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' The forelt of Glenniore is haunted by a spirit onlled Lhlm
dearg, or Iled-hand. v
' Where the Norwegian invader of Scotland received two bloody
* The Galgacu: of Tacitus.
But far more sadly sweet, on foreign strand, We list the legends of our native land, Link’d as they come with every tender tie, Memorials dear of youth and infancy.
Chief, thy wild tales, romantic Caledon, Wake keen remembrance in each hardy son. Whether on India’: burning coasts he toil, Or till Acadia'sI winter-fetter’d soil, He hears with throbbing heart and moisten'd eyes, And as he hears, what dear illusions rise! It opens on his soul his native dell, The woods wild waving, and the water's swell : 'l‘radition's theme, the tower that threats the plain, The mossy cairn that hides the hero slain; The cot beneath whose simple porch were told, By gray-hair'd patriarch, the tales of old, The infant group that hush'd their sports the while, And the dear maid who listen’d with a smile.
The wanderer, while the vision warms his brain, 15 denizen of Scotland once again.
Are such keen feelings to the crowd confined,
And sleep they in the poet's gifted mind‘!
Oh no‘. for she, within whose mighty page
Each tyrant passion shows his woe and rage,
Has felt the wizard influence they inspire,
And to your own traditions tuned her lyre. Yourselves shall judge--whoe’er has raised the sail By Mull’s dark coast has heard this evening's tale. The plaided boatman, resting on his oar,
Points to the fatal rock amid the roar
Of whitening waves, and tells whate'er to-night
The filial token of a daughter's love!
Faazwsu. to Mackenneth, great Earl of the North,
O swift be the galley, and hardy her crew, May her captain be skilful, her mariners true,
From the far southland horde: a minstrel came forth,
And bid its wild numbers mix high with the blast;
To lament for Mackenzie, last _Chief of Kintail.
And shalt thou then sleep, did the minstrel exclaim, Like the son of the lowly, unnoticed by fame?
No, son of Fitzgerald! in accents of woe,
The song thou hast loved o'er thy coffin shall flow, And teach thy wild mountains to join in the wail, That laments for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail.
ln vain, the bright course of thy talents to wrong, Fate deaden‘d thine ear and imprison‘d thy tongue; For brighter o'er all her obstructions arose
The glow of the genius they could not oppose;
And who in the land of the Saxon or Gael,
Might match with Mackenzie, High Chief of Kiutaill
Thy sons rose around thee in light and in love,
All a father could hope, all a friend could approve; What ‘voila it the tale of thy sorrows to tell,
In the spring-time of youth and of promise they fell! Of the line of Fitzgerald remains not a male,
To hear the proud name of the Chief of Kintail.
' Atxtlitl, or Nova Sootia.
And thou, gentle dame, who must bear to thy grief,
' Bonail', or Bonallez, the old Scottish phrase for a feast at parting with a friend.
They owed the conquest to his arm, And then his liege-lord said,
at The heart that has for honour bea t, By bliss must be repaid,—
My daughter Isabel and thou
For thou art bravest of the brave,
Though thus he dealt in petty treason,
on was LXFTING or ‘ran BANNER or was nouss or BUCCLEUGH,
A1 a great Foot-bull blalclt on Cartcrltauglt.
FROM the brown crest of Newark its summons extending, Our signal is waving in smoke and in flame;
And each forester blithe, from his mountain descending, Bounds light o'er the heather to join in the game.