For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood,
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood!

LOCHIEL.

False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled my clan:
Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one.
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath,
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death.
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock!
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock!
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause,
When Albin her claymore indignantly draws;
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd,
Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud,
All plaided and plumed in their tartan array—

WIZARD.

—Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day!
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal,
But man cannot cover what God would reveal!
'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before.
I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring
With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king.
Lo! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath,
Behold where he flies on his desolate path!

Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight:
Rise! rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight!—
'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors;
Culloden is lost, and my country deplores.

But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where?
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair.

Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn,

Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn?

Ah no! for a darker departure is near;

The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier;

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

His death-bell is tolling: Oh! mercy, dispel
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell!
Life flutters, convulsed, in his quivering limbs,
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims!
Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet,

Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to beat,
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale-

LOCHIEL.

-Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale!

For never shall Albin a destiny meet

So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat!

89

Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore,

Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore,

Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains,

While the kindling of life in his bosom remains,

Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low,

With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe!
And leaving in battle no blot on his name,

Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame!

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

A

Lord Ullin's Daughter.

CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound,

Cries, Boatman, do not tarry!

And I'll give thee a silver pound

To row us o'er the ferry."

"Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle,

This dark and stormy water?"

"O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,

And this Lord Ullin's da ighter.

"And fast before her father's men Three days we 've fled together; For should he find us in the glen,

My blood would stain the heather.

His horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover,

Then who will cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?"—

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, "I'll go, my chief—I 'm ready.

It is not for your silver bright,

But for your winsome lady.'

"And by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry;

So though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry."

By this the storm grew loud apace;
The water-wraith was shrieking;

And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armèd men-
Their trampling sounded nearer.

66

"O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries;

"Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies,

But not an angry father."

The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her-

When, oh! too strong for human hand,

The tempest gathered o'er her.

THE SANDS O' DEE.

And still they rowed amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing;

Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore ;
His wrath was changed to wailing.

For sore dismayed, through storm and shade
His child he did discover;

One lovely hand she stretched for aid,

And one was round her lover.

"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief,

"Across this stormy water;

And I'll forgive your Highland chief,

My daughter!-Oh, my daughter!"

'Twas vain :-the loud waves lashed the shore,

Return or aid preventing:

The waters wild went o'er his child,

And he was left lamenting.

THOMAS CAMPBELL

The Sands o' Dee.

"MARY, go and call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home,

Across the sands o' Dee !"

The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam,
And all alone went she.

The creeping tide came up along the sand,

And o'er and o'er the sand,

And round and round the sand,

As far as eye could see;

The blinding mist came down and hid the land-

And never home came she.

91

“Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair—

A tress o' golden hair

O' drowned maiden's hair-

Above the nets at sea?

Was never salmon yet that shone so fair
Among the stakes on Dee."

They rowed her in across the rolling foam,

The cruel, crawling foam,

The cruel, hungry foam,

To her grave beside the sea;

But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home

Across the sands o' Dee!

CHARLES KINGSLEY

On the Death of George the Third.

I

(Written under Windsor Terrace.)

SAW him last on this terrace proud,

Walking in health and gladness,

Begirt with his court; and in all the crowd
Not a single look of sadness.

Bright was the sun, the leaves were green-
Blithely the birds were singing;

The cymbals replied to the tambourine,
And the bells were merrily ringing.

I have stood with the crowd beside his bier,
When not a word was spoken-

When every eye was dim with a tear,
And the silence by sobs was broken.

I have heard the earth on his coffin pour
To the muffled drum's deep rolling,
While the minute-gun, with its solemn roar,
Drowned the death-bell's tolling.