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 ARRAN: A POEM. 
 
 IN SIX CANTOS. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 REV. DAVID LANDSBOROUGH, 
 
 MINISTER or STEVENSTON. 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD, EDINBURGH : AND 
 T. CADELL, STRAND, LONDON. 
 
 MDCCCXXVIII.
 
 ?K 
 
 
 TO 
 
 SIR WILLIAM MILLER, BARONET, 
 
 OF GLENLEE, 
 
 ONK OF THE SENATORS 
 
 OF THE COLLEGE OF JUSTICE, 
 
 THE FOLLOWING POEM, 
 
 AS A SMALL TRIBUTE 
 
 OF GRATITUDE AND OF RESPECTFUL AFFECTION, 
 
 IS HUMBLY INSCRIBED 
 
 BY THE 
 
 AUTHOR. 
 
 S17898
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 As I was one day admiring in an album a very beautiful 
 little view of Ardrossan, with Airan in the back ground, the 
 lady to whom tlie album belonged asked me to write some 
 lines under the view *. Though one or two unsuccessful at- 
 tempts to write verses, Avhen I was a young student, had 
 forced me to say with a sigh, " Po'dta nascitur, non fit" I 
 nevertheless jestingly replied, that I would try ; and as some 
 sentences sounding like blank verse occurred to me that 
 evening, I set to work, and wrote as a description of the 
 drawing, what forms the commencement of the following 
 Poem. Pleased to find that I could write what at least had 
 the appearance of Poetry, I continued occasionally to indulge 
 in this new intellectual amusement, till the Poem reached 
 
 * The view was by my friend Robert Henrv, Esq., who has kincUy 
 furnished me with one somewhat similar, as a vignette for the title-page of 
 this work.
 
 X PREFACE. 
 
 its present size. It is of a very rambling descrijjtion ; for it 
 was written without plan, and considered as ended every 
 time that a Canto came to a close; but scarcely had I 
 entered the harbour, till off I set on another pleasure cruize, 
 willingly spreading my sails to every breeze that blew, till 
 at times I almost lost sight of Arran. 
 
 If the work should prove uninteresting, it must be from 
 lack of genius in the author, and not from want of dignity in 
 the subject ; for Arran, in every sense of the word, is a lofty 
 theme. And if those who have lisped in numbers should dis- 
 cover much that is imcouth and awkward in my measures, 
 and movements, and modulations, I can only say, that I 
 have done my best ; and that the little work, with all its 
 imperfections, is what " multa litura coercuit.*' 
 
 I have nt)t attempted to scale Parnassus ; but I have ven- 
 tured to ascend a Highland lull, as far as my untrained limbs 
 would carry me : and if those v.h<> visit this mountain-land 
 would allow that I have reared on one of its sunny braes, 
 not a proud pavilion, but a small sheeling, or mossy bower ; 
 and if they would deign to enter my lowly cot, and to par- 
 take of such cheer as the habitation can furnish, I need not
 
 PREFACE. XI 
 
 assure them that I would be mightily gratified. There may 
 be little to eat but the wild berries of the mountain ; and 
 little to drink but the milk or the whey of the goats : and 
 though this food may appear plain to those accustomed to 
 rich clusters of the purple grape ; and though this beverage 
 may want the exhilarating power of the balmy wine of Chios, 
 aiid the still more elevating influence of the limpid waters of 
 the Castalian spring ; yet, if, like good-natured travellers, 
 they would taste the simple fare, I hope they may find that 
 it is not altogether linpalatable : and if the little sheeling 
 contain a single quaighful of pure mountain dew to enliven 
 the repast, it shall assuredly be given with all the hearty 
 good will of Highland hospitality. 
 
 Manse of Stevenston, 
 nth Feb. 1828.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Pages. 
 Cakto 1 3 
 
 Canto II 21 
 
 Canto III 45 
 
 Canto IV 65 
 
 Canto V 89 
 
 Canto VI 117 
 
 Notes to Canto I. 141 
 
 Notes to Canto II 145 
 
 Notes to Canto III 147 
 
 Notes to Canto IV 153 
 
 Notes to Canto V 159 
 
 Notes to Canto VI 164
 
 A R K A N. 
 
 CANTO I.
 
 View from Ardrossan Manse— Ardrossan Castle— Villas — Harbour- 
 Sea — Steam-boat. — Arran — Reasons foi liking Arran— Inland 
 Scenery of Arran— suited to those who love solitude — solitude 
 wished when we contemplate the sublime Works of Man — still 
 more, when we contemplate the sublime Works of God — The wild 
 Scenery between Ben-noosh and Ben-varen— Glen-erza — The Sun- 
 dew—Mercy of God— Distant View from the top of Goatfell— View 
 of the surrounding Peaks and Glens.
 
 ARRAN. 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 In bold baronial state thou nobly standst ; 
 
 And fairer scene not Grecia's classic coast 
 
 Nor the Egean Sea's romantic isles 
 
 Did e'er exhibit. There thy castle hoar. 
 
 Though marked like warrior old with many scars, 
 
 Still shews his noble bearing : still his mien 
 
 Is chivalrously bold, — though mellowed now 
 
 By many ages of profound repose. 
 
 Sole vestige of the days of other years, 
 
 In antique mantle clad, like aged sire 
 
 He views with latent pride his daughters fair 
 
 In gay array circling the healthful shore ; 
 
 Or with fond rev'rence gathering round his feet 
 
 Asking the blessing which a father's heart 
 
 Delights to give his lovely progeny.
 
 4 ARRAN. 
 
 There like adventurous IMercy's rescuing arm 
 Stretches the pier into the boisterous sea ; 
 Which — oft as scowling skies and angry floods 
 Threaten to mix in elemental broil — 
 The exhausted sailor seeks ; and having 'scaped 
 The strife and peril dire, with grateful heart 
 Invokes a blessing on the generous arm, 
 Which with a giant's might wrenched from their base '■ 
 The rocky bills, long everlasting deemed ; 
 And reared with noblest purpose in the deep 
 A surer monument of public worth 
 Than sculptured bust, or regal cenotaph. 
 
 Therepliesthesmoking steam-boat, which,withpowyi 
 
 Like his whose magic touch and wizard skill * 
 Keeps thus in close, but sweetest bondage bound. 
 Castle, and town, and sea, and mountain wild :— 
 Brings to our homes what late were foreign lands ; 
 And binds with happy tie to kindred shores 
 Islands which floated long in lonely pride. 
 Amidst the waters of the western main. 
 
 * The poem begins with a description of a beautiful Utile drawing in 
 an album.
 
 ARRAN. a 
 
 And thou majestic Arran ! ^ dearest far 
 Of all the isles, on which the setting sun 
 In golden glory smiles ; Queen of the West, 
 And Daughter of the Waves ! there art thou too. 
 Rearing aloft thy proud aerial brow. 
 Claiming the homage of admiring lands. 
 O'er a wide range of tributary shores. 
 
 Thee much I love ; partly I wot, because 
 I've oft explored thy glens and tangled brakes. 
 Where every bank blooms with the primrose pale. 
 And drooping hyacinth ; or where amidst 
 Her ensiformal leaves, on stately stem, 
 Sweet Epipactis ^, rarest of thy plants. 
 Builds up her pyramid of snowy gems. — 
 
 Thee much I love ; because I've often climbed 
 Thy mountains brown, and scaled their towering peaks. 
 Where high 'midst rocky battlements sublime, 
 Flora conceals from reach of vulgar gaze. 
 The loveliest of her fair, but fleeting race. — 
 And whence in panoramic view beheld 
 Far as the eye can reach are Scotia's Isles ; 
 
 I
 
 6 ARRAN. 
 
 And intervening seas ; and mountains blue ; 
 And fertile vales, far as Edina's towers. 
 Whence, too, are seen in varied shades and hues, 
 Erin's green shores ; and IMona's * distant hills ; 
 And merry England's coast ; like summer clouds. 
 Softly commingling with the azure sky. — 
 
 Thee much I love ; because in roaming through 
 Thy scenery wild, healthy — I healthier felt ; 
 Breathing the air, which breathes the hardy Gael, 
 I seemed t' inhale part of that Gaelic fire, 
 Which kindling midst the thunderbolts of war. 
 Nerves his dread arm, and prompts his fearless heart. 
 To deeds of more than Greek or Roman fame : — 
 Or, when the sound of war is heard no more. 
 Gleams in his glistening eye, mid distant lands. 
 At thought of kindred, and of Highland home. — 
 
 But dearer art thou far, beloved land. 
 Because when to thy shores I trembling bore 
 Her whom I value more than all the wealth 
 Which wealthiest lands, or richest seas can yield ; 
 Though pale as Parian marble was her cheek,
 
 ARRAN. 7 
 
 Feeble her pulse, and sunk her languid eye ; — 
 Soon did her eye rekindle ; soon her pulse 
 Returning health proclaimed ; while o'er her cheek 
 Life woke afresh the lovely hues of youth ; 
 And soon my anxious fears were put to flight 
 By gladdening hopes, and glowing gratitude. 
 
 O may we better love that Power benign 
 To whom we owe our blessings ; — may we live 
 By faith in Him who died, yet conquered death : 
 Then, when these villas fair, and mountains wild. 
 And tower and pier are gone ; when the last wave 
 Has kissed in long farewell the blazing shore, 
 And sighing sunk into eternal sleep ; — 
 Scenes sweeter far than these, sweet though they be. 
 Beyond the grave shall open ; then the ties 
 Which fond aflFection still more closely bound. 
 Till death dissevered them, — shall be renewed j 
 Then they who meet, shall never part again ; 
 But live in everlasting youth and bliss, 
 With Him who is their light, and life, and joy. 
 Their robe of righteousness ; — their radiant crown.
 
 8 ARRAN. 
 
 Heaven is our country then, our Father's home 
 Yet He who bids us look beyond the grave. 
 For skies unclouded, and perpetual spring. 
 Forbids us not to ponder with delight 
 On this fair earth, which, for the sake of man. 
 He has with such magnificence adorned. — 
 And what more fitted to excite delight 
 Than what lies spread before our wondering eyes r 
 
 Arran, thy very name, like potent spell, 
 Fills the rapt mind with recollections sweet 
 Of happy hours spent on thy healthful shores. 
 With those whose presence would have spread a charm 
 O'er shores devoid of native charms like thine. 
 
 But thou majestic land canst furnish scenes 
 Not for the blessed alone, who love to dwell 
 In happy bowers, or in romantic dells. 
 Where all around is lovely, and where all 
 Seems to partake with them of blessedness. 
 How many scenes hast thou, fit for the wight 
 Who loves to leave the busy haunts of men, 
 And far from all that's soft, and all that's fair.
 
 ARRAN. "9 
 
 In utter loneliness t' explore the wilds. 
 
 Where 'midst her savage grandeur. Nature reigns- 
 
 And oft in solitude we most enjoy 
 Whate'er is grand in nature or in art. 
 If placed amidst Palmyra's ancient walls, 
 'Mong ruined towers and roofless palaces ; 
 And marble temples mingling with the dust ; 
 And shattered columns, and rich architraves ; 
 Bearing the deep impress of noble minds, 
 Which panted long for an immortal name ; — 
 Amidst these mouldering monuments of art 
 Which kings might covet, and with boundless wealth 
 Might seek, and seek in vain to imitate ; — 
 O who would wish the deathlike silence broken 
 By gentlest whisper ? or the solitude — 
 Which 'midst this scene of desolation reigns — 
 Even by the presence of a friend disturbed ? 
 
 How solemn and affecting to contrast 
 The times that have been, with the times that are : 
 Where now are they who reared these noble piles ? 
 And where alas ! their proud inhabitants ?
 
 10 ARRAN. 
 
 Where now the sound of joy and revelry ? 
 
 And where the bustling crowds who filled these courts 
 
 Ere yet reluctant their heroic Queen 
 
 Had bent the neck to her ambitious foes. 
 
 And graced their triumph through the streets of Rome ? 
 
 All now are silent, as the silent grave ; 
 
 While we on cautious tiptoe glide along. 
 
 As if afraid to break the rest of those 
 
 Whom Heaven's terrific thunder cannot wake. 
 
 But if in solitude we most enjoy 
 The noblest ruins of the works of man ; 
 Much more does solitude enhance the charms 
 Adorning the sublimer works of God. 
 Who ever bent alone his devious course 
 From the rough base of dark Ben-noosh * ; athwart 
 The wild and savage tract which intervenes 
 Before you reach Ben-varen's t heath-clad heights ;-— 
 And passing bleak Glen-erza X, unadorned 
 Even by the humblest shrub, — could look unmoved 
 On the vast scene of utter solitude 
 
 * Gaelic, Beinn-nuis. \ Bemn-mharein. i Cleann-iarsa.
 
 ARRAN. 11 
 
 Wide spread around, untenanted by man ? 
 Where'er your eyes the vast extent survey, 
 Which hills of every form encompass round. 
 In vain you look for hamlets' humble walls ; 
 For curling smoke from peaceful cottage roof ; 
 Or for the trace of slightest change produced 
 On Nature's features by the hand of man. 
 All, all is still ; save when the savage scream 
 Of eagle echoes through the lonely sky, 
 Where, like dark speck, immoveable she hangs 
 In the blue vault ; — or when an aged deer- 
 Sole remnant of the herd — bounds nimbly by. 
 And turns with look of wonder and reproach 
 To gaze on the intruder. Seem you not. 
 When thus removed afar from haunts of men, 
 More awfully beneath God's sleepless eye ? 
 Seem you not forced to meet with Him alone. 
 And to hold converse with the King of kings ? 
 And in the presence of the Power Supreme, 
 Do you not shrink to utter nothingness. 
 An atom 'midst the mighty works of God ? 
 
 2
 
 12 arran. 
 
 Yet why should feeble man shrink from the God 
 Who made him ? or conclude himself forgotten ? 
 Or 'midst his works magnificent, — despised ? 
 God kindly cherishes the humblest plant. 
 Behold the lowly sundew ^ at thy feet. 
 There first I saw it where the Erza flows. 
 With gentle murm'rings from its parent lake : 
 And though alone in solitary place. 
 So loud were my expressions of delight, 
 That pensive Silence started on her throne, 
 And Echo murmured in her lonely dream. 
 'Tis not the sundew's flower which thus delights ; 
 Nor even the starlike aspect of the plant. 
 Spreading its leaves upon the verdant moss 
 In purple radiations. It is more 
 The rich magnificence of every leaf. 
 How splendid ; how superb their ornaments ! 
 How elegant their oval tapering form ! 
 Like precious pendant hung in Beauty's ear. 
 And what the lustre of the diamond pure 
 Polished by lapidary's skilful touch.
 
 ARK AX. 
 
 13 
 
 To the rich brilliancy of pensile gems, — 
 Of countless globules bright of viscid dew, 
 Which every spikelet of the leaves adorn. 
 
 And not for ornament alone but use. 
 These shining constellations : should a iiy 
 Ra-^hly presume to sip the sparkling dew, 
 Or leaflets fresh to crop, — she dies the death. 
 The viscous dew soon clogs her wings, and feet ; 
 And soon her mouldering form strengthens the plant 
 Which thus, when persecuted, better thrives '. 
 
 Is it not God who makes the sundew shine, 
 Thouo-h in the lonely wilderness unseen ? 
 And will then God unmindful be of Man 
 So fearfully and wonderfully made ; 
 And whom alone of all his works below 
 He has endoAved with an immortal soul ? 
 Of Man — for whom he freely gave his Son, 
 The brightness of his glory, who had dwelt 
 In his own bosom from eternal years ; — 
 Sent him in human form to a dark world 
 To rescue sinners from undying woe ; —
 
 14 ARRAN. 
 
 To wash them in his own atoning blood. 
 That with unfading brightness they may shine. 
 Even as his chosen jewels, in the day 
 When of the travail of his soul, he sees 
 The precious fruit, — and sees well satisfied. 
 
 And wilt thou flee, then, from the face of God, 
 Or seek to shun the great Deliverer ? 
 True, thou hast sinned against Him, — deeply sinned ; 
 But when he sent his Son to this lost world. 
 Opened he not a channel by liis death. 
 Through which abundantly his grace might flow ? — 
 In the deep solitude where now thou standst 
 By Heaven o'er-canopied, by hills inclosed. 
 Hold, then, sweet converse with the Lord thy God. 
 Believing in his Son, to thee he'll prove 
 The kindest Father, and the surest Friend. 
 In dangers He will round encompass thee ; 
 In darkness He will guide thy wandering steps ; 
 He'll keep thee as the apple of his eye ; 
 He'll lead thee safely through the wilderness ; 
 He'll comfort thee 'midst Jordan's troubled waves ;
 
 ARRAN. IS 
 
 And bring thee to Immanuel's happy land, 
 Where thou shalt reign with Christ for ever more. 
 
 If on the barren moor of wide extent. 
 The wanderer's mind is led to solemn thought, — 
 What are his feelings, when with eager step 
 He scales the peaks of Goatfell, and beholds 
 Within the extensive circuit of his gaze. 
 Not Caledonia's hills and vales alone ; 
 But the green margin of the Emerald Isle ; 
 And England's blue and distant boundaries ; 
 And ^vide extent of island-sprinkled sea. 
 Cast like a severing gulf 't\vixt neighbouring lands. 
 Till made by dexterous art of daring man. 
 The happy link uniting shore to shore. 
 
 But wilt thou, pilgrim, chain thy wondering gaze 
 To distant lands, however rich and fair. 
 When round the pinnacle thy steps have gained. 
 Is spread a matchless congregated mass. 
 Of rugged, wild, stupendous scenery ? 
 Look from the giddy height of proud Ben-Ghoil * 
 
 * Goatfell. Gael. Gaoth-bhein, mountain of winds.
 
 16 
 
 ARRAN. 
 
 Adown the rugged cliiFs precipitous. 
 
 Into the dark, and deep, and narrow chasms, 
 
 Those gulfs obscure, which from each other part 
 
 This vast assemblage of gigantic hills ; — 
 
 Look at the craggy peaks which rise around ; — 
 
 At the huge fragments of primeval rock, 
 
 Those vestiges of elemental war. 
 
 Which scattered lie ; the awful monuments 
 
 (As from remains organic some affirm) 
 
 Of former world, which God laid desolate ; — 
 
 Though how, or why, or when, we vainly guess,— 
 
 But by that plastic power at first employed. 
 
 When out of nothing he the fabric reared, — 
 
 Modelled anew the rude chaotic mass. 
 
 Into a suitable abode for man ; 
 
 Teaching our frail and transitory race. 
 
 That He who from the wreck of ruined world. 
 
 Could fashion this fair earth we now possess ; 
 
 Can from the dust our earthly frame upraise. 
 
 No more to be a tenement of clay. 
 
 But a fair palace fitted up by Christ,
 
 ARRAN. 17 
 
 Meet habitation for the ransomed soul 
 He died to rescue, and delights to bless. — 
 
 If with clear atmosphere, and cloudless sky 
 Thou 'st reached the summit of the sea-girt isle, 
 Well may'st thou look astonished at the scenes 
 Of wild magnificence that spread around. — 
 But not in hour serene of cloudless day, 
 When not a breath is felt of Zephyr bland, — 
 In mightiest grandeur do these wilds appear. 
 Visit these alpine heights when the dark sky 
 And hazy atmosphere have cast a veil 
 On all the distant scenes ; when even the sea 
 Circumfluent, and winding shores, are hid ; 
 When the blast howls among the mountain caves, 
 And the forked lightning from the murky clouds. 
 Which float like lurid smoke through the deep chasms, 
 Wrathfully flashes ; — and the thunder's roar 
 Growling reverberates from cliff to cliff ; — 
 Then view the scene terrific, and confess 
 That aught so awfully sublime till now 
 Thine eyes have never looked on. Think'st thou not
 
 18 ARRAN. 
 
 Of that dread hour when God to IMoses spake 
 From the thick darkness which his glory veiled. 
 When Sinai smoked and trembled ; and when struck 
 With holy awe, assembled Israel shrunk. 
 Afraid to listen to the voice of God ? 
 
 Or if less holy musings fill thy mind — 
 Dost thou not think before thee realized 
 The bold imaginings of Eden's bard 
 Pourtraying Satan and his rfibel host ', 
 'Mid the dread horrors of the burning lake ? 
 Seem not the rugged hills, obscurely seen. 
 Like fallen angels, even in ruins grand. 
 Their heads uplifting from the fiery gulf ; — 
 Gathering around their Chief in sullen pride. 
 Prepared to follow him in fierce array. 
 To blast the bloom of Paradise ; to spread 
 A cloud of darkness o'er the infant world. 
 And, but for love and mercy infinite. 
 To wrap in woe the destinies of man.
 
 ARRAN. 
 
 CANTO II.
 
 Ruins of a Cottage in Glen-Rosa seen from the top of Goatfell— once 
 inhabited by Nonnan and Mary — who had become attached to each 
 other at Brodwick School — Nonnan, when a stripling, goes to an 
 Uncle in East-Lothian. — His Uncle dies. — Norman returns — is mar- 
 ried to Mary — their happiness during the Summer and Autumn. — 
 Winter — first mild — then stormy — Snow-storm — Norman, and his 
 dog Oscar, go to look after the Sheep — do not return— Mary and 
 Martha go in search of them— hear Oscar— find Nonnan— Catas- 
 iroph^Conclusion.
 
 ARRAN. 21 
 
 CANTO 11. 
 
 Though sweet is solitude mid alpine wilds- 
 
 At noon^ or smiling mornj or balmy eve ; 
 
 Yet who woxild live alone ? Who from these heights 
 
 Does not, ere long, his wistful gaze direct 
 
 In search of home, — of that endeared abode,. 
 
 Where all the kind affections fondly dwell ; 
 
 Where tastes the heart its richest feast of love ; 
 
 While 'midst the overflowings of regard, 
 
 Eye speaks to eye, and heart to heart responds. 
 
 Pilgrim, though wide o'er hill and dale and sea 
 Have ranged thine eyes ; at last they seem to fix 
 On sweet Glen-Rosa, now perchance thy home, — 
 Thy temporary home, as mine it was 
 When first I scaled the summits of Ben Ghoil. 
 Yet ere thou downward wend o'er rocks on rocks
 
 22 ARRAN. 
 
 Primeval wildly piled ; and farther down 
 
 Through richly blooming heathy and fragrant gale*, 
 
 The myrtle of our wilds ; — approach the verge 
 
 Of that dread precipice j — with care approach, — 
 
 For one false step, — and downwards you are hurled, 
 
 Dashing from cliff to cliff. Athwart the chasm 
 
 Cast your exploring eyes to yon green point. 
 
 Which near Glen-Rosa, slopes into the brook. 
 
 See you these grassy mounds, where now the lambs 
 
 Career in sportive gambols ? There ^ once dwelt 
 
 In love, and peace, and joy, a youthful pair ; — 
 
 NoRJiAN and Mary ; to each other bound 
 
 In wedlock's happy ties ; — happy indeed. 
 
 When hearts they closer bind, whom changeless love. 
 
 Springing from piety and well-proved worth. 
 
 Has closely knit before. To Brodwick school. 
 
 In life's bright morn, together they had gone. 
 
 He in Glen-Sherig dwelt t ; she in Glen-Shant X ; 
 
 And soon he learned to mark at morning-tide 
 
 * Myrica gale. t Gleann.£earbhaig. i Gleann-sian.
 
 ARRAN. 2S 
 
 When irom the height, on which her home was placed, 
 
 Bounding like mountain kid, or gentle fawn, 
 
 She sought the crystal brook, along whose banks. 
 
 With hazel and with honeysuckle fringed. 
 
 Lay the sweet ^vinding path-way to the school. 
 
 That path he also sought, for even then 
 
 Had little modest Mary's mild dark eyes. 
 
 Beaming with kindness, touched young Norman's heart. 
 
 And could she him without some love regard. 
 
 Who proved her friend in every time of need } 
 
 O could she fail to love the blue-eyed boy. 
 
 Who smiled so sweetly, when she blushing rose. 
 
 By better scholarship, above her peers .-* 
 
 Could she but love him, when for her he plucked 
 
 The earliest primrose from the lap of spring ; 
 
 And searched with care each bank and bushy dell. 
 
 That he might shew her, where, in verdant thorn. 
 
 The meUow blackbird, and the mottled thrush, 
 
 Had built their artful nests ? or scaled the cliffs. 
 
 And thence rejoicing, to his IMary bore. 
 
 The juicy blaeberries, with azure tinge. 
 
 Or crystals of the rock, a richer prize .''
 
 24 ARRAN. 
 
 But schoolboy's happy days passed fleetly by. 
 And NoKMAN, — now a stripling stout become, — 
 Was sent to aid in his declining years,. 
 An uncle, who had left his native isle. 
 And near Tantallan, on the eastern coast. 
 As farmer, had for many years sojourned. 
 There youthful Norman lent his Avilling aid,. 
 With Highland ardour, on that distant shore. 
 Engaged in labours of the fertile field : — 
 Yet when from old Tantallan's mouldering wall& 
 He viewed the Bass % amid the restless waves. 
 Oft did he think of Ailsa s towering craig ; — 
 Of Arran's neighbouring shore ; — of home, and friends 
 He there had left behind ; — and most of all 
 Of her whose modest looks, and winning smile, 
 Whase native graces, and whose artless charmsj. 
 Nor time nor distance from his heart effaced. 
 
 Years passed away ; and every passing year 
 Added to Norsian's stature ; — added, too, 
 To all the graces of the inward man. 
 Early he learned, beneath the natal roof, 
 To love and reverence his father's God ;
 
 ARRAN. 25 
 
 And to acknowledge Him in all his ways, 
 Who came the lost to seek and to restore : 
 And what he early learned, his aged friend. 
 With ceaseless zeal did cherish in his breast ; — 
 His only wish that still his brother's boy 
 Who loved him as a son, and whom he loved 
 With all the fondness of a father's heart, 
 Should seek the Lord, and walk still in the truth. 
 
 But time, which brought the youth to man's estate, 
 Brought down his pious uncle to the grave. 
 He died in joyful hope, and dying left 
 All he possessed to his adopted son. 
 His riches, though not great, were yet enough 
 To stock a farm in his own Highland isle. 
 To that beloved isle with haste he hied ; 
 And opportunely came t' obtain the farm, 
 Which from these heights, at present you behold. 
 But did this farm then occupy his thoughts. 
 When from the adjacent coast, upon his view 
 Arran's blue hills in Alpine grandeur rose ? 
 Was it for this he chid the lagging winds.
 
 26 AEEAN. 
 
 As if in spite, they kept him on the sea ? 
 
 More generous feelings reigned within his breast. 
 
 Seven years had passed since he had left the isle ; 
 
 And glad he was that time had wrought such chaiige, 
 
 That none him recognized on reaching land ; 
 
 So that unstopped by greetings, quick as thought 
 
 He hasted on. Glen-sherig first he sought : 
 
 Nor halted, till he gained the sweet abode 
 
 Of the kind parents whom he dearly loved ; 
 
 And rushed into their arms ; and with the thrill 
 
 Of filial rapture, felt their blissful tears 
 
 Of love, and joy, drop on his youthful cheek. 
 
 But yet ere long, he stole from them away ; 
 
 And crossed the stream ; and on the wings of love, 
 
 Flew to Glen-shant. Yet when Glen-shant he reached^ 
 
 His courage failed ; his breathing became quick ! 
 
 And at the threshold of the well-known door, 
 
 A while he trembling stood, ere he durst knock. 
 
 At last he knocked ; and who the door should ope. 
 
 But his ovm darling Mary, blithe, and fair. 
 
 In all the blooming beauty of nineteen.
 
 ARRAN. 27 
 
 He gazed in rapture, for she lovelier was. 
 
 Than even his lively fancy had portrayed. 
 
 Either in sleeping or in waking Yearns. 
 
 Nor less, I ween, was Mary's inward joy ; 
 
 Though maiden modesty allowed her not 
 
 To utter all she felt. At once she knew 
 
 His fascinating smile ; at once she saw — 
 
 Though o'er the pleasing features of the boy. 
 
 The lapse of years had spread the higher charms 
 
 Of riper intellect, and moral worth ; 
 
 Though time had changed the stripling of fifteen 
 
 Into the handsome man ; at once she saw 
 
 That still unchanged his warm affections were. 
 
 And still unchangeably on Mary fixed. 
 
 How joyful was their meeting ! It was one 
 
 For which their souls unconscious oft had yearn'd. 
 
 Though love had nestled in their tender hearts 
 
 Before young Norman left his native isle. 
 
 They knew not that they loved. In friendship's guise 
 
 Love forged his darts, and wrought his silken chains ; 
 
 And when as friends, as tender friends they part.
 
 28 ARRAN. 
 
 'Twas clinging to the hope, amidst their tears. 
 That yet a little, and they meet again. 
 They met again, — but not as tender friends. 
 All they, in absence, of each other heard. 
 Cherished the hidden flame ; and Norman came 
 (Now well aware how tenderly he loved) 
 Fully resolved the secret to divulge, 
 Which in his heart, for years, had buried lain^ 
 With aU the difllidence of youthful love. 
 The secret was revealed, which Mary heard 
 With burning blushes, though with inward joy.^ 
 Too honest and too generous Mary was. 
 Long to conceal the pleasure which she felt ; 
 And ere they parted, he with joy received 
 The promise which so ardently he sought. 
 And sealed the promise on her rosy lips. 
 
 To younger bards I leave the task, to sing 
 Of Courtship's raptures and of Love's young dreams : 
 Be mine to tell, that ere three months elapsed. 
 The appointed day arrived. Bright shone the sun 
 Upon their nuptial morn. All nature smiled ; 
 
 «
 
 ARRAN. 
 
 S9 
 
 And hill, and glen, and sea, and azure sky. 
 And all who dwelt around the lovely bay. 
 Seemed in their happy union to rejoice. 
 
 The friends convened. The aged Pastor came. 
 The graceful pair stepped forth : the modest bride. 
 With trembling diffidence ; the young bridegroom, 
 But ill concealing all the joy he felt. 
 The reverend Pastor raised tlie voice of prayer. 
 Asking of God his blessing. Then he gave 
 His kindest counsel to his youthful friends, 
 Whom as his children, tenderly he loved ; 
 And bade them next " join hands ;" and having put 
 To them the solemn questions, and received 
 Modest and meet response, he them straightway 
 Declared a wedded pair ; and raised again 
 His earnest prayers to God, that he would bless 
 Those who had now been joined in wedlock's bands, 
 With richest portion of his heavenly love ; — 
 That He would bless their basket and their store ; — 
 And, more than all, would bless them with his grace. 
 That they might live in love, — in love to God, —
 
 30 ARRAN. 
 
 Each day still happier in each other's love. 
 
 His aged heart was full of holy joy. 
 
 And warm affection to the wedded pair. 
 
 Their parents were the choicest of his flock, 
 
 And very patterns to the country round. 
 
 Of all the piety, and all the worth. 
 
 And all the cheerfulness, which should adorn 
 
 Those who are loved by God, and Avalk in hope 
 
 Of being blessed by Him beyond the tomb. 
 
 He knew that they would not the stock belie 
 
 From which they sprang ; and in the pleasing hope 
 
 That years of love and joy awaited them. 
 
 When he had sunk into the silent grave ; 
 
 His heart within him thrilled with pure delight, 
 
 And the big tear stood glistening in his eye. 
 
 And they were happy. Richer cup of bliss 
 Seldom has tasted been, in journeying through 
 This often clouded, ever-varying scene. — 
 On downy wings, a joyful Summer passed 
 Over the happy pair, on that green point 
 Where scarcely vestige now of house remains.
 
 ARRAN. 31 
 
 And Autumn, too, rejoicing floated o'er ; — 
 
 And Winter came ; — but rich in mutual love. 
 
 Stern Winter was made welcome ; and he seemed,— 
 
 Viewing the harmony in which they lived, — 
 
 His surliness in part to lay aside. 
 
 Smoothing his rugged features ; — and his dark 
 
 And withering frown, to soften to a smile. 
 
 Seven months of wedded life thus passed away ; 
 And every month wound closer round their hearts, 
 The countless cords of tenderness and love. 
 Their habits were the same ; the same their tastes ; 
 Their hearts congenial were, — both firmly placed. 
 With lively faith upon the Lord their God. 
 Nor were they placed on the Supreme in vain : — 
 He v/as their strength, and hope, their light and guide. 
 The secret of the Lord their dwelling cheered ; 
 And on their heads his candle brightly shone. 
 But though at first Winter came mildly in. 
 And seemed to smile ', — yet who can tame the tiger ? 
 When bleak December drew towards a close, 
 His surly visage darkened ; and a frown—
 
 32 
 
 AREAN. 
 
 A savage frown — hung on his wrinkled brow- 
 Bedimmed and lurid rose the labouring moon. 
 With halo broad encompassed. Through the night. 
 The wind with, mournful sugh ' sweeping along, 
 Uttered, at times, a heart-appalling howl, — 
 And then in hollow moanings died away. 
 
 The morning came ; — and still the darksome sky 
 Scowled with a grimmer aspect. Now the sun 
 Strove, but in vain, to shoot his blunted beams 
 Through the dense shroud enveloping the heaven. 
 The little Robin, fearful of the storm. 
 Tripped 'thwart the cottage floor ; and cast himself 
 With bold and winning confidence on Man. 
 The distant bleatings of the flocks were heard^ 
 Leaving the stormy heights, that they might seek. 
 Amid the deep recesses of the hills. 
 Some shelter ; but, alas ! they could not know^ 
 That yet a little and the sheltered glens, 
 So oft their refuge from the chilling blasts, 
 Would, from the drifting storm, be full of danger 
 This Norman knew, and knew the task was Ms
 
 ARRAN. S2 
 
 To keep them on the windy mountain sides ; 
 
 As in the hollowS;, which he knew they sought. 
 
 They soon might buried be 'mid drifted snow. 
 
 This dangerous task he must perform alone ; 
 
 For on that morn, Duncan, the shepherd lad, 
 
 Had leave obtained to go to Largiemore 
 
 His aged father's death-bed to attend. 
 
 More dark and dismal still became the sky ; 
 
 And every symptom shewed a storm was near. 
 
 The leafless tree, which o'er the cottage roof 
 
 Projecting hung, by sudden gust impelled. 
 Creaked mournfully. A gloomy calm ensued ; 
 While through the dark, and dense, and surcharged air^ 
 Broad floating flakes in lazy whirlings fell. 
 Amid the calm — from JMacrihanish * bay *, 
 Norman and IMary heard the awful roar 
 Of the Atlantic's wild unbroken waves — 
 Sure token that a tempest was at hand. 
 Pitying his flocks, Norjian in haste prepared 
 
 * Gael. Machair-shanais, i. e. The plain of warning.
 
 34 ARllAN. 
 
 To range the glen, and drive them to the hills, — 
 Hoping that on the lieights they safe might be. 
 
 But now a deadly paleness overspread 
 His Mary's lovely face, when she looked out. 
 And saw such symptoms of a gathering storm. 
 O go not ! go not ! wildly she exclaimed ; 
 Or if thou needst must go, go not alone. • 
 Take with thee thine own Mary. Thee, alas ! 
 She cannot succour give ; but by thy side. 
 Less she will suffer from the fiercest storm. 
 Than from her anxious fears respecting thee. 
 
 INIary, at present, could have ill endured 
 The toil and peril which she sought to share. 
 Norman himself feared not the brooding storm ; 
 And glad he was, that he could with lier leave 
 Old faithful Susan, who had been her nurse. 
 And who had loved her from her infant years. 
 He kindly, then, her fears sought to dispel. 
 Reminding her, how often when a boy, 
 He braved, amidst these glens, the wintry blasts \ 
 He now was called to combat, when a man. — 
 Patting her lovely cheek, and from her eye
 
 ARRAN. 35 
 
 Wiping the trembling tear ; and on her lips, 
 Now palii, and quivering with unwonted fears, 
 A heart-fraught kiss imparting — off he hied. 
 His faithful dog went with him ; midst the snow. 
 Frisking in joyous gambols ; turning oft 
 Back on his generous lord his speaking eye. 
 Telling, as well as bark and look could tell. 
 How much he loved him, and with what delight 
 He went, as humble sharer of his toils. 
 Marv looked after them, but looked in vain : 
 The fleecy snow soon hid them from her eyes ; 
 And with such fears as she had never felt. 
 She went to cast lier cares upon her God. 
 
 The evening came, — and still the growing storm 
 Darkened and thickened round. For hours the snow. 
 Falling in feathered flakes, had muffled up 
 In robe of purest white the sleeping earth. 
 And still in countless flakes the snow came down : 
 And noAV the blast, whose wild and distant roar 
 Was lately heard from Macrihanish bay. 
 Had reached the M^hite-robed glen; and mid the cliffs.
 
 36 ARRAN. 
 
 And mountain caves, spoke with a voice of thunder. 
 The bitterness of death poor Mary felt. 
 When rose the howling tempest. Resolute 
 On doing all she could, — into the storm 
 She with her trusty hand-maid wildly rushed. 
 Though murky darkness brooded o'er the glen. 
 And through the Imrdened air the fleecy snow 
 More copiously descended. On they pushed ; 
 But soon the drift, by the fierce blast impelled 
 Down from the heights came with horrific whirl. 
 And wrapping them as in a cloud of spray, 
 Blinded, bewildered, breathless, left the twain 
 Convinced their toils were fruitless ; and constrained . 
 With fear and sorrow, to retrace their steps. 
 
 The house again with difficulty reached. 
 With deeper anguish Marv now was filled. 
 From having felt the fury of the storm. 
 Again she sought for comfort from that source 
 From which alone true consolation springs. 
 It might have touched the Seraphim on high — 
 Drawn forth their strongest sympathies, to see
 
 ARRAN. 37 
 
 That young and grief-ful female kneel to Goi), — 
 
 Address Him as her father, and her friend ; 
 
 And with an earnestness, with which the prayers 
 
 Even of the good compared, are oft alas 
 
 But cold, and faint, and formal, — Him beseech. 
 
 In hour of sore extremity, for aid ; 
 
 And under shadow of His wings to cheer 
 
 Him whom of all below she loved the best ; 
 
 And yet subjoining, though with rending heart, 
 
 " O Father, not my will, but Thine be done." 
 
 Thus having cast herself upon her God, 
 She felt in part relieved. Throughout the night. 
 Oft had her ear, catching each varying sound. 
 Told her of coming steps : but when the door 
 With trembling hope, and eager haste she oped, — 
 In rushed the howling blast with angry swirl *, 
 Covering the cottage-floor with drifted snow. 
 Still against hope, she hoped, — and longed for morn. 
 
 Past was the midnight hour, — when lo ! the wind, . 
 Veering towards the north, with sudden sweep. 
 As if worn out,— sank to a breathless calm.
 
 88 AKllAN. 
 
 The wished-for stillness soon they marked with joy ; 
 And AIary looking out, saw that the moon. 
 Obscured before by clouds, and drifting snow. 
 Now brightly shone. The door with driven wreath 
 Was densely sealed ; — but Mary struggled through. 
 And Susan following, a ridge they reached 
 From which the blast much of the snow had blown. 
 Onward they toiling moved through heath and snow. 
 Raising from time to time their mingled shout, 
 Calling aloud on Norman- No reply, 
 Except from plaintive Echo, reached their ear. 
 
 Lovely was now the night. The full-orbed moon 
 Smiled from a cloudless sky upon the scene. 
 The hills and glens in purest robes arrayed. 
 The mellow smile returned ; and made the night 
 Vie with the cheerful day. Fantastic wreaths. 
 Now crusted o'er, sparkled with icy gems ; 
 And the peaked summits which inclosed the glen. 
 Towered with a nobler grandeur, than in days 
 When summer suns, their radiant cliifs adorn. 
 But IMary's heart was dead to every joy ;
 
 ARIIAN. 39 
 
 Or if the loveliness around was felt. 
 
 It was because her dying hopes it cheered. 
 
 Onward they struggling went. At last they seemed 
 The distant howlings of a dog to hear. 
 Could it be Oscar ? " Oscar, Oscar," both 
 At once exclaimed ; and hurried quickly on. 
 Oscar indeed it was ; and soon he cainej 
 In answer to their cry ; but not with joy, 
 As he at Mary's call was wont to come ; 
 But, as with grief oppressed ; and by his whines 
 Seeming to urge them to press on with speed. 
 Tracing, with woe and fear, their mournful guide, 
 A place at last they reached called Mary's Grot ; 
 So called by Norman, as his jMary there 
 Under a pendent rock's refreshing shade. 
 Had often met with him in summer eve. 
 As from his rural labours he returned. 
 Filled was the grot with snow, and but the peak 
 Of the projecting rock could now be seen. 
 On drawing near, poor Oscar's plaintive whines 
 Again they heard j and saw the faithful dog.
 
 40 ARRAN, 
 
 With all his might, scraping away the snow ; 
 While with his teeth, he ever and anon. 
 Tugged at same chequered raiment. 'Twas the plaid. 
 The well-known tartan plaid, which Norman wore 
 When lie his Mary left ! All hope then died : 
 Yet Mary forward sprang, and cleared away 
 The snow which hid the face : — and gave a shriek 
 On seeing it was Norman's. Straight his lips — 
 Now pale as marble — she in anguish kissed. 
 But found them colder than the frozen snow ; 
 And saw with grief, no language can describe, 
 That she embraced her Norman's lifeless corpse ! 
 One heavy sob she heaved ; — one mournful groan ; — 
 Then raised her eyes to Heaven and praying, said, 
 " Father into thy hands" — but on her lips 
 Died the unfinished prayer ; — and falling back 
 Into her Susan's arms — she breathed her last ! 
 Their light is gone ; the vital spark is fled : 
 Yet weep not, weep not. Though their sun ere noon 
 In darkness has gone down ; think not their light 
 Has perished. No ; their light, which while on earth
 
 ARRAN. 4.1 
 
 Shone with so mild a ray, now shines above 
 
 With splendoui- more refulgent than the sun ; 
 
 Shines too unclouded, near the holy source 
 
 Of light and life, where nothing intervenes 
 
 Its beams to dim, its radiance to eclipse. 
 
 And think not that in utter solitude 
 
 They sank unseen, unheeded, save by her 
 
 Whose wailings rent the air ; and by the dog. 
 
 Whose plaintive meanings, and whose piteous howl. 
 
 Even of a savage would have touched the heart. 
 
 Think not that died, this young and pious pair. 
 
 By Him forgotten whom they humbly served. 
 
 He kept them as the apple of His eye. 
 
 Even when they seemed forsaken. Not alone 
 
 Tliey were, in seeming solitude profound ; 
 
 For had their eyes in midst of their distress. 
 
 As by the ancient prophet, opened been ; 
 
 They would have seen the mountains and the glens 
 
 Full of the heavenly host, with countless throng 
 
 Of horses, and of chariots of fire.* 
 
 * 2 Kings, chap. vi. ver. )1, &c.
 
 4^ ARRAN. 
 
 They would have heard, had opened been their ears, 
 
 Not lamentations raised ; but anthems loud. 
 
 And halleluias of joy and praise ; — 
 
 Of praise to Him who rescued dying souls ; 
 
 Of joy — that two their pilgrimage had closed. 
 
 And were about to pass %vithin the veil, 
 
 And be, like them, for ever nigh to God. 
 
 Fair was the land they left ,— but O how fair 
 
 Immanuel's land in which they were to dwell ! 
 
 Sweet was the life they led while here below ; 
 
 But sweeter, happier far, that endless life. 
 
 On Avhich amidst the welcomings of Heaven 
 
 They now would enter ; Him to see in peace. 
 
 Whom, when unseen, they loved; in whom, now seen. 
 
 With joy unspeakable they would rejoice ; 
 
 The blessed end obtaining of their faith. 
 
 Even the salvation of their ransomed souls.* 
 
 ^ 1 Peter, chap. i. ver. 8, 9.
 
 ARRAN. 
 
 CANTO III.
 
 w 
 
 View of Brodwick. — Arran Castle. — Glen-rosa.— Lamlash. — Holy Isle. 
 — Bay of Lamlash after a Storm. — Eucharist at Lamlash. — .Sab- 
 bath Morning — Family Devotions — Going to Church — Service in the 
 Church — Communion — Service in the Church- Yard in Gaelic — 
 Praise of the Gaelic Language — Psalms sung by the multitude. — Ship 
 at Sea — The sacred Music heard by the Sailors — By a sailor, a native 
 of Arran — His mingled feelings of Joy and Sorrow.
 
 ARRAN. 45 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 But let us now forsake these airy heights-. 
 These peaks pyramidal of mountains wild. 
 Rugged as yet has been our path, and steep ; 
 But softer, sweeter scenes await us now, 
 While we perambulate with easy step, 
 The well-sunned scenes v/hich smile upon the sea. 
 
 To Brodwick, then, our sloping path directs ; 
 To Brodwick — best beheld, — not from the heights,- 
 But from the bosom of her lovely bay, 
 Or from the verdant villa-studded shore. 
 See amidst trees embosomed which have braved 
 The fiercely rushing blasts of hundred years. 
 Her ducal tower ' ; the scene indeed adorning. 
 But by the scene, itself still more adorned.
 
 46 
 
 ARRAN. 
 
 Trace thence Glen-rosa, as like Beauty coy 
 
 Softly retiring with most winning grace, 
 
 She winds her way amidst romantic hills, 
 
 Till lost in deepest, wildest solitudes. 
 
 She hides herself from the admiring eye. 
 
 Mark, too, the heath-clad heights and peaks sublime 
 
 Which this famed bay in Alpine pride surmount ; — 
 
 Survey the whole ; — and if unmoved you look. 
 
 Then turn your eyes from Nature's fairest scenes ; 
 
 For to the grand and sweet and beautiful 
 
 Your soul is blind, your heart is dead and cold. 
 
 But if to Nature's loveliness alive ; — 
 Turn your exploring eyes to sweet Lam lash : 
 And though her charms are of a different kind^ 
 'Tis such a difference as in sisters fair 
 Of graceful family, well pleased we find. 
 View then the Bay by the majestic cone 
 Of Holy Isle 2, secure and peaceful made : 
 And though we breathe no superstitious prayer 
 To sainted hermit, who of old abode, 
 Where still are seen his well and rocky cave ;
 
 ARRAN. 4 i 
 
 Shall we not Him adore, whose potent hand 
 Placed this stupendous bulwark in the deep, 
 'Gainst which the waves might spend their idle rage, 
 While safe behind the Isle in peaceful lake. 
 The weather-beaten ships, cheating the storm. 
 Might find a hiding-place and refuge sure ? 
 And pleasant sight it is to view this Bay, 
 When after days of elemental strife 
 A morning blithe ensues ^ Then all is joy 
 And cheerfulness throughout the crowded Loch. 
 Then all the vessels tight, that lately lay 
 Close reefed and moored, prepare for issuing fortl>j 
 To stem, if home is sought, — the winding Clyde ; 
 If foreign shores, — to plow the toiling main. 
 Then the spread canvass courts the swelling breeze ; 
 And from each busy deck the sailors' voice 
 Is heard in merry cheerings ; merrier far 
 From recollection of the recent storm. 
 Then joyous are they like you heath-fowl gay 
 Which now in bold careerings play around ; 
 Though not an hour has past since all were route^
 
 48 ARRAN. 
 
 And all among the heath close cowering lay. 
 As over them the fierce and greedy kite, 
 With keen exploring eye, rapacious hung ; 
 Ready, if aught revealed their lurking place. 
 To pounce with deadly swoop upon his prey. 
 
 Yes, it is pleasant sight to view this Bay, 
 When thus it proves a shelter from the blast. 
 Where weather-beaten ships find refuge sure. 
 But scene more striking still upon the beach 
 Is yearly seen, when Eucharist returns 
 To bless and gladden the assembled Isle. 
 Never can I forget the solemn scene 
 Which on Communion-day I here beheld, 
 When thousands met in memory of Him 
 Whom bold Isaiah glowingly described 
 As hiding-place from the assailing wind. 
 And covert from the raging tempest's power : 
 As cooling streams in dry and thirsty place. 
 Or shade of mighty rock in weary land. 
 
 With cheerful light shone forth the smiling sun. 
 When came the Sabbath morn of holy rest.
 
 ARRAN. 49 
 
 All Nature rested on that blessed morn ; 
 Not with the listlessness of torpid sloth^ 
 But beaming peace, as if that morn restored 
 Part of that joy which brightened Nature's face 
 When the Creator cast upon his works 
 A look benignant, and pronounced them good. 
 Rested the sea ; — yet did the sea proclaim 
 Her tranquil bliss, as she returned the smile 
 Diffused on her from Heaven's propitious eye. 
 Rested the winds ; and yet the zephyrs bland 
 Whispered their happiness in accents sweet ; 
 Or held soft converse with the peaceful waves 
 Which played in gentlest ripplings on the shore. 
 Rested the fleecy clouds on mountain tops ; — 
 And yet the clouds prepared to fade away, 
 And leave in spotless purity the sky. 
 Rested the village neat ; and all around 
 The humble house of God, was calm repose. 
 The sweet tranquillity of Sabbath morn. 
 
 But not in sleep on hallowed morn were sunk 
 The families of men throughout the Isle.
 
 50 ARRAN. 
 
 From many an humble dwelling early rose 
 The voice of prayer and praise to Jacob's God : 
 And many a heart in secret heaved the sigh 
 To HiBi who hears, well pleased, the sigh contrite : 
 And many a father with his children dear. 
 And one still dearer than the dearest child. 
 Had bent the knee to God, and humbly asked 
 That He in midst of them would deign to dwell. 
 And bless his people with a Father's love ; 
 And having brought them to the holy feast 
 As welcome guests in wedding-robe arrayed — 
 With hidden manna feed their hungry souls 
 And on their hearts as Hermon's dew descend *. 
 
 At early hour these orisons were raised ; 
 For though contiguous to the house of God 
 Some of the people were ; more dwelt remote. 
 Who first must traverse many a weary mile 
 To reach the altar of the Lord they love. 
 Even like the gathering of old Israel's tribes 
 From lands remote when passover was kept. 
 This Highland Isle poured forth her numerous clans.
 
 ARRAN. 51 
 
 To worship Him wlio deigns in humblest fane. 
 
 On wildest shore, to meet the upright in heart. 
 
 From every glen a living stream came forth ; 
 
 From every hill numbers came pouring down. 
 
 Like mountain torrents flowing to the main. 
 
 These various streamlets mingling as they flowed. 
 
 Seemed swollen rivers as they near approached 
 
 The common centre where they longed to meet. 
 
 Nor was there bustle, nor unseemly noise 
 
 In this mixed multitude which moved along. 
 
 In quiet family groups they often moved ; 
 
 The parents slowly rode : with cheerful step 
 
 Their ofi"spring clustered round like body guard ; 
 
 While beamed affection from each youthful eye. 
 
 And every aged countenance expressed 
 
 Parental tenderness and holy love. 
 
 Nor was there awe unmingled, as approached 
 
 The gathering multitudes the house of prayer 
 
 At last 'tis reached by all the peaceful throng. 
 
 And having ranged their steeds upon the beach. 
 
 In crowds they hasten now to enter in ^ 
 
 c2
 
 52 A RE AN. 
 
 O who shall tell the solemn state of mind 
 With which the worshippers drew near to God ; — 
 Describe the mingled love, and fear, and joy. 
 With which they raised the voice of prayer and praise ? 
 Or rightly paint the feelings tender — deep, 
 With which they listened to the pastor's voice, 
 When from the holy book the text he read, 
 " For Christ our passover is slain for us * ?" 
 Who shall their breathless interest portray. 
 While he the tables fenced + ; by Heaven's command 
 Debarring all the thoughtless and profane : 
 But urging all who truly love the Lord, — 
 Who love Him as their Master and their Friend. 
 And yet lament they do not love him more, — 
 Now to draw near to Him, the bruised reed 
 Who does not break, nor quench the smoking flax > 
 Or who shall tell the workings of their souls, 
 When rev'rently he put into their hands 
 The affecting symbols of the love of Christ, 
 
 * 1 Cor. \'. 7. 
 
 t To fence the tables ; i. e. to set a fence roimd the communion tables, is 
 an expression which needs no explanation in Scotland.
 
 AURAN. 
 
 53 
 
 When for our sakes He drank the cup of wo. 
 
 And dying bought us with His precious blood ? 
 
 And can there be a more affecting sight 
 
 Than youth, and middle-age, and hoary eld, 
 
 In slow procession, and with hearts devout. 
 
 Advancing to the Table of the Lord, 
 
 And as they go, raising the voice of praise, 
 
 Sinsing the hallowed and the well-known strain, 
 
 " O thou my soul bless God the Lord, and all 
 
 That in me is be stirred up, His name. 
 
 His holy name, to magnify and bless */' 
 
 jVnd having tasted of the rich repast. 
 
 And seen that truly gracious is the Lord ; — 
 
 Slowly retiring with the song of praise, 
 
 To Him " who lov'd their souls ; redeem'd their life ; 
 
 With rich abundance satisfy'd their mouths. 
 
 And crown'd with tokens of his changeless love." 
 
 Of the vast multitude assembled here 
 A very handful could the church contain. 
 The rest were seated in the green church-yard, 
 
 * Psalm ciii. U
 
 «'54 ARRAN. 
 
 Around the Tent, from which a man of God 
 In their own Celtic tongue addressed the throng. 
 And think not ye whose ears this ancient tongue 
 In cities only hear, in accents rude. 
 Uttered by men whose life of servile toil 
 Permits them not to cultivate their minds. 
 And court the ornaments of polished speech, — 
 Think not that truth and candour bid you speak 
 In sneering accents of the Gaelic sounds. 
 'Twas of the sounds alone that I could judge ; 
 Yet when these sounds were uttered by a man 
 Of pious feelings and of polished taste. 
 And eminently skilled in Celtic lore ; — 
 The sounds were perfect music to the ear ; — 
 FuU and sonorous — forcible, yet sweet 
 As Greek when spoken with a mouth rotund. 
 
 And ne'er was scene more fit to touch the heart 
 Than that in which the preacher then was placed. 
 On this side and on that the hills arose : 
 Above him was the azure arch of heaven ; 
 Before him in the distance was the sea ;
 
 ARRAN. 55 
 
 Pull in his eye the humble house of God, 
 
 Where round the table of the Lamb once slain. 
 
 Many were seated at the feast of love : 
 
 And close before him on the grassy sward 
 
 Thousands « were placed, who in their turn prepared 
 
 The blessings of the banquet-house to share. 
 
 Tpuched was the preacher's heart, and touched to tears 
 
 The melting hearts of those to whom he preached. 
 
 He spake to them of Christ ; — of what He taught ; 
 
 Of what He did, and patiently endured ; 
 
 As Christ's Ambassador beseeching them 
 
 By all his Master's gentleness and love. 
 
 To yield themselves to Him who died to save 
 
 Their souls from future wrath ; to purify 
 
 Their hearts ; and by his Spirit mould their minds 
 
 In meek submission to his holy law. 
 
 Then would the desert blossom as the rose : 
 
 Or if around should close the darkening clouds. 
 
 In darkest hour the Comforter would say, 
 
 " Fear not, my flock, for I am with you still." 
 
 Precious will prove to you our holy faith
 
 56 AllRAN. 
 
 Though 'twere but for the solace which it yields. 
 By heaven's decree, in journeying through this vale 
 Of tears and shadows, all of you must taste 
 The bitter cup of wo. Lately has none 
 With anguished soul, drunk of the bitter draught ? 
 Tell not these dark green graves some tales of wo ? 
 Sits there no weeping mother by the grave 
 Of a loved child, who when we last met here 
 In blooming health sat smiling by her side .'' 
 Has no lone widow, with sad aching heart. 
 Since last we met in sweet communion here. 
 Closed those kind eyes which ever beamed on her 
 With all the warmth of conjugal regard ? 
 
 But has the Earth alone, since last we met. 
 Closed on her yearly prey ? Has not the Sea, 
 Though placid now as smile of sleeping child. 
 In frenzied hour, broken the sacred tie. 
 Which bound the pastor to his faithful Hock ? 
 The sea has lifted up her mighty waves, 
 And as the dank sea-weed in which 'tis wrapped, 
 'Alidst Ocean's depths, cold is his kindly heart :
 
 ARRAN. 57 
 
 And kindlier heart (as vouch your falling tears) 
 His sea-girt native isle does not contain. 
 
 Throughout the solemn service of the day. 
 Grave and devout the multitude appeared ; 
 Seeming to feel that they stood near to Him, 
 Who though so good and greatly to be loved, 
 Is also great, and greatly to be feared, 
 And worshipped reverently with holy awe. 
 
 But hark ! from the vast multitude ascends 
 The voice of praise, in sweetly swelling strains. 
 Those psalms which first were sung in Salem's towers. 
 Now rise to heaven from what were heathen lands. 
 Amidst the wild recesses of the sea. 
 And lo ! upon the sea with slackening sail 
 A lingering vessel floats ; a gallant ship. 
 Now homeward bound, from lands and climes remote^ 
 Soon as she looming neared the King's-cross Pointy 
 The solemn strain, borne on the trembling air 
 And tranquil sea, reached the delighted ear. 
 As yet 'twas indistinct ; now rising high 
 Like harp Eolian's sweet aerial notes ;
 
 58 ARRAN. 
 
 Now sinking low in diapason full. 
 
 Seeming to die away in cadence soft : 
 
 Then after solemn pause, bursting afresh 
 
 On the rapt ear, in full harmonious swell. 
 
 Like voice of distant waterfall at eve ; 
 
 Or like the organ's soul-subduing tones. 
 
 Falling in softened thunder on the ear 
 
 Of midnight traveller, who wanders nigh 
 
 Some ancient abbey's venerable pile. 
 
 With mingled feelings of delight and awe 
 
 The wondering sailors listened. Music sweet 
 
 Assuredly it was ; but whence it came, — 
 
 Whether from Ocean's caves, or from the land ; — 
 
 Or from the sky serene, they could not tell. 
 
 Glided the vessel on ; and when the Bay, 
 
 In all its grandeur, opened to their view. 
 
 The wonder ceased ; for soon the listeners found. 
 
 That what had seemed the song of heavenly host. 
 
 Was not the song of angels ; but the song 
 
 Of the Redeemed on earth together met 
 
 In holy festival to worship Him 
 
 2
 
 AllKAN. 59 
 
 Whom cherubim and seraphim adore. 
 The wonder ceased ; but ceased not the delight. 
 For now the strain with wildly sweeping swell. 
 Falls on the ear. 'Twas martyrs' plaintive lay. 
 So justly dear to every Scottish heart. 
 And see ! the hardy sailor hangs entranced 
 Over the vessel's bow ; with greedy ear 
 Drinking the hallowed stream of sacred sound ; 
 And from his sunburnt cheek dashing the tear. 
 Ashamed that he should weep. It was the tear — 
 The mingled tear of tenderness and joy ; — 
 Of joy that he again had safely reached 
 The land, which, after all that he had seen 
 Of foreign nations and of distant climes. 
 He hails with feelings of supreme delight. 
 As his own native mountain-crested Isle. 
 
 But, ah ! these sacred sounds which reach his ear. 
 Awake not joy alone, and patriot pride. 
 But touch the tenderest fibres of his heart. 
 And speak to him of days now long gone by ;
 
 60 ARRAN. 
 
 Of joys now past^ — and never to return. — 
 They speak to him of boyhood's happy years, 
 When with the multitude he weekly went 
 From cheerful Whiting-Bay to sweet Lamlash, 
 With pious feelings, to the House of God. 
 They speak to him of scenes more tender still. 
 They place before his eyes the peaceful hearth 
 Of the loved guardians of his early life. 
 He seems on Sabbath morn, or Sabbath eve, 
 Or at the close of an industrious day. 
 To hear in hallowed lay his Father's voice 
 Raising, in midst of those he held so dear, 
 The song of praise to God, who gave him them. 
 And gave him all that he and they enjoy. 
 But where, alas ! is now this happy group ? 
 Where is the father meek, the mother mild ? 
 And where the sharers with him of their love .'' 
 There lives not one of them within this Isle. 
 One brother lives ; — but on a distant shore : 
 Another buried lies beneath the waves :
 
 ARRAN. (^l 
 
 His aged parents sleep in yon church-yard : 
 
 His lovely sister slumbers by their side. 
 
 He almost sees their graves ; — and, sick at heart, 
 
 Now bleed afresh the wounds which time had closed. 
 
 And the brave sailor sheds a flood of tears. 
 
 I
 
 ARRAN. 
 
 CANTO IV.
 
 CFIenkens Dairy Churchyard.— The Vale of Ken Glen of Holm. 
 
 — Glenlee Park. — Kenmure Castle. — Angling. — Lochinvar Loch 
 
 Dungeon.— Earlston Wood.— Nutting. — Love of the country — 
 
 Love of flowers. — Love of Edinburgh and the scenery around 
 
 Midnight walk from Duddingstone by Arthur's Seat to HolyrocKl. 
 — Scotia. — Her moral beauty. — Highland character— bravery- 
 Colonel Miller— Robert the Bruce.
 
 ARKAN. 65 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 A CORD unseen binds to the natal soil 
 Our willing hearts. Than thread of gossamer 
 Though iilmier far, we own its mighty power. 
 Nor yields the harpsicord to beauty's touch 
 Alore rapturous response, than yields our hearts 
 Whene'er this cord in after life is struck. 
 Though earth's diameter should intervene 
 Betwixt us and the spot that gave us birth. 
 
 This solemn church-yard scene might striking seem 
 To many eyes, because perchance 'twas new : 
 To me it charms possessed more potent still. 
 The decent order ; the I'eligious awe •, 
 The air devout that marked the old and young, 
 All spread in deepest silence o'er the sward,
 
 66 
 
 AllRAN. 
 
 (A living multitude amongst the graves 
 
 Of their departed friends) feelings recalled 
 
 By time well nigh effaced; — recalled the years 
 
 Now far remote of childhood, when I first 
 
 Seated myself upon a sloping bank ^ 
 
 Which faced the tent, with those whom while they lived 
 
 I loved, and (though the place which knew them once. 
 
 Them knows alas ! no more) whose mem'ries shall 
 
 Ever be cherished by my grateful heart 
 
 With all the tenderness of filial love : 
 
 The feelings, too, recalled of early life. 
 
 When leaning o'er a stone with moss o'ergrown, 
 
 I traced the words, the solemn words it bore. 
 
 And, weeping, read of " faithful martyrs slain, 
 
 By cruel Clavers and his bloody band * ;" 
 
 And read again, and felt the generous burst 
 
 Of indignation mingling with my tears. 
 
 On hallowed ground I stood, and silver Ken, 
 
 * Epitaph on the Martyrs' Stone in Dairy Churchyard, over the bodies of 
 Robert Stewart, son of Major Stewart of Ardoch, and John Grierson, slain 
 by Claverhouse, in 1684.
 
 AIIRAN. 67 
 
 In gliding near my feet, still seemed to sob 
 As in remembrance of those days of blood. 
 But even in days of blood, beloved stream ! 
 Thou witness wert to scenes of heavenly joys. 
 Even on this troubled earth. On Sabbath morn. 
 Ere yet the lark her matin song had raised, 
 Thq voice of psalms, commingling with the roar 
 Of the deep linn near Earlston's ancient towers, 
 " ^Mournful yet pleasant," reached the listening ear 
 Of mountain shepherd, telling him that those 
 Whom unrelenting tyranny oppressed. 
 Were, 'midst the rocks, or in the wild wood's glade, 
 At early dawn, in spite of peril, met. 
 To praise with joy, their covenanted God. 
 
 Well might these early feelings be recalled. 
 For even the scenery some resemblance bore : 
 And though of scenery in those childish years 
 I took no note, unconsciously perchance 
 I felt even then its influence on my mind. 
 Daily I saw the rich and fertile vale. 
 Through which irriguous flowed the silver Ken ;
 
 68 
 
 ARRAN. 
 
 And rural Grennan Bank ; and Mollocli Hill ; 
 
 And lovely Glen of Holm, where Garpel pours ^ 
 
 'Twixt wooded cliffs her almost hidden stream. 
 
 Daily I saw Glenlee's romantic glades ^ 
 
 With oaks bestudded, which have bravely stood 
 
 Innumerous brumal blasts ; while, like the leaves 
 
 Which autumn strews, the fleeting sons of men, 
 
 Race after race have quickly passed away. — 
 
 Daily I saw dark Lowran's high-peaked hill, 
 
 And Kenmure's noble towers *, near Avhich the Ken 
 
 Expands her waters to a beauteous lake 5, 
 
 As if to shew her grandeur and her strength. 
 
 Ere she her name surrender to the Dee. 
 
 Daily I saw the circling range of hills 
 
 Of every size and shade around the vale : 
 
 But little thought I in those early years 
 
 How much of beauty all I saw contained. 
 
 I wist not that in hills of various shade ; — 
 
 In glens ; and winding stream ; and fertile plain ; 
 
 In coppice-skirted lake ; — there was so much 
 
 To fill the heart with exquisite delight.
 
 ARRAN. ^9 
 
 Yet when I chanced to pass beyond the range — 
 The narrow range of what in boyish years 
 I daily saw, my mind I felt impressed ; 
 Whether on holiday, with tapering rod 
 And fly deceptive, I well pleased, explored 
 The scenery wild round classic Lochinvar ® ; 
 Or wandered farther still to wilder scenes, . 
 Where midst the savage grandeur of the hills 
 Gloomy Loch-Dungeon rolled her alpine wave&. 
 
 Nor with the savage and the wild alone 
 Was I impressed. In my mind's eye, a glade — 
 A sunny glade — I see, which well I wot 
 A little rural paradise appeared. 
 
 With happy schoolmates I had sallied forth 
 
 On bright autumnal morn, to range the woods. 
 
 With hope of bringing home, for Hallowe'en, 
 
 Of hazel nuts rich store. Without intent, 
 
 I from my comrades strayed, and wandered on 
 
 Through tangled thicket, and through bosky dell. 
 
 Until a place I reached where the dense wood 
 
 Impervious seemed ; yet here I lingered not. 
 
 1
 
 70 ARRAN. 
 
 With eyes close shut, and hat weD flapped, and head 
 
 Low bent, through thorny brakes I forced my way ; 
 
 And when my eyes I opened, I beheld 
 
 A scene of sylvan beauty such as since 
 
 In all my wanderings I have never seen. 
 
 A woodland glade it was of small extent. 
 
 And shape irregular ; with gentle slope 
 
 Inclining to the south. Of velvet moss 
 
 The carpeting was formed ; and here and there, 
 
 A little hillock rose, covered with moss 
 
 Of finer texture, and of richer hue. 
 
 A stone there also was, half sunk, and half 
 
 With ivy and with fragrant woodbine clothed. 
 
 Under its pendent front, a bubbling spring 
 
 Of limpid water rose, and down the glade 
 
 In tiny stream, — now gurgling half concealed, — 
 
 Now o'er the polished pebbles purling, flowed : 
 
 The Avoods around beamed with a smile of joy. 
 
 Seeming bedecked in holiday attire ; 
 
 For Autumn's bounteous hand arrayed them now 
 
 In robes of richest tints, and sweetest hues.
 
 ARRAN. 71 
 
 A stilly silence reigned — save when the wing 
 
 Of balmy Zephyr lingering as he passed. 
 
 The gentlest rustling raised amongst the leaves. 
 
 Meaning I ween a little to abide — 
 
 When roused by hollow roar of Ken's hoarse voice 
 
 Coming from Earlston's deep and rocky linn, 
 
 He. flapped his filmy wings, and floated on. 
 
 Intranced I stood, and round and round I gazed 
 
 In happy wonderment. But fear at last 
 
 Mingled with my delight. Can such a glade. 
 
 Thought I, be void of habitants ? Here form 
 
 The fairy folks their nightly ring. Here dressed 
 
 In robes of green, they deftly dance 
 
 When shines the moon ; and here perchance even now 
 
 They lurk unseen ami*Jst the velvet moss. 
 
 With hasty step into the thickest wood 
 
 Precipitous I plunged, and at my heels 
 
 The Elfin King I thrilling seemed to hear. 
 
 Through bush and brake I rushed, nor looked behind 
 
 Till by their jocund laugh, my mates I fbund. 
 
 Whom with delight I joined ; but felt ashamed. 
 
 Or of my fears, or of my joys, to tell ".
 
 72 ARRAN. 
 
 Tliougli much the town, the country more I love : 
 And in the noblest city of our land. 
 Soon as the spring with vivifying power 
 The snoAvdrop and the crocus called to life ; 
 Soon as in rich campanulated pride. 
 The fragrant hyacinth with clustered bells 
 Her noble form in splendid grandeur raised ; — 
 Soon as th' auricula. Spring's loveliest child. 
 Breathing perfume, and beaming from an eye. 
 Pure as the alpine snows near which she sprang ^^ 
 The smile of innocence, and vernal joy ; 
 With velvet tiar crowned of mildest hues. 
 Reared her superb yet unassuming head, — 
 With longing heart, like satirist of old, 
 " Rus quando te aspiciam ?" would I cry. 
 Dune DIN, queen of cities ! if my heart 
 Thrills with delight oft as thy praise I hear. 
 Is it alone because in thee was spent 
 The largest portion of my youthful days. 
 When strove within thy venerable walls. 
 My Alma Mater with a parent's care. 
 To bless me with her wisdom and her lore ** ?
 
 ARRAN. 72 
 
 Is it alone because in thee were formed 
 
 Those early friendships which, I fondly trust, 
 
 Shall last throughout the pilgrimage of life, 
 
 And triumph o'er the coldness of the grave ? 
 
 Is it because, with feelings which I hope 
 
 A better name than ' Scottish pride' deserve. 
 
 Thy streets of palaces I've often viewed ; 
 
 Thy Holyrood, fit residence of kings ; 
 
 Thy Castle bold, like monarch of the land, 
 
 With all the dignity of look and mien 
 
 Which does and should distinguish Britain's King, — 
 
 Claiming the homage of respect and love 
 
 Which justly due we own ; and which it is 
 
 Our honour and our happiness to pay ? 
 
 Yes, for these causes, Edin, thee I love. 
 
 But not for these alone : thou'rt doubly dear 
 
 For countless scenes that compass thee around. 
 
 Which oft I've traversed with intense delight 
 
 In social or in solitary walk : 
 
 For well they suit with every frame of mind, 
 
 D
 
 74 AllllAN. 
 
 So various and so changeful to the eye — 
 Here rich and soft as richest Tuscan vale ; 
 And there magnificent, and wild, and bold. 
 As is the most romantic Highland isle. 
 But above all, the grandeur I admired 
 Of that rich terraced walk, which lies beneath 
 Steep Sals'bury's rugged cliffs ; or lovely scenes 
 Of deep seclusion circling Arthur's Seat. 
 'Mongst these at morn, at noon, at evening tide. 
 Oft have I strayed, in search of solitude ; 
 Of nature wild ; — of rich botanic stores 
 Profusely decking these fioriferous cliffs. 
 Nay, shall I tell it ? I these wilds have crossed 
 At midnight hour ; and when St Giles proclaimed 
 With hollow voice, that of the fleeting time 
 Allowed us here, another day was gone,— 
 On Arthur's summit pensively I stood. 
 The balmy breath of summer floated round : 
 Night, stead of sable, wore a dusky robe j 
 So that the city lying underneath
 
 ARRAN. 75 
 
 Though deeply overcast, -was not unseen. 
 
 The mighty Dragon slept *, and the pale lights 
 
 Which over it were spread, the burnished scales 
 
 Appeared. Downward my way I wound, through scenes 
 
 Wild and secluded even at noon-title hour. 
 
 But drearier far when midnight liiigued around : 
 
 For Muschat's Cairn, and eke St Anton's Well 
 
 And Chapel old I passed ; then cross the Park 
 
 I nimbly hied ; and reaching Holyrood, 
 
 Through its long arcades rev'rently I moved. 
 
 Contrasting in my mind the silence deep 
 
 Which now throughout this royal palace reigned. 
 
 With the bright festive scenes there oft beheld 
 
 In days of other years, when the glad home 
 
 Of potent kings — scenes equalled, and surpassed. 
 
 When he who wields the sceptre of our land. 
 
 Entered the palace where his fathers dwelt ; 
 
 And when all Scotland, with such shouts as made 
 
 » " The prospect, in its general outline, commands a close built, high-piled 
 city, stretching itself out beneath in a form which, to a romantic imagination, 
 may be supposed to represent that of a Dragon." — Heart of MUi- Lothian. 
 
 2 d2
 
 76 ARRAN. 
 
 The welkin ring, poured forth with willing heart 
 Her loyal welcomings of Scotia's King ; 
 And testified that now her joy was full. 
 
 O Scotia, Scotia ! other lands may boast 
 Of vales more fertile, or of sunnier hiUs, 
 Where every rock is clad with creeping vines, 
 Festooned with clusters of the purple grape ; 
 Of citron groves, shedding their odours rich. 
 While golden fruit, and snowy blossoms pure. 
 Form sweetest contrast with the verdant leaves. 
 Thine is a nobler boast, beloved land ! 
 Fair are these foreign shores, and rich as fair. 
 But poor their beauty is compared with thine 
 Thine is the charm of mind, of moral worth. 
 Thou land of heroes ; sages ; sacred song ! 
 Where'er we stray amidst thy varied scenes. 
 Something reminds us of the mighty dead 
 Whose fame shall live coeval with thy hills. 
 Here, is a height from which thy hardy sons 
 Destruction hurled on the invading foe. 
 There, is a plain in which in open fight
 
 ARRAN. 77 
 
 The armies of the alien were o'erthrown. 
 
 Here, in a winding glen by wild wood clad 
 
 Through which a brook with many a wimpling glides, 
 
 One of thy native bards, of deathless fame. 
 
 First held sweet converse with the heavenly Muse. 
 
 That stone with lichens gray encrusted o'er. 
 
 Exalts its head amid the purple heath. 
 
 The monument of one who kept the faith, 
 
 In deeply injured Scotland's evil day; 
 
 And dying sealed it with a martyr's blood ; 
 
 Accepting not deliverance, that he might 
 
 " A better resurrection hence obtain *." 
 
 And here in later times, and happier days. 
 
 Some gifted minister of Jesus Christ, 
 
 First drew the breath of life, and felt the wish 
 
 To yield himself to God ; and in His might 
 
 To wage with the arch-enemy of souls. 
 
 Open, unceasing, unrelenting war. 
 
 Rousing the slumberous captive sons of men 
 
 * Hebrews xi. 35.
 
 78 ARRAN. 
 
 To spurn his thraldom j iuid, as sons of God, 
 To seek for glory, honour, endless life. 
 
 Rich is this Highland Isle in all the charms 
 Which glens and bays, and towering hills impart : 
 But not less rich in the sublimer charms 
 Of moral grandeur. Feudal times are o'er ; 
 But in the land of clans who can forget 
 Those ties of honour, and of quencliless love. 
 By which the clansman to his chief was bound ? 
 Who can his pure de^otedness forget 
 To him whose name he bore, whose fame he sought ? 
 'Twas for his chief he lived j he watched his looks ; 
 He guessed his wish ; and not as timid slave 
 From fear he served, but from affection pure. 
 To yield him willing service was his joy ; 
 And to promote the honour of his chief. 
 Or foul aspersion from his name to ^vipe. 
 Was there a danger which he would not face ? 
 Or death which for his'sake he would not die ? 
 
 Though feudal times are o'er, can we forget 
 That they who dwell among these hills and glens,
 
 ARllAN. "79 
 
 However destitute of gaudy show, 
 
 Are still, when proved on flood, or battle-fleld, 
 
 The bravest of the brave ? Can we forget 
 
 How much we owe to them by land and sea ? 
 
 Whence is our navy manned, proud Britain's boast ; 
 
 The Frenchman's dread ; the envy of the world ? 
 
 Ngt from our inland villages and towns, 
 
 Whose swarthy artizans would shrink if launched 
 
 For pleasure sail even on the sleeping wave. 
 
 No ; 'midst the boisterous seas and squally friths. 
 
 Which from each other part our Highland Isles, 
 
 Are not our most intrepid seamen reared ? 
 
 The sea 's their element. Their little arms 
 
 Its billows buffet even in childish years. 
 
 From boyhood they its terrors learn to brave. 
 
 Steering their little boats, with dauntless heart. 
 
 Through seas on which even veterans might quake. 
 
 Of naval heroes, then, behold the school. 
 
 Amongst the islands of our billowy sea. 
 
 And should again (which Heaven forefend) the clouds 
 
 Of war return ; raav not these daring elves
 
 80 ARRAN. 
 
 Who paddle now in Highland bay and creek. 
 Wield in their day our thunder on the main^ 
 And add fresh laurels to our naval crown ? 
 
 But still on battle-field most brightly shines 
 The pure unmingled beam of Gaelic valour. 
 There in each corps distinct is kept alive 
 The martial spirit cherished 'midst their hills. 
 And when amidst their hills, roaming at large^ 
 You hear, at close of day, the Highland pipe 
 Warbling its pibrochs wild throughout the glens. 
 Till hills and rocks re-echo ; — think you not 
 That that same pipe — which now in peaceful strain 
 Delights the happy rustics gathered round, — 
 May to the charge have led our Highland clans 
 On Egypt's sandy shore ; on IVIaida's plains ; 
 Or on the ensanguined field of Quatre Bras, 
 Where in the dawn of noblest triumphs fell 
 Those whom their native glens will long bewail : 
 Where, too, alas ! the gallant Miller fell^. 
 And braver fell not through the lengthened war. 
 Nor more deplored ; for he A\as mild as brave ,•
 
 ARRAN. ^ 81 
 
 And firm as he was mild, and wise as firm j 
 And learned too as wise, and firm, and brave : 
 His country's hope ; his much-loved father's joy ; 
 The very flower and pride of friends endeared. 
 Whose hearts to his were knit by strongest ties 
 Of fond affection, and intense regard. 
 Broken, alas ! are now these blissful ties ; 
 if broken these love-cords indeed can be. 
 When, though no longer by his friends beheld. 
 Still in their memories he lives embalmed ; — 
 When he is daily present to their thoughts ; : 
 
 And when the best affections of their hearts, 
 Soothing at once, and cherishing their grief, 
 Are hovering still around his honoured grave. 
 
 But now to Arran we again return ; 
 And one as brave as bravest Gaelic chief, 
 Arran ! once trode thy shores ; and traces left 
 Which countless centuries will not efface. 
 Who knows not that our gallant Robert Bruce 
 When foes were numerous, and friends were few. 
 Took refuge in this Isle ? Who does not know
 
 82 ARRAN. 
 
 That those famed caves, on Arran's western shore. 
 Were King's Coves called, because they shelter gave 
 To Scotland's bravest King in hour of need ? 
 And when we see how richly they are fringed 
 With royal fern^°, might not we almost think 
 This stately fern delighted still to grow 
 'Midst scenes once honoured by so great a prince. 
 
 Who that has visited the King's-cross Point, 
 Knows not that it was King's-cross called of old. 
 From Bruce our patriot King ? Tradition tells 
 That in the darkest hour of his distress. 
 After a sleepless night, in humble cot. 
 Upon this rocky point, his noble mind 
 Desponding felt amidst his anxious cares : 
 But when the Sun diffused his gladdening beams 
 Upon his lowly bed,— then did the King, 
 Whose ardent mind was stiU on the alert. 
 Not of the ant, but of the spider learn ". 
 An active spider caught the monarch's eye. 
 Weaving her silky web. To spread her snares, 
 And make them tight and sure, she sought to fix
 
 ARRAN. 83 
 
 Some of the filmy threads which formed her net, 
 On a rough beam projecting from the roof; 
 But down she fell before the high emprize 
 She had fulfilled. Again the wall she climbs ; 
 But when the pinnacle she'd almost reached. 
 Again she tumbles down. Six times the attempt 
 With dauntless heart she made ; — but six times failed. 
 As of Antcean breed, and gathering strength 
 From every fall ; a seventh time up she wends ; — 
 Reaches at last the point ; fastens the cords ; 
 And spreads triumphantly her meshy toils ! 
 
 Upsprings the valiant Bruce, with kindling eye. 
 Shall I a King, nay more, the King of Scots, 
 Shew less of vigour and of firm resolve. 
 Than this vile reptile in her daily toil .'' 
 Shall she thus dauntless and unwearied prove. 
 That with envenomed fangs she may devour 
 The free and happy by her arts ensnared ? 
 And shall I shrink from danger or from toil. 
 When freedom is the prize, and when I seek 
 To break the fetters and the galling chains.
 
 84 ARRAN. 
 
 By Avliicli my Scottish subjects are enthralled ? — 
 
 With stately step towards the sea he strode. 
 
 The skiff is launched ; she scuds before the breeze ; 
 
 Arran is left ; Ailsa soon seems to near ; 
 
 Carrick, the Bruce's land, is safely reached ; 
 
 And though his father's towers the foe possess. 
 
 He finds his liegemen true ; and by their help 
 
 He fondly hopes these towers soon to regain. 
 
 His plans at midnight meeting he arranged ; 
 
 Thence, with a chosen band of Carrick men, 
 
 By secret passes through the well known hills 
 
 He went to sound the feeling on the Dee. 
 
 Wild was the savage scene where first the Bruce 
 
 Rested his faithful troop ; but, ah ! not wild 
 
 Were the contiguous scenes he next explored. 
 
 Where flows the silver Ken, my native stream. 
 
 Through sweet Glenkens : for purer streams ; or banks 
 
 iMore picturesque ; or richer rural vales ; 
 
 Or happier groups of undulating hills ; 
 
 Where, says my heart, can Scotia elsewhere claim ?— 
 
 The Gallovidians rally round the prince,
 
 ARRAN. 85 
 
 Who leads them to the foe. What foe could stand 
 The brave attack of heroes round their King, 
 Fighting in freedom's cause ? The Southrons Hed. 
 The shouts of victory echo through the land. 
 The tide of conquest swells ; till, like a flood 
 Bursting the bounds by which it was confined, 
 At Bannockburn it swept the insulting bands 
 Of fierce invaders from our Scottish realm ; 
 And made it, what I trust it long shall be. 
 The kingdom of the happy and the free.
 
 AURAN. 
 
 CANTO V.
 
 View from Manse of Stevenston.— Range of Sea-coast. — Ayr.— The 
 Sea. — Holiday excursion from Dumfries. — First View of the Sea. 
 — First Voyage to Arran— which proved a nocturnal one. — Musings 
 on the Deep. — Brodick Bay at Sunrise. — Kilmichael. — Arran 
 Castle. — A Vessel weighing Anchor. — Cheerings when she is 
 under way.— A «a«^.— Landing — England.— Ireland.— Landing in 
 Arran contrasted with landing in France.
 
 ARRAN. 89 
 
 CANTO V. 
 
 Arran ! once more to thee I turn mine eyes ; 
 And to mine eyes thou hast for many a year 
 Furnished a daily feast. At morning tide 
 Soon as abroad I from my chamber look 
 On this fair earth, thee on the right I see, 
 With little Plada floating by thy side. 
 Like faithful satellite with beacon tire \ 
 And Ailsa, too, I see in classic pride *, 
 Like huge Leviathan from ocean's depths 
 Raising with conic curvature his back. 
 As if the deep gave not sufficient sco])2 
 For the wild fantasies of Ocean's King '\ 
 Or to compare things that are great beneath, 
 
 * " Meg was deaf as Ailsa Craig." — Burns.
 
 90 AllKAN. 
 
 With greater things above — is not that rock 
 
 Riding superb amidst the ambient waves, 
 
 When the pale moon sleeps on the cone and sea. 
 
 Like Saturn's distant orb, with radiant ring 
 
 By telescopic eye at eve beheld 
 
 Poised in the baseless sky ; seeming indeed 
 
 Fixed in the firmament, as that vast craig 
 
 Is fixed 'midst restless waves ; yet wheeling on 
 
 With a rapidity that baffles thought ; 
 
 And in a sphere whose mighty range in vain 
 
 Our highest thoughts attempt to comprehend. 
 
 How high then He above all human thought. 
 
 Who fills that sphere, and fills the wide extent 
 
 Of his own boundless realms, of which that sphere. 
 
 Vast though it be, forms so minute a point ! 
 
 Not to the west alone I turn mine eyes. 
 Nor to the south ; but eastward too I look, 
 And gladly look, when, at one SAveeping glance, 
 I fifty miles behold of curving coast ; 
 And in the bosom of her ample bay, 
 Old Ayr I recognize, beloved town,
 
 AllllAN. 
 
 91 
 
 For honest men and eke for beauty famed *, 
 
 And not less famed for all the kindly rites 
 
 Of hospitality and social life. 
 
 How grand would be the view we hence behold 
 
 Although the wide expanse that lies between 
 
 The Arran mountains and the Carrick hills, 
 
 From old Kildonan's antiquated walls ^ 
 
 To the bold cliff-borne turrets of Cullean*, 
 
 Were but a fertile plain ; but, oh ! how grand. 
 
 When 'stead of plain, it is the spacious sea, — 
 
 That mighty reservoir, which, from the mass 
 
 Of crude chaotic matter, the Supreme 
 
 Formed when he said, " Let the dry land appear. 
 
 And let the waters which are under Heaven 
 
 Into one place together gathered be + ." 
 
 There go the ships ;— there the sea monsters, huge 
 
 Lords of the deep, sport in their scaly pride % . 
 
 Thence Hoat the clouds, raised by the solar ray. 
 
 » " Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a tovm surpasses, 
 For honest men and bonny lasses." — Bdrns. 
 
 t Genesis, chap. i. .0. 
 
 t Job xli.— " Leviathan— his scales are his priiie.'
 
 92 
 
 AltRAN. 
 
 '»^' 
 
 Soon to descend again in rains and dews, 
 
 To water and to fructify the ground. 
 
 Thence is the moisture borne that forms the springs 
 
 Which from their prisonment amongst the hills. 
 
 Bursting at last with merry tinklings forth, 
 
 In gurgling rills warble and prattle on, 
 
 Whispering each rosy valley as they pass. 
 
 They hasten to their home,— their native main, 
 
 Which with regret they left ; and where they hope. 
 
 Their wanderings o'er, in calm repose to dwell *. 
 
 O changeful sea, changeless alone in this. 
 That thou art noble still in every change ; 
 Whether with bright unwrinkled front thou meet'st 
 With answering smile the radiant orb of day ; 
 Or with thy mellow and reflected blaze 
 Viest in splendour with Night's beauteous Queen j 
 Whether thy curling waves with sportive lash 
 Steal by degrees upon the yellow sand ; 
 Or, with the fiercest fury of the storm, 
 
 * " L'onda dal mar divisa, 
 Bagna," &c.— Metastasio.
 
 ARRAN. 93 
 
 Dash on the sloping shore ; or chafe the rocks. 
 With force terrific, threatening to o'erthroAv 
 What through all ages had their barriers been. 
 One glorious day, in boyhood's happy years. 
 Distant though now it be, I still recall 
 With all the vividness of life and truth. 
 From sweet Dumfries on holiday I strayed 
 Adown the lovely Nith towards the sea ; 
 For reared in inland vale, as yet the sea. 
 The far-resounding main, I'd ne'er beheld. 
 What were the mingled feelings of my heart. 
 When past Caerlavrock's towers the mighty sea. 
 That deep and boundless gulf of briny waves. 
 In all its grandeur opened to my view ! 
 With what astonishment I then beheld 
 The Solway's rapid tide rushing amain ; — 
 Changing, as seemed to me, even Nature's laws. 
 And driving back the river to its source ! 
 And what was my delight when in full sail 
 A stately ship I for the first time saw. 
 Skimming along upon the azure tide
 
 94 AllRAN. 
 
 Like some vast waterfowl with outspread wings,- 
 Some condor* of the deep replete with life. 
 Breasting the billows in the pride of power. 
 As like the Queen of the cerulean main 
 She gaily curvetted upon the waves, — 
 Bending her course where nothing was beheld. 
 Far as the eye could reach, but sea and sky ! 
 With steady gaze I watched her lessening form. 
 Till far at sea, to Fancy's eye she seemed 
 A white-robed spirit launched upon the flood. 
 That wafts the faithful to Immanuel's land : 
 Nay, from the waves, seeming at last to mount 
 Amongst the clouds, impatient of delay. 
 Resolved to steer on bold and happy wing 
 To the fair land beheld beyond the flood ; — 
 To dwell Avith Him who drank the bitterest dregs 
 Of Calvary's cup of dark mysterious woe. 
 To rescue myriads who were doomed to die. 
 My heart was full — my youthful mind enlarged ; 
 
 'I'he Sea Eagle.
 
 Aim AN. 95 
 
 For these brief hours of blissful wonderment 
 Compensated for years ; so many beams 
 Of new-born light rushed on my raptured soul : 
 And when admonished by the shades of night; 
 I turned from wandering on the lonely shore, 
 Full many a lingering look behind I cast 
 On that new world of waters I had seen. 
 And all the wonders that strange world displayed. 
 Thee, Arran, then I knew not, though the time 
 Has far receded in the vale of years. 
 When first I touch'd thy hospitable shores. 
 From ancient harbour in my own domains *, 
 Under a Summer's sun I sailed at noon ; 
 Yet though the passage promised to be brief. 
 When sank the sun behind the Highland hills, 
 We midway floated on the waveless sea. 
 Yea sable night came on, and still wide space 
 Lay 'twixt us and the gloom-enveloped shore. 
 To float upon the deep at midnight hour, 
 
 * The Harbour of Saltcoats is ir. my paii.-.li.
 
 96 ARRAN. 
 
 Was an event unwished for ; — but 'twas new ; 
 
 And there was something in this novel state. 
 
 Well fitted to delight the pensive mind. 
 
 When sleep has closed the eyes of all around ; 
 
 When even the helmsman, trusting to the calm, 
 
 Over the rudder sleeps ; when not a sound. 
 
 Save at long intervals, the heavy chink ^ 
 
 Of the dark wave is heard against the keel ; — 
 
 Can you upon the deck of floating bark, 
 
 When for thp first time placed at midnight hour. 
 
 Be wholly destitute of thoughts sublime ? 
 
 With lofty feelings, do not you exclaim. 
 
 How grand the solitude which reigns around ! 
 
 But are you lonely ? Reigns there solitude ? 
 
 Give but a sudden stroke upon the prow. 
 
 And flash refulgent from the gloomy deep 
 
 Will tell that myriads of the finny tribes, 
 
 In silver shoals are wantoning around. ^ 
 
 Dip but an oar into the briny main. 
 
 And straight the oar drops diamonds, and the sea. 
 
 Though when unwounded and untroubled, — dark,
 
 ARRAN. 97 
 
 Now shines like furnace full of boiling gold. 
 
 'Tis with vast multitudes of living things. 
 
 That thus the deep is burnished. Undisturbed, 
 
 No light they give, and would unseen remain. 
 
 Though the bright sun shone on the peopled wave. 
 
 But in the gloom of night, if the rough wind, 
 
 Or ruder hand of man, turmoil excite 
 
 Throughout their watery realm, then bright they shine 
 
 With brilliance far surpassing richest gems. 
 
 Shine thus these tiny glow-worms of the deep 
 'Mid troubled waves when darkness robes the sky, 
 Though not even seen when gaily they disport 
 In peaceful hour under the eye of day ? 
 And dost thou think, vain man, that best thou shin'st 
 When plays upon thy head the beam of joy. ^ 
 When glides with prosperous gale thy merry bark 
 Along life's smiling sea ; — when not a rock 
 Is seen t' impede thy course ; — and not a blast 
 Is heard amidst the shrouds, save Zephyrs bland 
 Discoursing music to the dancing waves } 
 Alas ! the history of fallen man
 
 98 ARRAN. 
 
 Tells us how apt he is, in peaceful hour. 
 To walk in darkness, heedless of the light 
 Which shews the rugged path that leads to heaven ^ 
 And if in that sad history we find 
 Page so illumined that our torpid souls 
 Catch from it fire, and kindle at its blaze ; 
 Oh ! is it not the page which to us speaks — 
 Not of proud conquerors, in nothing great 
 Save in their greedy and ambitious grasp — 
 But of the nobler few who have withstood 
 The power of their oppressors ; who have braved. 
 With dauntless hearts, their rage ; and from the land 
 Have swept th' invading foe ; — or in the field 
 Of battle bravely fought, in freedom's cause 
 Have dearly sold their lives ; falling at last. 
 By numbers overpowered, by toil o'ercome. 
 And deeply pierced with honourable wounds ? — 
 Or of the nobler still, who, when the storm 
 Of bloody persecution raged around ; — 
 When midnight darkness brooded o'er the land ; — 
 When gnashed earth's great ones on them with their 
 teeth.
 
 AllliAN. 99 
 
 Crying, with bigot zeal, " Recant, recant. 
 Or to the greedy flames we give your blood !"— 
 Instead of shrinking in that trying hour. 
 Or flinching from the truth, renouncing Him 
 Whose blood had bought them — ^whose benignant smile 
 Was dearer to them than even life itself — 
 Embraced the stake, and 'midst the scorching flames 
 Proclaimed His praise, till their triumphant song 
 Died in the raging element away ? 
 
 England ! thou hadst thy share of these dark days. 
 And thy bright share of Christian heroes too. 
 O'er thy brown hills, and cannach-tufted wilds. 
 And through thy glens, the persecuting scourge, 
 Scotland ! then passed relentless. Deep it drank 
 Of noblest blood. Then were ennobled those. 
 Who, had in peaceful days their lot been cast. 
 Had passed through life unnoticed in the throng. 
 Thy very peasants, in that dreary night. 
 Rose in the scale of being. Then they bore. 
 With an endurance which themselves surprised^ 
 Hunger, and cold, and weariness, and pain, 
 
 £2
 
 100 ARRAN. 
 
 And cruel mockings, and imprisonment. 
 
 And every torture their blood-thirsty foes 
 
 With savage ingenuity contrived : 
 
 Yea, death itself they welcomed ; nor their lives 
 
 Thought dear unto themselves, when for the truth 
 
 Required to wear the martyr's crimsoned crown. 
 
 As lights in a dark land they brightly shone 
 
 With ray refulgent ; — shone as seeing Him 
 
 Who, though invisible but to the eye 
 
 Of stedfast faith, looked on them with that smile 
 
 Which brightest seraphim with rapture fills ; 
 
 And 'midst the gloom, the followers of the Lamb 
 
 The beam reflected, and an earnest caught 
 
 Of their rich heritage secured in heaven. 
 
 With such-like musings on the mighty deep. 
 Passed the mild night away. The morning came,- 
 The rosy-fingered morn. The King of Day 
 Rejoicing quits his chambers in the East, 
 And in his golden chariot issues forth 
 To make again the circuit of the sky. 
 Arran was now at hand. In Brodwick Bay
 
 ARRAN. 101 
 
 We lay embosomed^ when the rising sun 
 
 Poured o'er the lovely scene a flood of light. 
 
 And O ! how lovely was that noble bay ! 
 
 Oft with delight from the adjacent shore, 
 
 The bold outline of thine aspiring peaks, 
 
 Arran ! had I beheld. But now a scene. 
 
 As rich as it was grand, surprised we see. 
 
 There, with sweet grace, retiring up Glencloy, * 
 
 Embowered Kilmichel lurks ; happy abode ! 
 
 The guerdon meet of brave and loyal deeds, 
 
 And worthy, too, the grateful Bruce to give.' 
 
 Glen-sherig next is seen ; Glen-rosa next. 
 
 Close to the Bay, along the peaceful shore. 
 
 From scattered hamlets, interspersed with trees, 
 
 Soft curling wreaths of light blue smoke ascend. 
 
 Ben-ghoil the back-ground forms ; and close at hand. 
 
 Where slopes his wooded base into the sea. 
 
 On a bold eminence half hid by trees. 
 
 Which proudly raise their venerable heads. 
 
 Crowned with the honours of primaeval years, 
 
 • Glencloy, i. e. Gleann-mhic-CMoidh, or the Glen of Fullarton.
 
 102 ARllAN. 
 
 Stands Arran's ducal palace, Brodwick's pride ; 
 
 A hunting residence, full well I ween. 
 
 Of which even Britain's monarch would be proud. 
 
 I envy not the feelings of the man 
 
 Who can unmoved behold the princely seat 
 
 Of Scotland's premier peer, where, with mild sway. 
 
 For many hundred years, this noble race. 
 
 Though Lowland chiefs, a Highland realm have ruled. 
 
 Near to the Castle gate, we see the port, 
 And see the quay, even at this early hour. 
 With numbers thronged, who all with anxious eyes 
 A stately vessel viewed, whose busy crew 
 The ponderous anchor weighed. With spreading sails 
 Before the favouring breeze anon she glides. 
 As if rejoicing that again unmoored. 
 She launched afresh into the billowy sea. 
 Loud cheerings now were raised by those on shore : 
 Yet, though suppressed, we heard the voice of wo 
 Mixed with the cheering shouts ; and saw the tear 
 Of heartfelt grief wiped from the pallid cheek. 
 By the brave crew the cheering was returned
 
 ARRAN. 103 
 
 I-n firmer, livlier tones, as if they said 
 
 To friends ashore — For us why should you grieve ? 
 
 Dear is the home we quit ; but on the deep 
 
 Another home we find : — a happy home. 
 
 When scuds our gallant bark before the breeze ; 
 
 Nor joyless even when stoutly we contend 
 
 With the proud waves, and struggle with the storm. 
 
 Amidst the cheerings raised by all around. 
 One silent, cheerless stood. Absorbed in grief 
 He seemed ; — nor seemed to heed, nor seemed to hear, 
 The shoutings from the ship and from the shore. 
 His form and mien no vulgar mind bespoke ; 
 And to his face, which seemed by nature formed 
 To beam with joy, grief had more interest given 
 Than flush of youthful joy could e'er impart. 
 Near to the helm he stood, and kept his eyes 
 Intently fixed on the receding shore. 
 Forgetting all around, he converse held 
 With his own thoughts; and as our skiflPthem passed, 
 We heard him thus pour forth, in descant deep. 
 The inward workings of a broken heart.
 
 104 ARRAN, 
 
 Bounds our merry bark 
 O'er the rippling sea. 
 Sprightly as the lark 
 Skimming o'er the lea. 
 But oh ! I quit for aye 
 Arran's lovely shore ; 
 And Brodwick's bonny bay 
 I never shall see more. 
 
 2. 
 
 Bonny, bonny bay. 
 Canst thou sae sweetly smile. 
 When I maun sail away 
 Sae mony a weary mile ? 
 When I maun sail away 
 Across the western main. 
 Bonny Brodwick Bay, 
 Smile not sae again.
 
 ARRAN. 105 
 
 3. 
 
 Sad it is to say 
 A long, a last fareweel, 
 To hill, and glen, and bay. 
 And friends I loe sae weel. 
 But sadder sairer pang, 
 From thee dear maid to sever, 
 Whom I hae loed sae lang. 
 Whom I forget can never. 
 
 4. 
 Hearts fu' o' love and joy, 
 How could^thy father rend ? 
 Their fondest hopes destroy — 
 Their dream of rapture end ? 
 Thy tears how could he see. 
 And yet nae pity show ? 
 Thy friend profess to be, 
 Yet fill thy cup of wo ?
 
 106 ARRAN. 
 
 5. 
 
 He said I had na wealth, 
 Nor routh o' warld's gear : 
 But I had youth and health. 
 And what had I to fear ? 
 I had my Mary's heart. 
 And richer could I be ? 
 And now frae her to part. 
 Is waur than death to me. 
 
 6. 
 
 Dearest loveliest maid. 
 Since thou canst not be mine, 
 I quit my Highland glade. 
 In foreign lands to pine ; 
 To dream of thee by night. 
 To think of thee by day. 
 And far far frae thy sight 
 To drop into the clay. * 
 
 • See Note 8. for the air.
 
 ARRAN. 107 
 
 The close we scarcely heard. Borne by the breeze, 
 Upon our melting hearts at times it stole 
 In wild and plaintive wail. At other times 
 It reached our listening ears in murmur low, 
 And then in sweetest cadence died away. 
 
 'Midst all the grandeur of this Highland scene. 
 This youthful stranger, whom now first we saw. 
 And whom we never were to see again. 
 Had won our hearts. Our eyes were on him fixed ; 
 But soon the vessel gliding on her way 
 Passed sweet Spring-bank, and soon near Corrygills * 
 Was by the shaggy headland hid from view. 
 
 At last we land. Now that from day to day. 
 Our rioating palaces their legions waft 
 To every creek and island of the main. 
 Who has not been in Arran ? Erst, this was 
 Achievement forming almost ground of boast. 
 I know not what it is to find one's self 
 In foreign land, and on a distant shore. 
 Alas ! I know not, though I long to know, 
 
 * Coire-ghaill, or the DeU of the Stranger or Lowlander.
 
 108 
 
 ARRAN. 
 
 Even England's happy realm. Her rural scenes. 
 
 So rich, and elegant, and soft, and sweet. 
 
 Have ne'er regaled mine eyes, — nor has my heart. 
 
 Amid these scenes, enjoyed the rich repast 
 
 Of mingling with a peasantry, at once 
 
 Open, kind-hearted, generous, and true ; 
 
 And save the hardy Gael, and trusty Scot, 
 
 The best and bravest that the world contains. 
 
 Nor have I her metropolis beheld. 
 
 Itself a world, — a world I fear deep stained 
 
 With darker spots of worthlessness than stain 
 
 Even dreariest lands of blinded Payinim. 
 
 But 'mongst these spots, what shining clouds there are 
 
 Of holy witnesses who keep the faith. 
 
 And prove that 'tis a faith which Avorks by love. 
 
 Which breathes benevolence, and makes the life 
 
 A song of praise to Him who seals their souls. 
 
 And earnest gives of rich inheritance 
 
 Preserved for them at His right-hand in Heaven. 
 
 And if in ancient times, when deemed the seer 
 
 That all had strayed and he alone was left.
 
 ARRAN. 109 
 
 Thousands unknown to him through Israel's coasts;, 
 Scorning at Baal's shrine to bend the knee, 
 Served, 'midst a recreant race, the living God * ; 
 May we not hope that to the splendid list 
 Of those who shine even as the morning light, 
 God has his hidden ones, whose modest worth 
 Shrinking from public gaze into the shade. 
 Is little known save unto Him who knows 
 What is in man ; and who will cause at last 
 Their light to shine even as the perfect day ? 
 
 Though prone to stray, yet have I never crossed 
 Th' ideal line disjoining sister lands ; 
 Nor crossed the sea to Erin's verdant shores. 
 Where kindly Nature, with a lavish hand, 
 Her gifts bestows, in genial soil, and clime ; 
 In daughters fairer than Cir cassia boasts ; 
 In sons, for genius, and for generous hearts. 
 For sportive wit, and ready repartee. 
 For scorn of danger in the battle's brunt, 
 For love of country, and of fame, surpassed 
 
 * 1 Kings xix. 14, 18.
 
 110 ARRAN. 
 
 A^r by the Sassenach, nor by the Gael. 
 
 But tho' thus kind dame Nature, far from kind. 
 
 We blush to tell, has been thy sister isle. 
 
 Long dealt she with thee harshly ; but at last 
 
 She owns her guilt, and wishes to redress. 
 
 If she knew how, thy great and numerous wrongs. 
 
 'Nor can the wish be cherished long in vain. 
 
 The night is now far spent, the morning dawns. 
 
 And Erin's better days begin to run. 
 
 And Oh ! may brighter, happier ages bless 
 
 Thy sons and daughters, interesting isle ! 
 
 Nor have I crossed, though thousands yearly cross, 
 From Dover's dazzling cliffs, to that rich land 
 O'er which the lately exiled Bourbons reign. 
 Yet what his feelings are, I can conceive. 
 When first a Briton lands on Gallia's coast. 
 Great is the change ; for new is all he hears. 
 And all he sees — people, and land, and tongue, 
 And manners, and costumes — all, all are new ; 
 And all is life, and gaiety, and glee. 
 And shrug and ready smile, and scrape, and bow.
 
 ARRAN. Ill 
 
 But can you quite forget, 'midst shrugs and smiles. 
 
 That, years agone but few, these very men 
 
 Breathed not a deeper wish than that they might 
 
 Your country ruin and your name blot out ? 
 
 Can you believe no secret grudge they bear 
 
 'Gainst the proud Islanders before whose might 
 
 They sank discomfited by land and sea ? 
 
 Their eagles, trained to carnage, and to fiap, 
 
 With fierce terrific scream, their bloody wings 
 
 Over the prostrate nations of the earth. 
 
 Quailed 'mid the thunders of our mightier war. 
 
 And with the yell of agony and fear 
 
 Fell to the ground transfixed. And can you think 
 
 That with unfeigned affection they behold 
 
 Their haughty conquerors upon their shores ? 
 
 To years of peaceful intercourse, I trust. 
 
 These vengeful feelings now begin to yield. 
 
 Soon may they die in Gallia's gallant sons ; 
 
 And may not British haughtiness retard 
 
 The reign of amity within their hearts. 
 
 But tho' each heart breathed love, yet would the change 
 
 On all around proclaim a foreign land.
 
 112 AKRAN. 
 
 Yet strange to tell, in some respects you find 
 Change not less marked, when from our Lowland coast 
 You glide in packet light, with gentle breeze. 
 In two short hours to Arran's bolder shores. 
 When tract of sea so small has intervened. 
 Not without wonder you the difference mark 
 In almost all you see and all you hear. 
 Lately, the Scotch, in all its Doric breadth 
 And soft familiar tones, dwelt on your ear : 
 But now the accent and the tongue are changed. 
 And rich in guttural and in liquid sounds 
 The Gaelic speech is heard ; that ancient tongue, 
 Almost as changeless as the stable hills, 
 'Midst whose romantic and sequestered glens, 
 It has, for countless years, found sure abode. 
 But though the sounds seem foreign to the ear. 
 With kindly impulse they assail your heart. 
 And as your own, and as your father's friends, 
 Knock for admission there. This is the tongue 
 Which spake your Lowland ancestors of old. 
 As fully testify the Gaelic names
 
 ARRAN. 113 
 
 Of lands they once possessed; though, like themselves. 
 
 The tongue which there they spake has passed away. 
 
 Spake not that tongue thousands who nobly dared 
 
 On Abraham's heights, where fell triumphant Wolfe;— 
 
 On the Calabrian and th' Egyptian shores ; — 
 
 At Waterloo, where all were brave ; and all 
 
 Earned of their country richest meed of praise ;— 
 
 And none more glorious than the Highland clans ? 
 
 Well pleased, on landing, then, you lend an ear 
 
 To sounds associated in Scottish hearts 
 
 With such memorials of bright renown. 
 
 And does not all around well correspond 
 
 With these exalted feelings ? All around 
 
 Is Nature in her aspects most sublime. 
 
 And 'midst the misty and secluded glens 
 
 You almost think you see the hovering ghosts 
 
 Of men of other years ; or hear the harp 
 
 Of plaintive Ossian, as he sings the praise 
 
 Of youthful warriors fallen ;— or pours the sigh 
 
 Of heart-felt sorrow o'er Malvina's grave ^
 
 ARRAN. 
 
 CANTO VI.
 
 Voyage in a Steam-Boat to Arran— And round it. — Whiting-BaT. — 
 
 Ashzel's Glen Lochranza. — Sannox Bay. — Sannox Glen — Fleet 
 
 of Fishing Boats in the Bay — The Worship of God in the Fleet 
 
 Young Noblemen — Ear; of Arran, and Baron Ardrossan, contrasted 
 with the Old Castles from which they take their titles, Arran Cas- 
 tle, and Ardrossan Cast.ii — Farewell to the Muse.
 
 ARRAN. 117 
 
 CANTO VI. 
 
 Yes, 'tis a painful thing to say Farewell ! 
 As youthful pilgrim when about to leave. 
 For Eastern climes, his native hills and glens,. 
 At early dawn roams pensively around 
 The lovely cottage where his childish years 
 In bliss Hew by ; — looks at each shrub and flower, — 
 Intensely looks ; — traces the tiny stream. 
 On whose sweet banks, so oft with friends endeared 
 He sportively had played ; and feels that e'en 
 To things inanimate to bid adieu, — 
 Perchance for ever, — costs a bitter pang ; 
 Even so the Muse, a last, a lingering look 
 Takes, ere she say Farewell, a long farewell.
 
 118 AIUIAI^^ 
 
 Oft have I passed to Arran's peaceful shore 
 With prosperous gale ; but moons agone not three. 
 In perfect calm more speedily I crossed 
 Than e'er before with most propitious breeze. 
 What would have thought our fathers when they crossed 
 In open skiff, with blanket for a sail^ 
 Had they been told that, when some fifty years 
 Were past and gone, their children, when they crossed 
 Prom shore to shore, no longer would consult 
 The aspect of the sky or winds or tides ; 
 But 'gainst the wind and tide, in storm or calm. 
 In darksome night, or in the open day. 
 Without a sail, without one effort made. 
 By strong-armed seamen tugging at the oar. 
 Would glide from land to land, with ease and speed 
 Alike astonishing ; and in a barge 
 More elegant, and more superb than ought 
 The proud magnificence of Eastern Kings 
 E'er dared to hope for ? Even had their seers sage. 
 With second-sight endoAved, such things foretold, 
 Their second-sight would not have credence gained.
 
 AURAN. 119 
 
 And their compeers would with one voice have said, 
 That such strange things could never, never be ; 
 And would, for once, have thought their seers misled 
 By wild vagaries of a heated brain. 
 But now have come to pass, what, if foretold, 
 Our fathers would have scouted with a sneer. 
 
 Stich are thy boasts, O Science ! Thou canst set 
 The very elements at war, and make 
 Their fiercest strife work for the good of man ; 
 The fire itself provoke to sevenfold rage 
 Against that humid element, by which 
 The fire is oft destroyed. Tormented long 
 In cavern dark and deep, the fluid, round 
 And round within its iron prison-house. 
 Is tossed. Changing in agony its form. 
 It, with a force which mountains might uproot, 
 Struggles from hopeless conflict to escape. 
 And in the struggle combats winds and waves. 
 And presses on, as if from change of place 
 Relief might spring. But still the foe fast clings. 
 Even like the greedy vulture of remorse, 
 
 2
 
 120 
 
 ARRAN. 
 
 Nestling within the heart, and gnawing there. 
 Yet though the strife is ceaseless, those around 
 As little heed these dire intestine broils, 
 As the Sicilian peasants, when they sport 
 On ^Etna's fertile side, heed the fierce war 
 Which rages 'neath their feet ; though from her base 
 The tortured mountain trembles ; uttering, 
 From time to time, deep sobs and groans ; 
 And from her troubled entrails belching forth 
 Ashes, and lurid smoke, and blazing flames. 
 And ponderous fragments of half melted-rock, 
 And desolating streams of liquid fire. 
 
 Of elemental strife what fancy dreamed, 
 When on the morning of a Summer day. 
 In princely galley, by this strife impelled. 
 With goodly company, in joyous mood. 
 We left Ardrossan shore. Full well I ween, 
 To all of us it was indeed a day 
 Of exquisite delight ; and fain I'd trace 
 Our happy route, as merrily we wound 
 From shore to shore ; and made, yea more than made.
 
 ARRAN. 121 
 
 Tlie circuit of the isle, ere we returned 
 At evening tide each to his peaceful home. 
 
 But onward I must go with greater speed 
 Than sped our barge ; although reluctantly 
 I pass unsung much that our eyes beheld. 
 But on I press ; for now towards a close 
 Must come at last my too extended song. 
 Yes, I must pass in haste Cumbraes' sweet isles ; 
 And mild and fertile Bute, and Carrick's shore, 
 And Brodwick, and Lamlash, and Holy Isle, 
 And Whiting-Bay, whose unpoetic name 
 May less of grandeur intimate than boast 
 The northern regions of this mountain isle ; 
 But which in rural sweetness will not yield 
 To any nook which north or south contains. 
 Not from the sea its sweetness you discern ; 
 But roam, as oft I've done, up Ashzel's Glen, 
 And there contrast the little busy mill \ 
 Of rural cheerfulness an emblem fit. 
 With the faint vestiges of what was once. 
 In days of other years, a house of God ; 
 
 F
 
 122 ARRAN. 
 
 With ancient church-yard still encompassed rounds 
 
 Where rude unlettered stones, now grey with eild, 
 
 Mark where the worshippers beneath are laid 
 
 In all the stillness of the oblivious vale. 
 
 Pursue the path along the limpid brook j 
 
 Hark the sweet concert which its murmurings make 
 
 With the hoarse cushat, and the mellow pipe 
 
 Of sooty blackbird, and of speckled thrush 
 
 Heard from the bosky dells, fringing the brook 
 
 And tinkling runlets leaping from the hills ; 
 
 List as they mingle with the surge's voice 
 
 From ocean's verge, and with the hollow roar 
 
 Of the bold cataract, where the wild stream. 
 
 Weary of wandering through a moorland tract. 
 
 At last beholds the sea, and lovely glen. 
 
 And in its reckless haste through the ravine 
 
 To reach its parent main, — in sheet of foam 
 
 Dashes precipitous from cliff to cliff. 
 
 With shout as loud as the Ten Thousand raised. 
 
 Who having fought their way thousands of miles 
 
 Through hostile lands ; gaining at last the heights
 
 ARRAN. 123 
 
 From which the Euxine opened to their view, 
 " The sea, the sea/' with tears of joy exclaimed. 
 As if their native Greece were now at hand. 
 And all their conflicts and their toils were o'er *. 
 But whither have I strayed, when now I ought 
 Onward so rapidly to steer my course ? 
 Ahd onward I shall now in silence glide- 
 Silence which all the beauty of the isle 
 Upon the Southern and the Western shore 
 Shall not o'ercome ; no, nor the lofty North ; 
 Nor thou Lochranza, lurking 'midst thy hills. 
 Though scene more fitted to excite delight 
 And admiration rarely is beheld. 
 Nor needest thou my feeble note of praise. 
 Have not thy charms obtained for thee a bard 
 Who plucked a pinion from the eagle's wing. 
 And with it in unfading colours sketched 
 Thine ancient castle, and thy inland bay. 
 
 * Kelt Tax* 8»j Kxcoeofi ^cwtut tuv trTgayriurtn 3-«A«r7» S-aXmrm 7iM nrat- 
 
 f2
 
 124 ARRAN. 
 
 The smoke ascending from thy hamlet lone, 
 And the peaked summits of thy circling hills 
 Smiling as greeted by the setting sun * ? 
 Thee mutely then we pass, — and pass the Cock, 
 And pass the fallen rocks, and skirt the shore 
 Adorned with steep and ivy-mantled cliffs. 
 And hazel copses, and rich tangled dells. 
 Whence eglantine, and honeysuckle sweet. 
 And fragrant birch, wafting their rich perfumes. 
 Tempt us to leap ashore and linger long. 
 
 And now our circuit seemed about a close : 
 The blue rock we had reached, and full in view 
 Lay the green woods encircling Brodwick towers 
 When suddenly upon our sight there burst 
 A captivating scene. 'Twas Sannox Glen ! 
 O for the pencil of an early friend 
 Near Duddingstone's sweet lake ; and for the skill 
 With which he makes the glowing canvas vie. 
 Or with the loveliest or the wildest scenes 
 The landscape can exhibit. Then a work
 
 ARRAN. 125 
 
 Would I produce, wliich would for ages live ; 
 Then could I give to your admiring gaze 
 Scenes which my willing but untutored Muse 
 3Iay try to represent, but try in vain. 
 
 So sudden and so strikinsj was the sight 
 When the sweet bay and mountain-circled glen 
 As- if by magic rose upon our view. 
 That in astonishment we all exclaimed, 
 " How noble, how magnificent is this ^ !" 
 Our very blood ran chill with pure delight. 
 Whilst we in rapture gazed upon the scene : 
 And all that nervous restlessness we felt — 
 That creeping of the flesh with which the voice 
 Of soul-subduing eloquence we hear ; 
 And which we feel, when listening to the strains 
 Of Music married to immortal Verse ; 
 And above all the melting measures sweet. 
 And plaintive lays of our beloved land. 
 When, raised by liquid voice of lady fair. 
 They thrilling captivate the ravished heart.
 
 126 ARRAN. 
 
 The evening sun shone on the splendid scene. 
 Gilding the mellow summits of the peaks. 
 When Cibch-na-h-ighinn * first in grandeur rose^ 
 Like stateliest daughter of the Anakim, 
 In virgin dignity and native grace. 
 Then Ceum-na-caillich t burst upon our view. 
 Like some vast pyramid in days of yore. 
 By superhuman power here piled on high. 
 Next Cir-mhor, J in pectinated pride 
 And rugged grandeur, reared his massy crest. 
 Then Sue-Ergus, § like a giant huge. 
 Though long invincible, now laid supine. 
 And looking up as suppliant to the skies. 
 
 How truly wonderful these alpine heights ! 
 Who can their hidden history unfold ? 
 Who tell their origin ? Is what we see 
 The mighty fragment of a nobler world 
 Than that which we inhabit .'' Or remains 
 
 * Maiden's Breast. j Carlin's Step. i. Great Comb or Crest. 
 
 § Fergus's Seat, the outline of which is very like the face of a giant lying 
 supine.
 
 ARRAN. 127 
 
 Of ancient temple, where a race of men 
 
 More potent than tlie mightiest now on earth. 
 
 Met to adore the only Power that could 
 
 A temple so magnificent uprear ? 
 
 Or formed these airy peaks which rise around 
 
 An amphitheatre surpassing far 
 
 Aught that the richest potentates and kings. 
 
 In all the plenitude of wealth and power. 
 
 E'er tried to raise ? Do not these pinnacles 
 
 Which lightly shoot into the middle air. 
 
 In Fancy's eye no slight resemblance bear 
 
 To ruined pillars of colossal form ; — 
 
 To columns of a nobler colonnade 
 
 Than Grecian architecture ever reared ? 
 
 But rest not satisfied with having seen 
 From Sannox-bay these bold r.:id striking peaks. 
 Land near that house of God ; the Glen pervade ; 
 Stop not till Ceum-na-caillich's highest cliffs * 
 Thou'st bravely scaled, and ere the evening close, 
 Return to linger round the lovely bay. 
 Lovest thou solitude 'midst scenes sublime .''
 
 128 ARRAN. 
 
 Here take thy fill ; for having left the bay. 
 And the soft landscape close upon the shore, 
 A grander, wilder, lonelier Highland glen 
 Thou nowhere canst behold. The glen to trace. 
 To mount the towering summits, and return, 
 Hours of laborious effort will require ; 
 Yet all the while, nor glimpse of face divine. 
 Nor human habitation, wilt thou see. 
 
 Yet think not tenantless this noble glen. 
 Here with wild note the wheeling plovers rise ; 
 There whirring spring the sno\vy ptarmigan. 
 And eke the blackcock bold on glossy wing. 
 High 'mong the cliffs abrupt of Kier-vore 
 The screaming eagle flutters o'er her nest. 
 And stirreth up her young. And see where hang 
 From Kiech-na-hean's peak the shaggy goats, 
 Though steep as obelisk it mounts on high. 
 Nay, ere you leave the glen, be not surprised 
 Though the red deer start from his humble lair 
 'Mong the deep purple heath, and bound away 
 In all his branching honours o'er the heights.
 
 ARRAN. 1~9 
 
 And down Glen-rosa ; or across the wilds 
 Which to Ben-vaaran lead. His stately step. 
 His graceful motions, how can you behold 
 And not confess within your raptured heart 
 Feelings at once delightful and sublime. 
 You honour him as monarch of the glen ; 
 As of the ancient stock which ilourished there. 
 When royal Bruce, and his most faithful friends. 
 Traversed with hound and horn these rugged wolds. 
 Rousing the sleeping echoes of Ben-ghoil ; — 
 Waging, with arrows winged, unequal war 
 With the forefathers of this antlered chief. 
 But you must leave this fascinating glen 
 Ere the long shadows of the evening close ; 
 And pondering linger by that house of God, 
 Upon the margin of the limpid stream. 
 Again survey the sylvan scene that lies 
 Between you and the mountains left behind. 
 Then own you will that it is rich and soft. 
 Contrasting well with the wild scene beyond. 
 And now towards the sea your eyes direct.
 
 130 ARRAN. 
 
 And feast them on the sweetly smiling isles 
 Of Cumbraes, like two emeralds on the deep, 
 And eke of lovely Bute, and lovelier isle 
 Or milder clime is not in Scottish realm. 
 Glance, too, 'cross Glotta's frith, and sweep along 
 The circling range of Coila's classic shore 
 From sprightly Largs to rural Ballantrae, 
 And you may wander far before a scene 
 So rich, and sweet, and varied, you behold. 
 
 But, lo ! a sudden change the bay pervades. 
 Some hours ago, and not a sail was seen. 
 And not a keel cleaving its peaceful wave. 
 Along the beach, and on the sandy shore. 
 All, all was still, — the picture of repose. 
 Here sat two fishermen upon the strand. 
 Mending their meshy nets. There other two 
 Lay by a little fire of rotten planks. 
 From which arose, in gently curling wreaths. 
 The light blue smoke ; while they at leisure watched 
 The melting pitch with which their fishing-boat. 
 Ere evening tide, they purposed to careen.
 
 ARRAN. 131 
 
 And 'twixt these little groups some cattle stood 
 In the cool stream, at noontide's sultry hour. 
 In happy rumination ; and with all 
 The placid aspect of contented ease. 
 And on the bank, which somewhat farther up 
 O'erhangs the brook, the kilted shepherd boy 
 Delighted leant, watching the speckled trouts 
 In graceful frolic gliding through the pool ;— 
 While 'cross the bay, though every sail was set, 
 A vessel slowly moved, seeming well pleased 
 To linger near this fascinating spot. 
 
 But now how changed the scene ! A fairy fleet 
 Methinks has filled the bay. The silver moon. 
 Which dapples bright the undulating tide. 
 Shews us a hundred sail of little skiffs. 
 Playing like sportive swans upon the flood. 
 And hark ! of those who man this pigmy fleet. 
 The voices reach the shore ; not weak and shrill. 
 Like voice of fays, but like the manly tones 
 Of hardy seamen actively employed. 
 A fleet of fishing-boats in truth it is. —
 
 132 ARRAN. 
 
 And oh ! hoAv lovely is the sprightly scene ! 
 
 Of industry how sweet the cheerful sounds, 
 
 While thus a morning feast provided is 
 
 For thousands fast asleep throughout the land. 
 
 And now the nets are set. For little space 
 
 Silence ensues ; but silence broken soon 
 
 By what the choirs seraphic might regale. 
 
 And what is with acceptance heard by God. 
 
 It is the praises of redeeming love. 
 
 Raised from the tranquil bosom of the sea. 
 
 In dulcet strains by distance softer made. 
 
 The gladdened waves prolong the joyful sound : 
 
 The zephyrs bear it on their balmy wings 
 
 To the curved shore. The hills re-echo it. 
 
 As if unwilling it should ever die. 
 
 Even from Gennes'ret's lake more joyful strains 
 
 The Galilean fishermen ne'er raised. 
 
 Look on that burnished wave, and think you not 
 
 That like th' Apocalypst you now behold 
 
 That splendid sea of glass, mingled with fire. 
 
 On which, with golden harps, the ransomed stood.
 
 ARRAN. 133 
 
 Singing the song of Moses and the Lamb, — 
 " Great are thy works, O Lord, and all thy Avays 
 Holy, and just, and true ! Who shall not fear 
 And glorify thy name, thou King of Saints ? 
 What nation shall not come and worship Thee ? " * 
 
 He who at evening tide has slowly walked 
 Through village neat, and stopped from time to time 
 To hear the praise of the Redeemer rise 
 From lowly cottages, where dwell in peace 
 The excellent of the earth, — can well conceive 
 The pleasure which a pious mind must feel 
 In hearing thus His praises from the deep. 
 Who made the deep, and tames its wildest waves. 
 And yet no village scene e'er equalled this. 
 Here all are heard at once, — some from afar. 
 Sending their softened accents to the shore ; — 
 Some nearer land, raising from fervent hearts 
 Their louder notes of gratitude and praise. 
 Some who Adversity's rough touch have felt 
 Pour forth a plaintive lay. Others on whom 
 Prosperity has laid her kindly hand, 
 
 » Rev. XV. 2, 3, 4.
 
 134 AllRAN. 
 
 In cheerful strains their happiness proclaim.— 
 But like the vernal music of the groves. 
 Whether of cheerful or of plaintive kind. 
 It is the song of love, the song of peace. 
 Rising in sweetest harmony to Him, 
 Who tenderly upbinds the wounded heart, 
 And is the source of love, and peace, and joy ^. 
 
 O that the blissful song of heavenly praise 
 From all our villages, and all our streets 
 Were daily heard to rise ! C) that our fleets. 
 Renowned in war, our bulwarks on the deep. 
 Equalled in piety this fishing fleet. 
 Then would our sailors brave, even braver be. 
 And fearing God, would have no other fear * ; — 
 Then would they seek to conquer war itself. 
 And haste the time when hostile feuds should cease. 
 Then would our British realm, already blest, 
 Surpass in happiness aught known below, 
 Since for revolt and disobedience foul, 
 God our progenitors from Eden drove. 
 
 * " Je crains Dieu, cher Abner, et je n'ai point d'autre crainte."
 
 AUEAN. 135 
 
 Thus have we rambled in discursive strain, 
 From shore to shore, from glen to craggy clifF, 
 Prom north to south. From bold Ardrossan's towers 
 Our flight began. The sea we crossed, and 'mongst 
 The Highland hills, in happy mood, we long 
 Delighted strayed : long, too, near Brodwick's towers 
 Well pleased we lingered. If these castles hoar 
 On this side and on that of the vast deep. 
 Speak to our Scottish hearts, and lead us back. 
 Till o'er the stream of Time the darkening mists 
 Of long departed years begin to close. 
 And bid us rather trace the brightening page 
 Which of the warriors and the statesmen tells 
 To whom from age to age those towers belonged :< — 
 If by those antique piles we oft are led. 
 To think of those who from the strife of Avar, 
 Or from the pomp and gaieties of courts. 
 Thither withdrew to taste the purer sweets 
 Of rural pastime and domestic life ; 
 To chace the antler'd herd ; to be the pride, 
 And happiness, and joy, of faithful clans.
 
 136 ARRAN. 
 
 Whilst on their hearts they felt reflexited back. 
 
 The joy and happiness they sought to give : — 
 
 If, with delight, we ponder on the past, — 
 
 Say, can we stem the rolling stream of thought, 
 
 From age remote incipient, and swelled 
 
 By springs auxiUar, till the fleeting hour 
 
 We thus beguile ; — nor with the mighty flood. 
 
 Rush onward to the future ; from the past 
 
 Gladly forecasting what is yet to be. 
 
 Loves not the Muse to see in these old towers. 
 
 Which at each other frown athwart the deep, 
 
 A contrast meet for those two sprightly youths 
 
 Who take from them their titles ^ ? Does she not 
 
 With joy anticipate the future fame 
 
 Of the young chieftains who must enter soon 
 
 Upon the busy stage of public life, 
 
 The blooming honours of their forefathers 
 
 So to sustain, that they may flourish more ? 
 
 Yes, noble youths, with all the tender warmth 
 
 Of love respectful, and sincere regard. 
 
 Presumes the Muse to raise her pious wish.
 
 ARRAN. 137 
 
 That you may still, as now in life's fair morn, 
 Prove all that could your friends, your native lands. 
 Your country's king desire. May you your King, 
 Your Country love ; but more than all your God. 
 3Iay you still cultivate, with ardent zeal. 
 The splendid talents which your God has given. 
 Then shall, ere long, your thunder shake the senate ; 
 While selfishness at your indignant scowl 
 Shall trembling shrink. Then also, overawed. 
 Shall green-eyed Faction hide her many heads. 
 Then shall the Muse of history rejoice 
 To trace upon a page as yet unstained. 
 What even remote posterity shall read 
 With patriotic rapture ; and shall say. 
 While the lip quivers with undying love, 
 " Such, Caledonia, were thy choicest sons." 
 
 And now, my little Muse, a long farewell. 
 If with the fellow-traveller of a day. 
 Whose converse has the rugged road beguiled. 
 Reluctantly v/e part ; how, without grief. 
 Can I bid thee adieu, who kindly hast
 
 138 ARRAN. 
 
 On life's brief pilgrimage for a whole year 
 My fellow traveller proved ? O'er hill and dale. 
 With playful wiles, thou didst me long decoy. 
 At times I own thy converse sweet appeared. 
 And salutary, when the praise it spake 
 Of Him whom my soul loves, although, alas, 
 'IMidst all his gifts, so coldly, feebly loves. 
 Thou camest to me unsought, and as a friend. 
 In bidding me adieu, thou kindly say'st, 
 " Go, shepherd, tend thy flock : it is the flock 
 For which thy Master shed his precious blood- 
 Chiefly to it thy time and care devote; 
 It love and feed ; that when thy Master comes 
 In righteousness to judge the quick and dead. 
 Thou may'st rejoice with everlasting joy."
 
 NOTES.
 
 ( 141 ) 
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 CANTO I. 
 
 Note 1. 
 While with agianfs, ^c. (p. 4.) 
 The harbour of Ardrossan, which is more like the work 
 of a great nation than of a single individual, was formed bv 
 the late public spirited Hugh Earl of Eglinton, at the ex- 
 pence of about £100,000. To obtain materials for forming 
 it, several of the rocky hills, around the old Castle of Ar- 
 drossan, were, literally, " wrenched from their base," and 
 cast into the sea. 
 
 Note 2. 
 
 And thou inajestic Arran, ^c. (p. 5.) 
 The Island of Arran, which is a prodigious ornament to the 
 whole Western Coast, is about 1 6 miles distant from Ar- 
 drossan. It forms part of the shire of Bute. It contains 
 about 100,000 acres, and is about 24 miles long, and 10 
 broad. The hills m the northern end are very high, and 
 wild, and beautifully peaked. Goatfell (in Gaelic, Ben- 
 ghoil) is 2960 feet above the level of the sea ;" and forms.
 
 142 NOTES TO CANTO I. 
 
 with its kindred peaks, from tlie whole of Ayrshire, but par- 
 ticularly from Ardrossan and Stevenston, the nearest points 
 of the coast to it, one of the noblest and most majestic objects. 
 " These insulated inhabitants," says a foreigner, " pos- 
 sess all the qualities which distinguish the Highlanders. 
 They have still that courage and enterprising spirit, — that 
 attachment to their country, — and, above all, that generous 
 hospitality, — which have, for many ages, honoured this nation. 
 There does not exist in Europe, perhaps, a people who have 
 preserved, in greater purity, the manners and customs of 
 the most ancient times, than the inhabitants of the Isle 
 of Arran. « • • » » It was not without regret, then, that 
 we quitted Arran ; its hospitable inhabitants, its desert glens, 
 its barren mountains, the solitary tombs of its heroes, and 
 the wild beauties of nature, after having passed ten interest- 
 ing days in the island." — M. Neckee de Saussure. 
 
 Note 3. 
 Sweel Epipaetis, ^c. (p. 5.) 
 This is Epipaetis ensifolia, a rare and beautiful plant, some- 
 what resembling a magnificent orchis, or a stately white 
 hyacinth. The only ^Jitof, mentioned m Hooker's Flora 
 Scotica, isMethvenWood in Perthshire ; and Mr Murray, 
 the superintendent of the botanic garden at Glasgow, told me 
 that there he could find only one or two stinted plants. I 
 have seen it in considerable abundance in the hazel copses 
 near AVhiting-Bay in Arran ; and Mr Goldie, Monkwood- 
 grove, has found it plentifully at the mouth of Sannox Glen-
 
 NOTES TO CANTO I. 14J> 
 
 Note 4. 
 
 And Mma's, ^c. (p. C.) 
 
 A friend, who resides in Arran, has told me, that from the 
 
 top of Goatfell, in a clear day, he has seen the Isle of Man 
 
 and the Hill of Howth near Dublin. The north of Ireland 
 
 seems near at hand. 
 
 Note 5. 
 
 Behold the lovely sundew, ^c. (p. 12.) 
 
 Though the description is better suited, in some respects, 
 
 to the Drosera rotundifolia or common sundew, it was the 
 
 Drosera Anglica which I then saw in all its magnificence. 
 
 The common one is scarcely inferior to it in beaut}'. I met 
 
 also with Drosera longifolia. Darwin says of the genus 
 
 Drosera. 
 
 " Queen of the marsh, imperial Drosera treads 
 Rush fringed banks, and moss embroidered beds. 
 Redundant folds of glossy silk surround 
 Her slender waist, and trail upon the ground. 
 
 As with sweet grace her snowy neck she bows, 
 A zone of diamonds trembles round her brows. 
 Bright shines the silver halo as she turns. 
 And as she steps the living lustre bums." 
 
 ' ' The leaves of this marsh plant are purple, and have a fringe very unlikt- 
 
 other vegetable productions. And, which is curious, at the point of every 
 
 thread of this erect fringe, stands a pellucid drop of mucilage resembling an 
 
 earl's coronet. The mucus is a secretion from certain glands, and like the 
 
 viscous matter round the flower stems of catchfly, prevents small insects from 
 
 infesting the leaves. Mr WHEAXLy observed those leaves to bend upwards 
 
 2
 
 144 NOTES TO CANTO I. 
 
 when an insect settled on them, like the leaves of Dionaa muscipula, and 
 pointing all their globules of mucus to the centre, so that they completely 
 entangled and destroyed it." 
 
 Note 6. (p. 13.) 
 What I have said, respecting the sundew being nourished 
 by the dead bodies of the flies which it entangles, is a theory 
 of my own, in so far as relates to the sundew, but I have little 
 doubt that it is a correct one. Drosera bears a strong re- 
 .semblance to the American plant Dioncea muscipula, whose 
 leaves close, and kill the insects which tread on it. Sir J. 
 E. Smith states, with respect to it, that it is, to a certain ex- 
 tent, nourished by the insects which it thus catches. 
 
 Note 7» 
 Pourtraying Satan, ^c. (p. 18.) 
 There is nothing so extravagant in this as some, who have 
 not seen the scene, may suppose. One of the oldest and 
 ablest of my College friends, when on a visit to me some 
 years ago, went over to Arran, and, on his return, told me 
 that when he got to the top of Goatfell, he was filled with 
 astonishment not unmingled with fear. The cliiFs were so 
 ]irecipitous, that it almost made him giddy to look down in- 
 to the chasms, some of which were between two and three 
 thousand feet deep. And when he looked around on the 
 sharp peaks and naked pinnacles bristling up in this scene of 
 horror and desolation, he could scarcely help thinking that 
 they were the claws of the old Dragon ready to clutch him-
 
 ( 145 ) 
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 CANTO II. 
 
 Note 1. 
 There, once dwelt, ^c. (p. 22.) 
 If any person should take the trouble to search for the 
 ruins of this cottage, though he may miss them, he will see, 
 what is of far greater value, one of the noblest glens in 
 Scotland. On one side of the burn or rivulet, it is called 
 Glen-rosa : on the other side it is called Glen-shant, which 
 means the glen of enchantments. 
 
 Note 2. 
 He viewed the Bass, ^C' (p. 24.) 
 The Bass is a rocky island on the East-Lothian coast, 
 bearing some resemblance to AHsa, though inferior in gran- 
 deur. They are both favourite abodes of the gannet or solan 
 goose. Opposite to the Bass, on the mainland, is the ruined 
 castle of Tantallan.
 
 146 NOTES TO CANTO II. 
 
 Note 3. 
 The wind with mmmful sur/h, ^c. (p. 32.) 
 Sugh, &c. An expressive Scotch word adopted by Words- 
 worth and Grahame. 
 
 Note 4. 
 Amid the calm — from Macrihanish, ^c. (p. 33.) 
 This is a very famous bay ; and it is the weather-glass of 
 Stevenston Manse, though it is fifty miles from us. We often 
 hear a tremendous roaring from the sea when it is quite calm 
 on our shores. Our sailors assure us that this sound comes 
 from Macrihanish Bay. It indicates south wind and rain ; 
 and the south wind and rain generally come some hours after 
 the sound has been heard. The bay is on the farther side 
 of Kintyre, opposite to Campbelton ; and during a storm the 
 Atlantic pours into it with tremendous fury and grandeur. 
 As sound travels so far by water, I do not think it at all im- 
 probable that the sailors are correct in asserting, that the 
 heavy sound we so often hear before a change of weath^. 
 is the roar of Macrihanish Bay. 
 
 Note 5. 
 In mshed the howling llast with angry swirl, (p. 37-) 
 Stoirl is a good expressive Scotch word, which I shall re- 
 ject when I meet with a better English word to supply its 
 place
 
 ( 147 ) 
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 CANTO III. 
 
 Note 1. 
 Her ducal tower, ^c. (p. 45.) 
 Brodwick Castle, or rather Arran Castle, the truly noble 
 Highland residence of his Grace the Duke of Hamilton. 
 
 Note 2. 
 Of Holy Isle, |-c (p. 46.) 
 " The Island of Lamlash is stretched across a spacious bay 
 which it defends from every storm. Its Gaelic name, when 
 translated, is Holy Isle, because St Molios (pronounced 
 Molies), who was a disciple of St Columba, long chose it as 
 the place of his residence. I saw his cave on the west- 
 em side of the island — Adjoining to the cave there is a 
 spring of very pure water. — This spring has been long 
 celebrated for its miraculous cures of every disease incident 
 to the human frame,— This miraculous power was suppose 
 ed to have been conveyed to the water in consequence of the 
 
 g2
 
 148 NOTES TO CANTO III. 
 
 prayers and humiliations of the Saint ; and though the spring 
 has long ceased to work miracles, the people still entertain 
 for it a sort of superstitious veneration. The island (which 
 is 1240 feet in height) may be two and a half miles long and 
 about half a mile broad. — The Bay of Lamlash may be 
 about three miles, in a right line, from its northern to its 
 southern entrance, having the Holy Isle on one side, and 
 the Isle of Lamlash on the other — There is sufficient 
 depth, at both entrances, for the largest ships of the line. 
 Within there is good holding ground, sufficient depth for 
 the largest ships, and room enough for the greatest navy to 
 ride at anchor. In fact, this is one of the best harbours in 
 the Frith of Clyde, if not in the world." 
 
 Headrick's View of Arran. 
 
 Note 3. 
 
 A morning llitlie ensues, ^c. (p. 47.) 
 
 This bay forms a most convenient refuge from the storm ; 
 
 and as many vessels as would form a large fleet are often, 
 
 in stormy weather, assembled in it. Pennant says, " "We 
 
 reached the harbour of Lamlash, where our vessel lay at 
 
 anchor in the safest port in the universe, — a port perfectly 
 
 Virgilian : 
 
 Hie insula portum 
 Efficit objectu laterum. 
 
 A beautiful semilunar bay forms one part, whUe the lofty 
 Island of Lamlash, extending before the mouth, secures it
 
 NOTES TO CANTO III. 149 
 
 from the east winds, leaving, on each side, a safe and easy 
 entrance. The whole circumference is about nine miles ; 
 and the depth of the water is sufficient for the largest ships." 
 
 Note 4. 
 
 And on their hearts as Hermon's dew descend^ ^c. (p. 50.) 
 Family worship is very common in Arran. It commences 
 with a sentence or two of prayer, raised by the head of the 
 family, in his own name and in the name of all pre- 
 sent, imploring the gracious aid of the Spirit of God in 
 the exercises in which they are to be engaged. Then some 
 Terses of a psalm, or hymn, or paraphrase of scripture, are 
 3ung ; after which, a chapter of the Old or New Testament 
 is reverently read by the person who presides. Then all 
 kneel down, and the head of the family raises, in some cases 
 a prepared, and in many cases an extemporary prayer, rich 
 in the language of scripture, and, in general, highly credit, 
 able to the piety and the good sense of the humble worship- 
 pers. 
 
 In the days of our fathers, family worship was very gene- 
 ral throughout Scotland ; and how beautifully has it been de- 
 scribed by our Ayrshire poet Burns, who had so often formed 
 one in his father's house of the little circle of worshippers ! 
 But how many are there now among our peasantry and vil- 
 lagers who must be numbered amongst " the families that 
 call not on the name of the Most High." I would gladly 
 hope that an improvement is beginning to take place in this
 
 150 NOTES TO CANTO III. 
 
 respect; as a much greater number of persons in the higher 
 ranks pay attention to religious duties now, than did so 
 about thirty years ago ; and their good example, I doubt 
 not, will have a salutary influence on the lower orders of 
 society. 
 
 Note 5. 
 In crowds they hasten now to enter in., ^c. (p. 51.> 
 
 I have been officially employed on two occasions, when 
 the sacrament of the Supper was dispensed at Lamlash. In 
 the church, the service is in English tUl the first, and some- 
 times the second tables, have been exhorted; and the first dis- 
 course in the tent is in English also. TheRev.DrM'L d 
 
 of C— — ie, was the person whose Gaelic I admired so much. 
 I hope he will pardon me for making him speak so much 
 less eloquently than I am sure he really did. He told me 
 in English the drift of the discourse, which I thought excel- 
 lent ; but all I now remember is, that there was an allusion 
 to the death of Mr Crawford, minister of Kilmorie, in Ar- 
 ran, who had been lost at sea, near the south end of Arran, 
 some months before. Many of his parishioners were pre- 
 sent ; and he might well be praised for his hospitality and 
 kind-heartedness. 
 
 When I mention the names of the clergymen whom, on 
 sacramental occasions, I have seen at Lamlash, it wiU easily 
 be believed Jthat they were regarded as times of refreshing.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO III. 151 
 
 The late Rev. Dr Love of Glasgow, the late Rev. Dr Ste. 
 VBN of Kilwinning, the late Rev. Mr Bain, Gaelic chapel, 
 Greenock, the late Rev. Mr M'Kenzie, Gaelic chapel, 
 Glasgow, Rev. Dr William Muir, of New Greyfriars, 
 Edinburgh ; Rev. Dr M'Leod, then minister of Camp- 
 beltown ; the Rev. Mr M'Millan of KUmorie; and, 
 though last, not least, my zealous and intelligent friend, 
 the Rev. Mr M'Naughton, the present incumbent, who 
 was then one of the ministers of Campbeltown. The late 
 Rev. Mr Stewart, who was at that time minister of the 
 parish, feeling the infirmities of old age, devolved the duty, 
 on these sacramental occasions, on his friends. The first 
 year I was there, Dr Muir preached the English action ser- 
 mon ; the second year, I preached it. 
 
 Note 6, 
 Thousands were placed, ^c. (p. 55.) 
 I have not been guilty of great amplification when I 
 speak of thousands of communicants, for on that occasion 
 there were seventeen hundred. The day was exquisite ; 
 and, on the whole, it was one of the sublimest and most de- 
 lightful spectacles I ever beheld. There was the greatest 
 decency and order ; and, not only the appearance of piety, 
 but I trust much real devotion. In the manufacturing dis- ' 
 tricts of the Lowlands, tent-preaching has been brought 
 into disrepute by the irregular conduct of numbers who 
 flocked to the tents for any thing but for spiritual improve-
 
 152 NOTES TO CANTO III. 
 
 ment. Burns saw the abuse ; and, in inflicting castigation, 
 wielded, with too willing a hand, a scourge of scorpions. 
 The consequence is, that throughout the manufacturing 
 districts, the tents, with a few exceptions, have fallen, pro- 
 bably never to rise again.
 
 < 153 ) 
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 CANTO IV. 
 
 Note 1. 
 
 Seated myself upon a sloping bank, Sj_c. (p. (j6.) 
 
 The situations in which the three churches of Dairy, and 
 
 Kelts, and Balmaclellan, in Glenkens, are placed, though 
 
 very different from each other, are all so delightful, that 
 
 it would be no easy matter to say which is the best. 
 
 Note 2. 
 
 And lovely Glen of Holm, ^c. (p. (J8.) 
 
 The Holm Glen, or the Garpel Glen, bounding on one 
 
 side the garden of Holm of Balmaclellan, the country seat 
 
 of John Spalding, Esq. of Holm. For this sweet seat and 
 
 glen I have a strong hereditary regard.
 
 154 NOTES TO CANTO IV. 
 
 Note 3. 
 Daily I saw Glenlee's romantic glades, ^c. (p. 68.) 
 Glenlee Park, the truly delightful Galloway seat of Lord 
 Gleklee, (Sir William Miller, Bart.) 
 
 Note 4. 
 And Kenmure's noble towers, ^c. (p. 68.) 
 The noble and delightful residence of Lord Viscount 
 Kenmure. 
 
 Note 5. 
 Expands her waters to a beauteous lake, ^c. (p. 68.) 
 
 Loch Ken, near Kenmure, a fine sheet of water, about a 
 mile broad (I speak without book), and nine miles long. 
 As the Dee falls into it, the lower part of it is called Loch- 
 Dee. The Dee falls into the sea at Kirkcudbright. 
 
 The banks of the Dee were rendered classical by Lowe, 
 the author of " Mary's Dream ;" and the banks of the Ken 
 have been rendered classical by my late lively, and intelli- 
 gent, and interesting friend, the Rev. William Gillespie 
 of Kells. Many dear, and respected, and deeply deplored 
 friends, have lately been " wed away" from the banks of 
 ray native stream. Mr Gillespie's death was exceedingly 
 affecting. On his return from his marriage jaunt, I dined 
 with him and his amiable wife, and his affectionate sisters. 
 He was then in the vigour of life, entering, as we all
 
 NOTES TO CANTO IV. 155 
 
 thought, upon a long career of joy ; but in a month, alas ! 
 I beard that he was gone. 
 
 « * * • « 
 
 Yes, silver Ken, thy bard is fled ! 
 Ves Kell's bereaved, thy pastor's gone ! 
 And she so late a joyful bride> 
 Is now, alas ! a widow lone. 
 The cup of joy, fuU to the brim, 
 Fell from her lip, while running o'er : 
 The flower just opening to the sun. 
 Smiled once — and closed — to smile no more. 
 
 Note 6. 
 The scenery wild, ^c. (p. 69.) 
 Lochinvar, in the parish of Dalrj' in Galloway, is one of 
 the best trouting lochs in Scotland. John Gordon, Vis- 
 count of Kenmure, is Lord Lochinvar. 
 
 " O young Lochinvar is come out of the west." 
 
 Note 7- 
 Or of my fears, or of my joys, ^c. (p. 71') 
 This adventure took place in the wood of Earlston, the 
 Galloway estate of Sir William Forbes of Callander. Were 
 I to fall in with this sweet glade now, instead of thinking 
 of fairies, I would with pleasure reflect, that probably in 
 this very glade, the truly noble proprietors of Earlston, in 
 the dark days of persecution, met with the faithful followers 
 of the Lamb, to worship God according to their conscience, 
 and to read the word of life, the gospel of our salvation.
 
 156 NOTES TO CANTO IV, 
 
 " At this time," says Wodrow, when giving an account of 
 the battle of Bothwell Bridge, " that excellent person, 
 William Gordon of Earlston, was killed by the English 
 dragoons. I am informed that the predecessors of this ancient 
 family entertained the disciples of Wickliff, and had a New 
 Testament in the vulgar tongue, which they used to read in 
 the woods about Earlston house." 
 
 Note 8. 
 
 Pure as the alpine snovjs, S[C. (p. 72.) 
 The Auricula is a native of the Alps ; and every body 
 knows that the snowy whiteness of the eye is one of the 
 great excellencies of a fine Auricula. 
 
 Note 9. 
 
 To bless me with her wisdom and her Imie, ^c. (p. 72.) 
 It is not wonderful that I should be fond of Edinburgh ; 
 for I spent eleven winters in it, and eight summers, till the 
 rising of the Court of Session on the 12th July. It may be 
 said, What city is delightful in summer ? And yet, para- 
 doxical as it may seem, a person's love of Edinburgh is 
 greatly increased by his residing in it part of the summer. 
 It is then that he sees the surrounding scenery in all its 
 richness ; and it is then that so many little excursions are 
 made to places in the neighbourhood, not only delightful in 
 themselves, but m^ny of them invested with a classical in-
 
 NOTES TO CANTO IV. 157 
 
 terest, which binds them to his heart, so that in sweet as- 
 sociation with Edinburgh, they dwell in his memory as long 
 as he lives. 
 
 Note 9. * 
 Where, too, alas ! the gallant Miller fell, ^c. (p. 80.) 
 
 I had no intention of saying any thing respecting this 
 gallant officer (Lieutenant-Colonel William Miller,) of 
 the 3d Foot Guards, till I had written the words Quatre 
 Bras. But as I resided six or seven years in the family of 
 his worthy and most excellent father Lord Glenlee, and 
 there met occasionally with his amiable and beloved son, 
 I have never, since his death, heard Quatre Bras mentioned 
 without being reminded of this brave young officer, and of 
 the affectionate family to which he belonged. 
 
 In Simpson's Visit to Flanders, it is said " The instances 
 of heroic deaths were as numerous as they are affecting. 
 Colonel Miller of the 3d Guards requested a last sight of 
 the colours under which he had fought. He kissed them 
 fervently, and begged that they might be waved over him 
 till he expired. In allusion to this. Sir Walter Scott, 
 in his Field of Waterloo, says, — 
 
 *' Saw'st gallant Miller's failing eye, 
 Still beat where Albion's colours fly."
 
 158 NOTES TO CANTO IV. 
 
 Note 10. 
 With royal ferii, ^c. (p. 82.) 
 Osmunda regalis, or royal fern, by far the stateliest of our 
 British ferns, and very abundant on the rocks of the Kings' 
 Coves, on the west coast of Arran. 
 
 Note 11. 
 
 Not of the ant, |c (p. 82.) 
 This tradition I have heard in Arran ; but I first met 
 with it in a note on the Lord of the Isles.
 
 ( 159 ) 
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 CANTO V. 
 
 Note 1. 
 Like faithful satellite, ^c. (p. 89.) 
 " The island of Plada is about a mile from the nearest 
 (southern) point of Arran. It is a low and flat island, and 
 contains about ten acres of excellent pasture. An elegant 
 light-house has been constructed upon it.— The whole 
 island consists of a structure of basaltic columns, mostly of 
 the arenaceous species. On the east side, these columns are 
 seen to rest upon white sandstone." 
 
 HeaDRICk's View of Arran. 
 
 Note 2. 
 
 For the wild fantasies, ^c, (p. 89.) 
 
 With this figure, I was furnished by a little boy, who, on 
 
 observing Ailsa for the first time from our parlour window, 
 
 cried out with delight, " I see a whale .'*' It would have
 
 160 NOTES TO CANTO V. 
 
 been a pretty large whale, as it is 1030 feet above the level 
 of the sea ; but then it was at the distance of 30 miles. The 
 other comparison will seem natural to persons who have seen 
 Jupiter or Saturn through a telescope ; and more particu- 
 larly if they have seen Ailsa as I did lately, owing to the 
 state of the atmosphere, seeming to be lifted out of the sea, 
 and floating in the air like a huge balloon. 
 
 Note 3. 
 From old Kildonan's, ^c. (p. 91.) 
 The old Castle of Kildonan, on the Dippin Rocks, at the 
 south end of Arran: 
 
 NoTE 4. 
 To the bold, ^c. (p. 91.) 
 Culzean, the noble seat of the Earl of Cassillis, opposite 
 to Kildonan, on the Carrick coast, built on a rock overhang- 
 ing the sea, and certainly one of the grandest residences in 
 Ayrshire. 
 
 Note 5. 
 
 Save at intervals the heavy clunk, S^c. (p. 96.) 
 Lord Byron uses clank in the same sense. T am aware 
 that dunk is pure Scotch ; but it is preferable to clank, 
 which, to our Scottish ears, is expressive of a sharp and 
 often of a ringing sound, like that which iron emits when 
 struck : whereas dunk is the hollow sound which water
 
 NOTES TO CANTO V. 161 
 
 makes under a vessel at sea, or in ajar or pitcher, which is 
 not full. An honest farmer from Kilbirnie, having risked a 
 sea voyage to Arran, had the pleasant variety of a storm as 
 he returned. On reaching Saltcoats, he jumped ashore with 
 great agility, and marched through the town, and never 
 looked behind him till he reached the heights from which 
 you have the last view of the sea. He then ventured to 
 look back on the mighty ocean, and, with a sage nod of his 
 head, said, " Ca' me a fool, if ever thou play clunk clunk at 
 my lug again." 
 
 Note 6. 
 In silver skoals, ^c. (p. 96.) 
 Shoals of herrings, which emit a flash when any percussion 
 is made on the vessel, and communicated to the water. 
 
 Note 7- 
 And worthy, too, the grateful Bruce to give. (p. 101.) 
 " Pass by the ruins of Kirkmichel chapel : Visit Mr Ful- 
 LARTON, descended from the MacLouis, originally a French 
 family, but settled in this island near 700 years ago. Robert 
 Bruce, out of gratitude for the protection he received from 
 this gentleman's ancestor, Fergus Fullarton, gave him a 
 charter, dated at Amele, November 26th, in the second year 
 of his reign, for the lands of Kilmichel and Ary whonyne, or 
 Straith-ouglian, which are still in the family. A mile far- 
 ther is a retreat of the ancient inhabitants, called Torr-an-
 
 J 62 
 
 NOTES TO CANTO V. 
 
 schian Castle. Here Robert Bruce sheltered himself for 
 some time under the protection of MacLouis." 
 
 Pennant's Tour. 
 
 Note 8. 
 To drop into the clay^ S(C. (p. 106.) 
 It would not be doing the song justice to send it forth to 
 the world without the air, as found in Captain Fraser's 
 collection of Gaelic airs. 
 
 " Now, thmCrt gone away?'' 
 
 Slow and soft. pj^.* 
 
 p ores. dim. 
 
 Xt 
 
 ^^ ^ p cres. 
 
 dim. 
 
 p-j^g^Si^p^ 
 
 p 
 
 ^fia ^lfeg±^ 
 
 cres. 
 
 dim. 
 
 p gjIS^
 
 NOTES TO CANTO V. 163 
 
 Note 8.* 
 Of heartf III sorrow o'er Malvina's grave, (p. 113.) 
 See Ossian's lamentation for Malviva in the beginning 
 of Berrathon. She was the daughter of Toscau, and Os- 
 siAN had a great affection for her, both on account of her 
 love for his son Oscar, and for her attention to himself. 
 Tradition says that Fingal, the father of Ossian, often re- 
 sided in Arran for the sake of hunting ; and it also says, 
 that OssiAN was buried in this island.
 
 ( 164 ) 
 
 NOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 CANTO VI. 
 
 Note 1. 
 And there contrast the little busy mill. (p. 121.) 
 The botanist would rather visit the mill-dam than the 
 mill ; for in the dam he would find the stately Typha lati- 
 folia. On the rocks around, he would also find Cotyledon 
 umbilicus ; in the surrounding meadows Pinguicula lusitanica, 
 and Anagallis tenella ; in the adjoining copses Epipactis en- 
 dfolia and Osmunda regalis ; on the shore Thalictrum ftavum, 
 and abundance of Convolvulus sepium and of Rosa spinosis- 
 sima ,• and at no great distance Brassica monensis, and Vicia 
 sylvatica. 
 
 Note 2. 
 Smiling as greeted, ^c. (p. 124.) 
 
 " On fair Loch-Ranza streamed the early day. 
 Thin wreathes of cottage-smoke are upward curl'd 
 
 From the lone hamlet, which her inland bay 
 And circling mountains sever from the world.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO VI. 165 
 
 And there the fisherman his sail unfurl'd. 
 The goat-herd drove his kids to steep Ben-ghoil, 
 
 Before the hut the dame her spindle twirl'd. 
 Courting the sun-beam as she plied her toil,— 
 
 For, wake where'er he may, man wakes to care and toil." 
 
 Lord of the tales. 
 
 Note 3. 
 How noble, how magnificent, ^c. (p. 125.) 
 We had been much delighted with Highland scenery dur- 
 ing the day; but when we came to Sannox, there was a 
 general burst of surprise and admiration. Every one of us 
 acknowledged that it surpassed all that we had seen during 
 the day ; and some said, that, in all their lives, they had 
 never seen any thing so grand. I had often seen it, but I 
 never saw it to such advantage as I did then, from the deck of 
 the steam-packet the Countess of Glasgow. The rapidity 
 also with which we were shooting along, by imparting life 
 and motion as it were, gave additional interest to this won- 
 derful scene. I cannot suppose any person so destitute of 
 taste as not to be charmed with tliis view. There is a com- 
 bination of grandeur, and of airy lightness, which renders it 
 very delightful. 
 
 Note 4. 
 
 Siop not till, ^c. (p. 127.) 
 
 A few days after I passed Sannox in the steam -boat, I 
 
 took a solitary ramble up Glen-sannox, and to the heights 
 
 at the head of it, though I had not the good fortune to find
 
 166 NOTES TO CANTO VI. 
 
 an eagle's nest, nor the happiness of starting a red deer, 
 which things have happened to other visitants. 
 
 Note 5. 
 And is tlie source, ^c. (p. 1 34.) 
 I am sorry that truth will not permit me to say, that the 
 worship of God is kept up in aU the fishing-boats which assem- 
 ble in the Bay ; for at times there may be 200 boats, not from 
 Arran only, but from many other quarters. It is quite true 
 that the worship of God is kept up in part of them. And it 
 is also true, that when several vessels from Arran happen to 
 be lying in Ardrossan harbour at the same time, if you go 
 down on a Sabbath evening, you may see the crews assem- 
 bled together on one or more of the decks ; and one of the 
 most venerable among them conducting the devotions of his 
 countrymen, in their own language, singing and praying, 
 and reading the scriptures. Highland scenery cannot fail to 
 be delightful to persons of taste ; but to the christian, this 
 is a more delightful spectacle than the finest scenery in the 
 world. 
 
 Note 6. 
 Wfw lake from them, ^c. (p. 136.) 
 
 The Marquis of Douglas and Cltdesdale, son of his 
 Grace the Duke of Hamilton, bore for some time the title 
 of the Earl of Arran ; and the Earl of Eglinton is Barmi 
 Ardrossan.
 
 NOTES TO CANTO VI. 167 
 
 Had I had any fear of being thought guilty of flattery in 
 speaking of these young noblemen in the terms I have done, 
 this passage of the poem would have been omitted. I hope 
 they will pardon me for the liberty I have taken. Every 
 friend of his country must cherish the wish, that the 
 high expectations which we are at present entitled to form 
 respecting them, may be fully realized. To how many will 
 their influence extend ! And how important may be the 
 national plan's which, ere long, they may help to form, and 
 to carry into execution ! 
 
 p. NEILL, PRINTER.
 
 'Afh:, 
 
 Ik. 
 
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