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' David of the white rock.

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‘ The Pibroch of Donald the Black.

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Faster come, faster come,
Faster and faster,

Chief, vassal, page, and groom,
Tenant and master.

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Fast they come, fast they come;
See how they gather!

Wide waves the eagle plume,
Blended with heather.

Cast your plaids, draw your blades,
Forward each man set‘.

Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,
Knell for the onset!

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In the original Gaelic, the lady makes protestations that she will not go with the Red Earl's son until the swan should build in the cliff, and the eagle in the lake -—until one mountain should change places with another, and so forth. It is but fair to add, that there is no authority for supposing that she altered her mind-— except the vehemence of her protestation.

HEAR what Highland Nora said:

at The Earlie's son I will not wed, Should all the race of nature die, And none be left but he and I.

For all the gold, for all the gear, And all the lands both far and near, That ever valour lost or won,

I would not wed the Earlie's son.»

a A maiden's vows,» old Callum spoke, a Are lightly made, and lightly broke; The heather on the mountain's height Begins to bloom in purple light;

The frost-wind soon shall sweep away That lustre deep from glen and hrae; Yet Nora, ere its bloom be gone,

May blithely wed the Earlie’s son.»

a The swan,» she said, It the lake's clear breast May barter for the eagle's nest;

The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn, Ben~Cruaichan fall, and crush Kilchurn,

Our killed clans, when blood is high,

Before their foes may turn and fly;

But I, were all these marvels done,

Would never wed the Ear1ie's son.»

Still in the water-lily's shade

Her wonted nest the wild-swan made,
Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever,

Still downward foams the Awc’s fierce river;
To shun the clash of foeman’s steel,

No Highland brogue has turn'd the heel;
But Nora's heart is lost and won,

—She ‘s wedded to the Earlie‘s son!

' -I will never go with him.’

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MACKRIMMON, hereditary piper to the Laird of Macleod, is said to have composed this lament when the clan was about to depart upon a distant and dangerous expedition. The minstrel was impressed with a belief, which the event verified, that he was to be slain in the approaching feud; and hence the Gaelic words, << Cha. till mi tuille; ged thillis Macleod, cha till Macn'mmon,n “I shall never return; although lllacleod returns, yet Mackrimmon shall never return!» The piece is but too

well known, from its being the strain with which the

emigrants from the West Highlands and Isles usually take leave of their native shore.

M.\ct.t~:on's wizard flag from the gray castle sallies,

The rowers are seated, unmoor'd are the galleys; Gleam war-axe and hroadsword, clang target and quiver, As Mackrimmon sings, it Farewell to Dnnvegan for ever! Farewell to each cliff, on which breakers are foaming, Farewell each dark glen, in which red deer are roaming; Farewell lonely Skye, to lake, mountain, and river, Macleocl may return, but Mackrimmon shall never!

<1 Farewell tbebright clouds that on Quillan are sleeping; Farewell the bright eyes in the Dun that are weeping; To each minstrel delusion, farewell l—and for ever-— lllackrimmon departs, to return to you never! TheBanshee's wild voice sings the death-dirge before me, The pail of the dead for a mantle hangs o'er me;

But my heart shall not flag, and my nerves shall not shiver,

Though devoted I go—to return again never!

<< Too oft shall the notes of Mackrimmon's bewailing Be heard when the Gael on their exile are sailing; Dear land! to the shores, whence unwilling we sever, Return—return-——return—shall we never,

Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille!

Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuillc,

Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille,

God thillis Maclcod, cha till Mackrimmnn!»

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Along the silver streams of Tweed,

‘T is blithe the mimic fly to lead,

When to the hook the salmon springs, And the line whistles through the rings;

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With listless look along the plain,
I see 'l‘weed's silver current glide,
And coldly mark the holy fane
Of Melrose rise in ruin'd pride.
The quiet lake, the balmy air,
The bill, the stream, the tower, the tree,-
Are they still such as Once they were,
Or is the dreary change in me?

Alas, the warp'd and broken board,
How can it bear the painter's dye!
The harp of strain’d and tuneless chord,
How to the minstrel‘s skill reply!
To aching eyes each landscape lowers,
To feverish pulse each gale blows chill;
And Araby's or Eden's howers
Were barren as this moorland bill.
I

' I We return no more»

1 Written after u week's shooting nnd fishing, in which the poet had been engaged with some friends.

' Alwyn, the seat of the Lord Sotnerville, now, alas Lnntennntod,

by the lamented death of that kind and hospimble nobleman, the author's nearest neighbour nnd intimnte friend.'

1 Athesliel, the poet's residence lit that time,

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