MACGREGOR.

WRITTEN IN GLENORCHY, NEAR THE SCENE OF
THE MASSACRE OF THE MACGREGORS.

In the vale of Glenorchy the night-breeze was sighing
O'er the tombs where the ancient Macgregors are lying:
Green are their graves by their soft murm'ring river,
But the name of Macgregor has perish'd for ever. -—
On a red stream of light, from his gray mountains
glancing,

The form of a spirit seem'd sternly advancing;
Slow o'er the heath of the dead was its motion,

As the shadow of mist o'er the foam of the ocean;

Like the sound of a stream thro' the still evening dying.

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Stranger, who tread'st where Macgregor is lying! "Dar'st thou to walk unappall'd and firm-hearted "Midst the shadowy steps of the mighty departed?— "See, round thee the cairns of the dead are disclosing "The shades that have long been in silence reposing!

"Through their form dimly twinkles the moon-beam

descending,

"As their red eye of wrath on a stranger are bending. "Our gray stones of fame though the heath-blossoms

cover,

"Round the hills of our battles our spirits still hover; "But dark are our forms by our blue native fountains, "For we ne'er see the streams running red from the mountains.

"Our fame fades away like the foam of the river, "That shines in the sun ere it vanish for ever; "And no maid hangs in tears of regret o'er the story, "When the minstrel relates the decline of our glory. "The hunter of red deer now ceases to number "The lonely gray stones on the fields of our slumber. "Fly stranger, and let not thine eye be reverted ! — "Ah! why should'st thou see that our fame is departed?"

THE ELFIN KING.

"Oh swift, and swifter far he speeds
"Than earthly steed can run;

"But I hear not the feet of his courser fleet,
"As he glides o'er the moorland dun."

Lone was the strath where he cross'd their path,
And wide did the heath extend.

The Knight in Green on that moor is seen

At every seven years' end.

And swift is the speed of his coal-black steed,

As the leaf before the gale,

But never yet have that courser's feet

Been heard on hill or dale.

But woe to the wight who meets the Green Knight, Except on his faulchion arm

Spell-proof he bear, like the brave St. Clair,

The holy trefoil's charm ;

For then shall fly his gifted eye

Delusions false and dim;

And each unbless'd shade shall stand pourtray'd

In ghostly form and limb.

"Oh swift, and swifter far he speeds

"Than earthly steed can run;

"He skims the blue air," said the brave St. Clair,

"Instead of the heath so dun.

"His locks are bright as the streamer's light, "His cheeks like the rose's hue;

"The Elfin-King, like the merlin's wing

"Are his pinions of glossy blue." —

"No Elfin-King, with azure wing,

"On the dark brown moor I see;

"But a courser keen, and a Knight in Green, "And full fair I ween is he.

"Nor Elfin-King, nor azure wing,
"Nor ringlets sparkling bright;"
Sir Geoffry cried, and forward hied
To join the stranger Knight.

He knew not the path of the lonely strath,
Where the Elfin-King went his round;

Or he never had gone with the Green Knight on,
Nor trod the charmed ground.

How swift they flew! no eye could view

Their track on heath or hill;

Yet swift across both moor and moss,

St. Clair did follow still.

And soon was seen a circle green,
Where a shadowy wassail crew
Amid the ring did dance and sing,
In weeds of watchet blue.

And the windlestrae *, so limber and gray,
Did shiver beneath the tread

Of the coursers' feet, as they rush'd to meet
The morrice of the dead.