's son. O tale of woe ! On the green mount was dug his tomb of stone. And over against it is the stone of the maid. Which Macpherson renders thus : — "The roaid stood trembling by my side. He drew the bow : she fell. ' Unerring is thy hand,' I said, 'but feeble was the foe!' We fought, nor weak was the strife of death : he sunk beneath my sword. We laid them in two tombs of stone; the unhappy children of youth I" An opportunity occurs here for easily contrasting the simplicity and dis- tinctness of narrative in the ancient poem with the general and turgid ex- pression of Macpherson's translation. A third version occurs in Miss Brooke's ** Reliques of Irish Poetry.*' The catastrophe in that lady's poem nearly coincides with the Dean of Lismore's, and with another edition preserved in a manuscript collection I 1 30 KOTES. made by Mr Duncan Kennedy, in tlie possession of the Highland Society. Both Miss Brooke's and Mr Kennedy's versions include the death of Myro, or Moire Borb, by the liand of Gaul, the placing the rings on each of his fingers after deatli, and tlie lady sujourning a year with Fiiigal ; but in the former, and in some other editions of the poem iu the Society's possession, the story relates tliat Gaul remained six months getting his wounds cured under the care of that generous and hospitable king. Fingal's celebrity as a physician is indeed u favourite topic in many of the ancient tales and poems : to his magical cup, in particular, are ascribed many wonderful medicinal virtues. Stanza XV. p. 124. " Theti Oscar in his/urj/ sent. With his left hand, a fiery dart." The Fingalians had a law, that none was to aid either party in a single combat with the right hand. Oscar took advantage of an exception to this law by hurling a weapon with his left hand. FRITIIIL. Thb poem here translated, although a composition of very great antiquity, breathes, in the original, such tenderness and simplicity as must enhance its attraction to the comparatively small number of readers who will b« able to appreciate its inherent merits. The classical reader will easily perceive the resemblance the story bean to that of Bellerophon as related by Homer ; and it will be gratifying to some to observe the different manner in which incidents of such confor- mity are treated by the Great Father of poetry and a Highland Bard. The scene of the poem is Loch Fraoch, about eleven miles west from Dun- keld, in Perthshire. The incidents of the tale are traditionally these :— Frithil, young, brave, and accompliihed, after having been betrothed to the daughter of Jley, a lady of rank and power, had the misfortune to be- come an object of that lady's own love. She discovered her passion to the youth ; but being unable to prevail over him, determined, in revenge, that he should die. On a small island in the lake, then called Loch Jley, there grew a mountain ash, which was supposed to possess extraordinary vir- tues In its fruit, — serving both as food and physic. But none dared approach it, owing to an enonnous reptile which constantly lurked atitsbase. Mey, relying upon the gallantry and courage of Frithil, contrived to send him within reach of the monster by fei'ming sudden illness, and requiring at his hands a cluster of the healing fruit. The object of terror chancing to be asleep, the bold youth succeeded easily in his enterprise. Disappointed in her purpose from that circumstance, the lady required that he should return to the island, and bring thence a ponderous branch, believing that the rustling of the leaves would inevitably rouse the monster. Frithil un- dertook the task a second time, and was killed. The poem concludes with the lament of his love, who recites his virtues, bravery, and beauty. As if in fulfilment of her desire, expressed in the last st-uiza, the lake is now known by the name of the hero, and an ancient ruin on an adjacent emi- nence is said to have been the residence of Mey. 13-2 FRITHIL. FRITHIL. I. The sigh of a friend on fair Frithil's repose : Alas ! the young hero is had in his grave : The sighs of our waniors their sorrows disclose, And our maidens lament him — the beautiful ])rave ! II. Ah, see the fresh earn of our Frithil's decay. And why did the star of our gallants depart ? He fell by the cruel deceiving of Aley, The mother ingrate of the loved of his heart. Ill Weep on, ye fair maidens of Cruathan, weep on ; Severe was the fate that bereft ye of glee : weep, for your fav'rite for ever is gone, — The beautiful scion of heroes was he ! FRAOCH. 133 FRAOCH. OsxA caraid air cluain Fhraoicli ; Och tha 'n laoch an caisealcro ! An osna sin on tursach fear, 'S on trom galanach bean 6g. II. Sud e siar an earn sa'm beU Fraoch mac Fhithich an f built mbaoitb, Am fear rinn biiidbeacbas do j\Ibeidh : 'S ann air a sbloinnte Carn-Fhraoich. III. Gul nam ban on cbruacban sbior, 'S cruaidb an dail a mbill an gean ; 'S a db' fbag an osna trom, trom, Fraocb mac-Fbitbich nan colg sean. 134 FRITHIL. IV. But saddest is she who now weeps by his side, The daughter of Carol, the lovely and pure ; Though many the heroes who sought her for bride, For Frithil alone her afiections were sure. Upon an island of Loch Mey, Fast by the southern shore, There grew an ever-blooming ash- An healing fruit it bore. VI. Sweeter than honey to the taste, And pleasing to tlie gaze ; Its reddened clusters would support A fasting one three days. VII. But danger lurked around, and woe To him who sought its power : — A ven'mous monster at its root Had made its horrid bower. FRAOtH. 135 IV. lughinn Chaireill 's grinne fait, Taobli ri taobh an nochd a's Fraoch ; Ge h-ioma oigear thug dhi gradli, Cha do ghradhaich is' ach Fraoch. Caoran do bhi 'n i Loch-Maidh, Anns an traigh tha sior fo dheas -, Re gach raidhe agus mios Bhiodh a bliarrach liont le meas. VI. Gun robh buaidh air a mheas dhearg Bu mhillse no mhil on bhladh ; Gu'n cumadh na caoran bu dearg, Neach beo gun bhiadh car naoi trath. VII. Ach bu chunnard 'dhol na dheigh, Ged bu luigh e chobhradh na sloigh ; Bha beist neimh 'a tamh ma bhun, 'S bu bhaobhal a dhol da bhuain. 1 ae FRITHIL. VIII. A grievous sickness sudden seized Omath's fair daughter, Mey : — " Now bring me Frithil here," she said ; He hastened to obey. IX. " Health ne'er will smile on me," she said, " Until I may command An handful of the island fruit, Plucked only by your hand." X. " Such vent'rous effort ne'er was mine,' He said, and blushed the while ; — " Yet for the mother of my love I'll cheerful risk the toU." XI. He went forth on his daring task And swam the waters free ; Now, joy to tell, the monster sleeps Beneath the healing tree. FRAOCH. 137 VIII. Do bhuail easlainte throm, throm, Nighean Omhnaioh nan corn fiall ; Chuireadh leatha fios air Fraoch. 'S dh' fhiosraicli an laoch ciod e miann. IX. Labhair i nach biodh i slau Mar faigheadh i Ian a bos maoth Do chaoran an Lochain f huaii-, Gun aon neacb d'a bhuain acli Fraoch. " Cnuasachd meas ni d' rinneam fein," Thuirt mac-Fhithich nan gruaidh dearg ; " Ged nacli d' rinneam," arsa Fraocb, " Theid mi bhuain nan caor do Mheidh." XI. Ach ghhiais Fraoch air cheum gim agh, 'S chaidh e shnamhadh air an Loch ; Fhuair e bheist na siram-suain 'Sa craos fosgailt suas ri dos. 1 38 FRTTHIL XII. Unnoticed by the monster fell Young Fritliil turned away, And bore an armful of the fi-uit In joyful haste to Mey. XIII. " Thanks, generous champion, for your care My illness to destroy : But this in vain — a heavy branch You bring, or else I die !" XIV. Once more he sped, the fearless youth, Once more he swam the lake ; But, ah ! the death he 'scaped before Must now his path overtake ! XV. He seized the mountain ash with might And tore a branch away, But as he plunged int<> the lake The dragon barred his way ; FRA.OCH. 139 XII. ' Fraocli mac Fhithich nan arm geiir, Thainig e blio'u blieisd gun f hios ; 'S ultach leis do'n chaoran dhearg Do'n bhall an robh Meidh na tigh. XIII. " Ge math uil' na rinneadh leat, " Labhair Meidh bu ghille cneas, " Chan fhoghamn learns' a laoich luain Gun a chraobh a bliuain a bun." XIV. Ghluais Fraoch gun gheilte cridh, A shnamh air an linne bhuig ; 'S bu deacair dha dli' aindeoin aigh, Teachd on bhas anns an robh chuid. XV. Ghlac e na caoran air bharr, 'S tharruuin e'n crann as a fhreumh ; A' toirt a chasan da air tir, Rug i air a ris, a bheist. ]40 FRITHIL. XVI. O'ertouk liiiii sls, he spurned the wave, And grasped him in its gorge ; Young Frithil seized it by the jaw — Now for a sword to urge ! XVII. The monster tore his arm away, And mangled his fair breast — Ilis love beheld — a dagger then, She bore in useless haste. XVIII. Wildly she sped, that lovely one, And plunged into the flood ; The woeful strife was ended then, The lake was dyed Avith blood. XIX. She reached the shore — there, pale in death. Her lover lay at rest ; Struck with her soul's deep agony, She fainted on his breast. FRAOCH. 141 XVI. Rug a bheist air ah' an traigh, Glilac i a lamh steach na craos, 'N sin glilac Fraoch is air ghiall : 'S tniagli I a Thriatb, gun sgian aig Fraoch. XVII. Chagainn a bheist a chneas ban, Leadair i a lamb gu leon ; Thainig ingbiun nan geala-ghlac, 'S ghrad thug i dha sgian gu f hoir. XVIII. Cha robh a' chomraig sin ach gearr, Bhuin e' n ceann d'i na laimh leis, Fraoch mac-Fliithich a's a bheist 'S truadh a Thriatb mar thug i ghreis. XIX. Gun do thuit iad bonn ri bonn, Air traigh nan clach donn so bhos ; 'Xuair chunnaic an nighean a spairn, Thuit i air an traigh gun pldosg. 142 FRITHIL. At last, awak'ning as from sleep, the maid Grasped in her palm the youth's dead hand of snow,- Gazed wild around, like one imploring aid ; But none was near, and thus she told her woe : — XXI. "Burst, burst, my heart ! he's dead : my joy has ceased ! (Alas ! he died not on the battle plain, But fell, inglorious, struggling with a beast ;) — Now he is gone, I murmur to remain. XXII. " he was lovely as the summer dawn ; His flowing hair was black as raven's wing ; His checks were redder than the blood of fawn ; Softer than softest down was Fritliil's skin. XXIII. " Whene'er he spoke his voice was sweeter far Than melody from minstrel's sweetest string, — His eye more radiant than the brightest star, — His breath more fragrant than the breeze of spring. FRAOCH. 143 'Nuair a dhuisg i as a pramh, Ghlac i a lamh na laimh bhiiig : — " Ged tha thu' nochd 'n ad chomhdaidh euu, As mor an t-euchd a rinn thu bhos. XXI. " 'S traadh nach ann an comhraig laocli A thuit Fraoch le'm proinnte an t-6r ! 'S tursach do thiiiteam le beist, 'S truagh nad dheigh a mhair mi beo '. XXII. " Bu duibhe na fitheach barr fliuilt, Bu deirge ghruaidh na full laoidh, Bu mhen' e na cobhar sruth, Bu ghille na'n cuithe corp Fhraoich. XXIII. " B' aird sbleagli na crann siuil, Bu bhinne no teud chiuil a ghuth, Snamhaiche bi fhearr na Fraoch Cha do leag a thaobh ri sruth. 144 FRITHIL. XXIV. " His shield was stronger than a gate of gold : Heroes have sought the shelter of its frame, — His sword was awful, as his heart was bold, And Triumph smiled where'er the warrior came ! XXV. " Good was the strength of his unconquered hand, And good his swiftness in the rapid race : — None could the valour of his arm withstand, — None could outstrip him in the ardent chase. XXVI. " he was lovely, and beloved by all : — Lovely the cheeks that age was wont to bless ; — Lovely the lips ne'er closed to friendship's call, The lips that Beauty ne'er declined to press. XXVII. " We'll bear him, tearful, to his early tomb. Where oft in solitude my tears shall flow ; — To linger there, I leave a home of gloom ; For he is gone, and nought remains but woo ! FRAOCH. 145 XXIV. " Bu treis na comhla sgiath, B' ioma triath a bhiodh r'a chul. Bu cho fad a lamli 'sa lann, 'S bu mhath a dheann air a cul. XXV. " Bu mhath spionnadh a dha lamh, 'S bu ro mhatli call a dha chos, Chaidhe aigne thar gach rigb, Roimh churaidh riamh cha d'iarr fois. XXVI. " lonrohuinn Tighearn, ionmhuinn tuath, lonmhuinn gruaidh nan dearg ros ; Ionmhuinn beul nach diultadh daimh, D'am biodh na mnai a' tabhairt phog. XXVII. " Togam a nis' gu cluain Fhraoich, Corp an laoich an caisealcro On bhas ud a fhuair am fear, 'S truadh mi mairean na dheigh beo !" K 146 FRITHIL. XXVIII. " Henceforth these groves shall sound the nioumful tale The Lake of Mey shall bear my lover's name ; And when with him I slivmber in the vale, His wrongs and mine shall every wood proclaim !" FRAOCH. 147 XXVIII. Air an doire thug iad ainm 'S Loch-AIaidhe air an Loch, Far am biodh a bheist gach uaii-, 'S a craos suas ris an dos. 148 EXTRACT FROM DERMID. EXTRACT FROM DERMID. IN KENNEDY S MANUSCRIPT COLLECTION. I. Thine eye was bluer than the berry On the declivity of the mountain ; And milder the play of thine eyelids Than the gentle breeze through the upland grass. 11. Like the beams of the sun was thy hair, Waving in auburn ringlets ; Thy skia was white as the foam : Youth ! would thou hadst died on the battle-field I III. Mournful am I without the sound of joy, But the notes of sorrow ever sounding ; The musical cruit of sweetest strain Will never again wake my heart to joy. AS-TARRUINN o' DHIARMAD. 149 AS-TARRUINN 0' DHIARMAD. BHO LEABHAR SGRIOBHAIDH LE D. C. Bu ghuinne do shuil na'n dearc Air uilein nan leacan arda 'S bu cliiidne iomairt do rosg, Na seimh osag air feur faire. II. Mar dhrisinne greine t' fhalt, Am-lubach, cas-lubach, ar-bhuidh ; Tha do cbneas cho geal 'san cobhar, A laoich ! nacb d' fhoghainn na blair dhut ! .III. 'S dubhach mi gun iolach sholais, Ach turse bhroin a' sior eubbacli A chruit chiuil is biane mire, Clia diiisg mo cbridhe gu h-eibhneas ! i 50 EXTRACT FROM DERMIO. IV. My spirit has sunk into the gulph of waters, Joyless and without repose, amidst their munnuring ; Constantly I meditate upon thy manners, ! my arrow- wound of grief without cure ! V. Never more shall I listen to thy converse, Sweeter to me than the music of bards, Or the thi-ush in the valleys of solitude : For ever sad hast thou left my heart. VI. Never more shall thy countenance be seen Shining in the Tower of Connal. Alas ! I am under a flood of dread — When, my love ! shall light beam on thee ? VII. Dark is thy dwelling under the sod ; Narrow and frozen is thy lonely bed •; No morning will shine till the last. That shall awake my love from his slumber ! AS-TARRUINN O DHIARMAD. IV. Thuit m' aigneadli 'san aigeal stuadhach Gun cUos no suaimhneas a' garraich ; A sior cliiiimhneacha' do nosan, Och ! mo threogliaid bhruin guu abliachd ! Olia cliluinn mi tuille do chomhra' Bu bhinue na ceol nam filidh, No 'n smeorach 'sna gleannain fasaich 'S dubh a dh' fhag gu brath mo chridhe. VI. Nis mo ch'an fhaicear do ghnuis, A dhealradh gu h-ur an tur Chonail ; Ochoin ! mi fo thuUteach ghabhaidh, C'uin a tbig a gbraidh ort solus 1 VII. 'S dorcba do bhruthan fo 'n f hod, 'S cumbann, reot, do leabaidb lom ; Cha dhealraich madainn ga la bhratb A dhuisgeas mo gbi'adh an Sonn ! EXTRACTS GAUL. The lovers of Celtic literature are indebted to Dr Smith of Campbeltown for the preservation of this composition of Ossian, which, not only for high and impassioned poetry, but for delicacy and refinement of sentiment and fooling, is inferior to none of those translated by Jlacpherson. The ori- ginal will be found entire in Dr Smith's " Sean Dana," and a translation into English by that compiler, in",his " Gaelic Antiquities." In making mention of these works, (published in 1780 and 1787,) their unmerited ne- glect may be noticed as a cause of surprise as much as regret, especially wlien we consider the reception which Macpherson's translation met with, — a translator who, unlike Dr Smith, has on many occasions forfeited the praise due to literary integrity.* In selecting a few passages for insertion in the present collection, the translator has followed the choice made by Henry Mackenzie, and embodied by him in the Report which he drew up concerning the authenticity of the poems of Ossian. Being fragmentary, it has been deemed superfluous to adhibit the corresponding Gaelic, and, from the peculiar style of the ori- ginal, wliich, if it cannot bo accounted blank verse, is very irregular and imperfect in numbers, it has been found impossible to render it in English rhyme without considerable deviation. The passages are therefore given • Dr Smith, in corresponfllng with Henry Mackenzie, as Chairman of the Committee of the Higlilnnd Society appointed to inquire into the authenticity of Ossian "s poems, said that lie had been so much disgusted with the reception of bis book as to have long banished the remembrance from his mind ; and that lie had not even kept a copy for his own use, to which he might refer for an answer to liis queries. Report^ p. GO. EXTRACTS FROM GAUL. 153 literally, and line for line with the Gaelic. Some discrepancies from Ur Smith's translation will be discovered in words and lines ; but it is humbly submitted that they will be allowed a preference on strict comparison with the original. The preceding remarks apply also to the succeeding fragment from the " Lament for Ossian," which, as it is inserted less for the sake of its poetry than for the information it conveys regarding the manners of the Fingal- ians, has less claim to an effort at versification. It has been deemed expedient to insert here a synopsis of the entire poem, to give the reader an idea of the continuity of the narrative : — Fingal summoned his heroes for an expedition to the Isle of Ifrona. A flood in the river Strumon prevented Gaul from joining them in time ; but he embarked in his ship, alone, on the succeeding day. On his voyage, however, he passed his friends, who were returning with victory, unper- ceived, and landed singly on the hostile shore. According to the chival- rous idea of those times, he would not fly, but struck his shield as a token of defiance to the islanders, against whom he singly maintained a desperate conflict, till, fearful of a near approach, they rolled a stone from above, which, striking his thigh, disabled him from moving ; and there he was left by his enemies, dastardly alike and cruel, to pine and die. His wife Evir- choma, anxious for his fate, embarked in a skiff', with her infant son Ogall at her breast, in quest of her lord, whom she found in the pitiable situation described, and was able to carry to her boat, where they were discovered next morning by Ossian, who had sailed in quest of them, speechless and dying. He was only able to save the child. 154 EXTRACTS FROM GAUL. EXTRACTS FROM GAUL. OPENING OF THE POEM. How mournful is tlie silence of Night When she pours her dark clouds over the valleys ! Sleep has overcome the youth of the chace : He slumbers on the heath, and his dog at his knee. The children of the mountain he pursues In his dream, whUe sleep forsakes him. Slumber, ye children of fatigue ; Star after star is now ascending the height. Slumber ! thou swift dog and nimble, — Ossian will arouse thee not from thy repose. Lonely I keep watch, — And dear to me is the gloom of night When I travel from glen to glen. With no hope to behold a morning or brightness. Spare thy light, Sun ! Waste not thy lamps so fast. Generous is thy soul, as the King of Morven's : EXTRACTS FROM GAUL. 155 But thy renown shall yet fade ; — Spare thy lamps of a thousand flames In thy blue hall, when thou retirest Under thy dark -blue gates to sleep, Beneath the dark embraces of the storm. Spare them, ere thou art forsaken for ever, As I am, without one whom I may love ! Spare them, — ^for there is not a hero now To behold the blue flame of the beautiful lamps ! Ah, Cona of the precious lights, Thy lamps burn dimly now : * Thou ai-t like a blasted oak : Thy dwellings and thy people are gone : East or west, on the face of thy mountain, There shall no more be found of them but the trace ! In Selma, Tara, or Temora There is not a song, a shell, or a harp ; They have all become green mounds ; Their stones have fallen into their own meadows ; The stranger from the deep or the desert WiU never behold them rise above the clouds. And, Sehna ! home of my delight, Is this heap thy ruin, Where grows the thistle, the heather, and the wild grass ? * Alluding to the degenerate condition of the Fingalians. 156 EXTRACTS FROM GAUL. Sorrowful under the drops of night, Around my hoary locks, Fhitters the soHtary owl ; And the roe leaps from her couch, Fearless of sorrowful Ossian. Roe of the hollow cam Where Oscar and Fingal have dwelt, I will not do thee harm ; Never shall my weapon wound thee. To the height of Selma I stretch my hand ; But my home has no roof but the sky ! I seek my broad shield below, — ■ The point of my spear has struck its boss : — Soimding boss of the battles ! I yet rejoice in thy sound ; It awakes the days that are past, And, in spite of age, my soul bounds • — But away with the thoughts of war : My spear is turned into a staff' ; It shall strike the bossy shield no more : — But what sound is this which awakened it ? A fragment of an age-worn shield ; Its form is like the waning moon. EXTRACTS FROM GAUL. 157 It is the shield of Gaul, — The shield of the companion of my excellent Oscar. But what is this that sinks my soul into gloom ? Often, Oscar, hast thou received thy fame ; But the hero of thy love shall now be the theme of song ; Alalvina, with thy harp, be near ! DESCRIPTION OF EVIHCHOMA WITNESSING THE DEPARTURE OF HER HUSBAND. In a hght ship on raging billows, The hero followed us on the second morrow. But who is yonder on the rock, like mist. Looking on Gaul through her tears ? Her dark hair is waving in the wind ; Her tender hand, like foam, among her locks. Young is the son on her bosom ; Sweet is her hum in his ear ; But the blast has wafted away the song. On Gaul, Evirchoma, thy love is fixed ! 158 EXTRACTS FROM GAUL. OAUL'S TENDER RECOLLECTION OF HIS WIFE AND CHILD, WHICH CROSSES FOR A MOMENT THE STERN UNYIELDING RESOLUTION NOT TO TURN HIS BACK ON HIS FOES. WHICH, WITH THE SUPERSTITION OF THOSE HEROIC TIMES HE SUPPOSES WOULD GIVE ANGUISH AND SHAME TO THE SPIRIT OF HIS BRAVE FATHER, MORNL Momi ! look down on me from the height. Thy own soul was like the rapid stream Beneath the white-crested foam of the boisterous strait. So is the soul of thy son ! — Evirchoma ! — Ogall ! — But the dear glimpse is not pleasant to the storm ; The soul of Gaul is in the roar of battle ! Alas ! that Ossian, the son of Fingal, is not with me. As he was in the time of Macnutha ; — ' But my own soul is as a spirit of dread That travels alone on the swelling seas, — Pours a thousand waves on the trembling Isle, And rides again in the chariot of the winds ! THE ANXIETY OF EVIRCHOMA. What has detained thee, my love ! More than the others, in Ifrona ? I am solitary on the shelving rock, And Echo answers to my voice. EXTRACTS FEOM GAUL, 159 Mightst thou not now have returned Though stress of sea had come over thee, Thy thoughts being on the child of thy love, Who pours Avith me the hea-\7 sigh 1 Alas ! that thou dost not hear, my love, The broken lisp of thy name From the mouth of Ogall to speed thee home ! But I fear thou wilt never return ! EVIUCHOMA'S PERPLEXITY BETWEEN HKR DESIRE TO GO TO THE ASSISTANCE OF HER HUSBAND, AND HER FEAR OF LEAVING HER INFANT BEHIND HER IN THE BOAT. She glanced by the scanty beam On the beautiful face of her son, When about to leave him in the narrow skiff. " Babe of my love ! be here unseen !" As a dove on the Rock of Ulacha, Gathering berries for her little brood, Often returns without tasting them When rises the hawk in her thoughts ; — So three times returned Evirchoma. Her soul as a wave that is tossed From breaker to breaker, when the tempest blows, Till she heard a voice of grief from the tree on the beach. 160 EXTRACTS FROM GAUL, THE DBATH OP EVIRCHOMA. His helmet was raised ; his locks were seen, Disordered and in sweat. My own grief awoke, And he raised with difficulty his eye. Death came like a cloud on the sun ; — No more canst thou behold thy Oscar ! The loveliness of Evirchoma is darkened. Her son holds the end of a spear, unconscious of grief. Feeble was her voice, and few her words : I raised her with my hand ; — But she laid my palm on the bead of her son, Her sighs lising incessantly. Dear child, vain is thy fondling — Thy mother no more shall arise : I shall myself be a father to thee ; But Evirallin * is no more, And who can supply the place of Evirchoma ! I feel the meltings of my soul retiu-n — ' But why remember the sorrows that are past / Yet mournfully pleasant is their memory ! * The wife of Ossian. £XTKACTS FROM GAUL. 161 CONCLUSION OF THE POEM. FINOAL'S LAMENTATION OVER OAUL. What is the strength of the warrior, Though he scatter, as withered leaves, the battle ? To-day, though he be valiant in the field, To-morrow, the beetle wiU prevail over him ! Prepare, children of musical strings, The Bed of Gaul, and his sun-beam * near him, Where his resting-place may be seen from afar, With lofty branches shading it ; Beneath the shelter of the oak of bluest foliage, Of quickest growth, and most lasting hue. That poureth its leaves on the breath of the shower, WhUe the fields around it are blasted. Its leaves from the boundaries of the land Shall the birds of summer behold, And every bird, as it arrives,, shall perch On the top of its verdant boughs ; Gaul, in his mist, shall hear their warbling, While virgins are singing of Evirchoma. * The commou term for a standard, L 162 EXTRACTS FROM GAUL, Until each of these shall perish Thy memory shall not be disunited : — Until the rock moulder into dust, And this tree decay with age ; Until the brooks cease to run, And the source of the mountain waters be dried up ; Until there bo lost in the flood of age Every bard, and song, and subject of stor)', The stranger shall not ask, " Who is the son of Morni ?" Or, " Where is the dwelling of the King of Strumon ?" EXTRACT FROM BAS OISEIN. 163 EXTRACT FROM BAS OISEIN, (the death of ossian.) IN KENNEDY'S MANUSCRIPT COLLECTION. THE MANNERS OF THE HEROES OF FINGAL. It is mournful to be to-night in the vale of Cona, Without the voice of hound, and without music ! My heart is no longer cheerful, — I am truly the old man and the feeble. When we travelled to the vale of Cona, Pleasant were our melodies by the way ; Many were the men of worth among us ; We were ever unwilling to oftend. When we ascended the heights of Cona There were many, far and near, To subdue the hart and the hind, Many hundreds of which were never to rise. 164 EXTRACT FROM BAS OISEIN. Many were the heroes, when called upon, To ascend the mountain with speed ; Each with a naked spear in his grasp ; A great sword and a shield. Then did my beloved Fingal with his fifty chiefs Meet in the lofty court : His sun-beam, displayed on its staff. Waved over them — a banner of victory ! Thence they would disperse afar By the steeps of the mountain — The powerful, courageous bands of Fingal : Their bows ready in their grasp. When the deer arose We let slip our hounds in hundreds ; Many a hart, roe, and hind Fell, as far as 1 could view. With our mountain spoils we returned at eve To Tara of musical strings, Where cruit and harp prevailed, With many a bard to sing the tale. EXTEACT FROM BAS OISEIN. 165 Many a shell circled then, Many were the new songs sung together, Whilst the feast was consuming in the tower. Beautiful and young were the Fingalian heroes. Joyful were they in their accustomed course, Musical, elegant, comely, valiant. With wine, and flesh, their meed, — Who were well beloved, and averse to falsehood. The heroes, lovely, strong, and friendly, Of great compassion and extensive fame. Were generous and hospitable, and ever eager To shield the stranger afar from his home. In the day of battle, on the field of strife, Mightier men never were heard of ; They would engage a man and a hundred ; Each Fingalian hero was a chief. We never moved with reluctance To give the impetuous battle, That the forlorn might have the protection of valour, And the wounded stranger the shelter of our shield. 166 EXTRACT FROM HAS OISEIN. The numbers tbat were in my time, In Tara of the sweet-sounding strings, Were fourteen hundred and fifty : Dear friends of little blame, Without reckoning the young King of Innisfail- The wounded — the young virgins — And the youths who attended the weapons. Alas ! weak am I under grief, Travelling the world to and fro, And cannot discover one like Fingal. In generosity and good fortune None was ever found to surpass him. The heroes have gone to the sunless grave ; 'Tis that has left mine eye as mist ; I am like a wounded bird of the forest ; I am comfortless, and weep in the hall : Without sight, without ofispring, or joy. Like the tree that has ceased to grow, Or the nut in its withered husk. That is about to fall to the ground. EXTRACT FROM BAS OISEIN. 167 Grievous it is to the sorrowful heart That it cannot derive comfort from a friend. Like the dying hart is my form,' — My voice sinks under the dew of night ! 168 OSSIAN S ADDRESS TO THE SUN. OSSIAN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN. FROM THE ORIGINAL. ! THOU who travellest on high — Round as the shield of chiefs of might ! Whence is thy brightness ever gay ? And whence, Sun ! thy lasting light ? II. In powerful beauty mounting high, The stars, retiiing, own thee brave ; The moon, enfeebled, leaves the sky, To hide her in the western wave. III. Thou in thy journey art alone ; Thee to approach there's none so bold ; From mountain height the oak has gone, And rocks give way when they are old ; DUAN DO'n GHEEIN. 169 DUAN DO'N GHREIN. LE OlSEIN. I. Thusa fein a shiubh'las shuas ! Cruiun mar lann-sciath chruaidh na'n triatli, Cia as a tha do dhearsa gun ghruaim, Do sholus a tha buan a ghrian ? II. Thig thu ann ad' aille threin, A's falaichidh reultan uainn an triaU, Theid gealach gun tuar o'n speur, 'G a cleith fein fudh stuaidli 's an iar. III. Tha thusa ann ad astar amhain, Co tha dana bhi 'n ad choir ? Tuitidh dai-ag o'n chruaich aird, Tuitidh earn fudh aois, a's scorr ; 170 ossian's address to the sun. IV. Tlie ocean ebbs and flows again ; The moon is lost in upper skies ; — But thou thy victory dost maintain — Glad in thy light that never dies ! When dark'ning storms the world surround, '\\Tien thunders roll, and lightnings fly, Thou look'st in beauty from the sound, And smilest in the troubled sky ! VI. But ah ! for me thy light has ceased : Thy count'nance I behold no more — What time thy yellow locks invest With gold the clouds o'er eastern shores, Or when thou treniblest in the west In Ocean, at thy dusky doors ! VII. But it may be, my fate is thine ; The mighty, once, enfeebled grows ; From airy heights our years decline. And travel quickly to their close : — DUAN DO'n GHREiy. 171 IV. Traighidli, agus lionaidh an cuan, Caillear shuas an Re san speur, — Thusa d'aon a chaoidh fudh bhuaidh An aoiblineas buan do sholuis fein ! V. 'Nuair a dhubhas mu'n domhan stoirm, Le torran borb, a's dealan beithr' Seallaidh tu a' d' aill o'n toirm, Fiamhghair ort am bruaidlean nan speur. VI. Dhom-sa tba do sholus faoin, "S nach faic nu a cbaoidh do glinuis ; iSgaoileadh ciul, a's orbhuidh' ciabh, Air aghaidh nan nial san oir ; Na'n uair a cliritlieas ann san iar, Aig do dhorsaibh. ciar air lear. VII. Ach d'fhaodadh gu'm bheil tbu mar mi fein, 'S an am gu treun, 's gun fheum an am, Ar bliadhnaibh a' teaniadh o'n speur, Ag siubhal le cheile gu'n ceann. 172 ossian's address to the sun. VIII. Rejoice, then, in thy youth, Sun ! Rejoice, King ! whilst in thy might Old age will dark and cheerless run, Like to the moon's vain, feeble light, IX. When through a cloud she scans the waste ; Or like the mist on mountain face ; Or on the plain the northern blast ; Or the slow traveller in distress. DUAN DON GHREIN. 173 VIII. Biodh aoibhneas ort fein, a ghriau ! A's tu neartmhor, a tliriath, ad oige. 'S dorcha mi-thaitneach an aois, Mar sholus faoin an Re gun chail, IX. 'S i sealltuin o neoil air an raon ; San liath cheo air thaobh nan earn ; An osag o thuath air an reith ; Fearsiubhail fudh breid, 's e mall. 174 ULLIN S ADDRESS TO THE SUN. ULLIN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN. FROM THE ORIGINAL. Hast left thy deep-Hue pathway in the height, Thou Sun, unblemished, of the golden hair ? Soon wilt thou pass the dusky doors of night, To seek the West — thy resting halls are there I The timid waves come slowly round to view The bright-faced one, and raise their heads with fear. They see thy beauty when thou slumber'st, too, And weakly speed — afraid to linger near ! Take thou, Sun ! thy rest without annoy ; And may thy steps, returning, be in joy ! DUAN EILE DO N GHREIN, 175 DUAN EILE DO'N GHREI2s\ LE ULAIN. An d'fhag thu gorm astar nan speur, A mhic gun bheud, a's or-bhuidh ciabli ? Tha dorsa na h-oiche dliiiit reidh, Agus pailliim do thainih san iar. Thig na stuaidh mu'n cuairt gu mall, A choimhead an fhir, a's glaine gruaidh, Ag togail fo eagal an ceann, Re d'fhaicinn co aill' a'd' sbuaia. Teichidh iadsa gun tuar o d' thaobh. Gabhsa codal na d'cbos tha dorch, A ghrian ! as pill an tos le eibhneas. 176 MALVINA S DREAM. MALVINA'S DREAM. FROM THE ORIGINAL. It was the dear voice of my love ! He came to me on smiling beams ; wherefore does his presence move So seldom to Malvina's dreams ? II. But I am tired of lingering here, Fathers of Toscar ! hear my call Malvina's hast'ning steps are near- Open for me your airy hall ! III. I heard his dear voice in my dream ! I feel the fluttering of my soul ; Soon shall Ms presence more than seem ; Soon shall I leave this cold control ! ft) MALVINA S DREAM. IV. 177 Why didst thou oome, cruel breeze, From gloomy waves, to cause my smart V Thy wild wing rustled in the trees, And bade Malvina's dream depart ! V. But she, the while, beheld her love ; His robe of mist did >vinds unfold ; His skirts with sun-beams were inwove : They glittered like the stranger's gold. VI. It was the voice I loved so well ! Though few to me thy visits be, Yet in my spirit dost thou dwell, son of Ossiau, lost to me ! VII. Does morning gild the azure height l — Its earliest beams my sighs attend ; Does evening moist the paths of night '?- 0, with its dews my tears descend ! M 178 malvina's dream. VIII. Oscar ! I seemed, ere joy was past, When in thy sight, a pleasant tree. Till death came like a desert blast, And bore thy life and love from me ! IX. Spring brought again its gentle showers, But not a leaf of mine arose ; And summer spread again its flowers. But still Malvina felt her woes ! X. The maidens marked my soul's annoy ; They saw me silent in the haU ; They, friendly, touched the harp of joy, But still Malvina's tears would fall ! XI. " And why," they said, " art thou forlorn ;- Thou first of Lutha's maids so bright ? 0, he was lovely as the morn ; And he was stately in thy sight !" AISLIN MIIALMHINE. • 179 AISLIN MHALMHINE. 'S E guth anaim nio ruin a tha 'nn ! 's ainmach gii aislin Mhalmhin' thu ! Fosgluibh-se talla nan speur, Aithra Oscair nan cruaidh-bheum ; Fosgluibh-se doirsa nan nial Tha ceumma Mhalmhine gu dian ! Chualam guth a' m' aislin fein, Tha fathrum mo chleibh go ard ! C'uime thanic an ossag a' m' dheigh dhubh-shiubhal na linne od thaU ? Bha do sgiath f huimnach ann gallan an aonaich, Shiubhall aislin Mhabnhine go dian. o^ Ach chunic is' a rain ag aomadh, 'S a cheo-earradh ag aomadh m' a cUiabh Bha dearsa na greine air thaobh ris Co boisgal ri or nan daimh. 0J5M 'Se guth anaim mo ruin a tha 'nu ! ! 's ainmach gu m' aislin fein thu ! 'S comhnuidh dhuit anam Mhalmhine — Mhic Ossain is treine lamh ! lliO AISLIN MHALMHINE. Dh'eirich m' osna marri dearsa o near ; Thaom mo dheoir measg shioladh na h'oiche ! Bu ghallan aluin a't fhianuis mi, Oscair ! Le m' iiile gheuga uaine ma m' thiomchiol : Acli thanic do bhas-sa mar osaig O'n fhasach, us dhaom mi sios. Thanic earrach le sioladh nan speur, Clia d'eirich duill' uaine dhanih fein ! Chunic oiglia me samhach 's an talla Agus bhuail iad clarsach nan fonn ; Bha deoir ag taomadh le gruaidhan Mhalmhine ; Chunic oigh me 's mo thuiradh gu trom : — " C uimc am bheU thu co tuirsach, a' m' fhianuis Chaomh Ainnir-og Luath-ath nan smth 1 An ro 6 sgiamhach mar dhearsa na gi'eine ? Am bu cho tlachdor a' shiubhal 's a chruth ?" THE END. Jamu BnvDONE, 17 South Hanover Street, EiUnburgli. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY This book is DUE on the last date stamped below lW M 2 3 1973 Kr /|UG V - 1973 ID U^ SEP 3 1973 Form L-P l^C SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 381 166