LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF.

AIR-"Cadul gu lo."

[1815.]

I.

O, HUSH thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,
Thy mother a lady both lovely and bright;

The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see,
They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee.
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo,
O ho ro, i ri ri, &c.

II.

O, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows,
It calls but the warders that guard thy repose;
Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red,
Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.
O ho ro, i ri ri, &c.

III.

O, hush thee, my babie, the time soon will come, When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum; Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may, For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day. O ho ro, i ri ri, &c.

THE RETURN TO ULSTER.

[1816.]

ONCE again, but how changed since my wand'rings began -
I have heard the deep voice of the Lagan and Bann,
And the pines of Clanbrassil resound to the roar,
That wearies the echoes of fair Tullamore.

Alas! my poor bosom, and why shouldst thou burn!
With the scenes of my youth can its raptures return?
Can I live the dear life of delusion again,

That flow'd when these echoes first mix'd with my strain?

It was then that around me, though poor and unknown,
High spells of mysterious enchantment were thrown;
The streams were of silver, of diamond the dew,

The land was an Eden, for fancy was new.

I had heard of our bards, and my soul was on fire

At the rush of their verse, and the sweep of their lyre.

To me 'twas not legend, nor tale to the ear,

But a vision of noontide, distinguish'd and clear.

Ultonia's old heroes awoke at the call,

And renew'd the wild pomp of the chase and the hall;

And the standard of Fion flash'd fierce from on high,
Like a burst of the sun when the tempest is nigh.
It seem'd that the harp of green Erin once more
Could renew all the glories she boasted of yore.—
Yet why at remembrance, fond heart, shouldst thou burn ?
They were days of delusion and cannot return.

But was she, too, a phantom, the Maid who stood by,
And listed my lay, while she turn'd from mine eye?
Was she, too, a vision, just glancing to view,
Then dispersed in the sunbeam, or melted to dew?
Oh! would it had been so,-Oh! would that her eye
Had been but a star-glance that shot through the sky,
And her voice that was moulded to melody's thrill,
Had been but a zephyr, that sigh'd and was still!

Oh! would it had been so,-not then this poor heart
Had learn'd the sad lesson, to love and to part;
To bear, unassisted, its burthen of care,

While I toil'd for the wealth I had no one to share.
Not then had I said, when life's summer was done,
And the hours of her autumn were fast speeding on,
"Take the fame and the riches ye brought in your train,
And restore me the dream of my spring-tide again.'

JOCK OF HAZELDEAN.

AIR-"A Border Melody."

The first stanza of this Ballad is ancient. The others were written for
Mr. Campbell's Albyn's Anthology.

PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU.

AIR-" Piobair of Donuil Dhuidh."

[1816.]

This is a very ancient pibroch belonging to Clan MacDonald, and supposed to refer to the expedition of Donald Balloch, who, in 1431, launched from the Isles with a considerable force, invaded Lochaber, and at Inverlochy defeated and put to flight the Earls of Mar and Caithness, though at the head of an army superior to his own. The words of the set, theme, or melody, to which the pipe variations are applied, run thus in Gaelic :—

Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil;
Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil;
Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil ;
Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi.
The pipe-summons of Donald the Black,
The pipe summons of Donald the Black,

The war-pipe and the pennon are on the gathering-place at Inverlochy.

PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu,

Pibroch of Donuil,
Wake thy wild voice anew,
Summon Clan Conuil.
Come away, come away,
Hark to the summons !
Come in your war array,

Gentles and commons.
Come from deep glen, and
From mountain so rocky,
The war-pipe and pennon
Are at Inverlocky.
Come every hill-plaid, and

True heart that wears one,
Come every steel blade, and
Strong hand that bears one.
Leave untended the herd,

The flock without shelter; Leave the corpse uninterr'd, The bride at the altar;

These verses are adapted to a very wild, yet lively gathering-tune, used by the MacGregors. The severe treatment of this Clan, their outlawry, and the proscription of their very name, are alluded to in the Ballad.

THE moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae,
And the Clan has a name that is nameless by day;
Then gather, gather, gather Grigalach!
Gather, gather, gather, &c.

Our signal for fight, that from monarchs we drew,
Must be heard but by night in our vengeful haloo !

Then haloo, Grigalach! haloo, Grigalach!
Haloo, haloo, haloo, Grigalach, &c.

Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchuirn and her towers,
Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours;

We're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach!
Landless, landless, landless, &c.

But doom'd and devoted by vassal and lord,
MacGregor has still both his heart and his sword!
Then courage, courage, courage, Grigalach!
Courage, courage, courage, &c.

If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles,
Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the eagles!
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Grigalach!
Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, &c.

While there's leaves in the forest, and foam on the river,
MacGregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever!

Come then, Grigalach, come then, Grigalach!
Come then, come then, come then, &c.

Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall career,
O'er the peak of Ben-Lomond the galley shall steer,
And the rocks of Craig-Royston like icicles melt,
Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt.
Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach!
Gather, gather, gather, &c.

THE SUN UPON THE WEIRDLAW HILL.
AIR-"Rimhin aluin 'stu mo run."

ETHELFRID, or OLFRID, King of Northumberland, having besieged Chester in 613, and BROCKMAEL, a British Prince, advancing to relieve it, the religious of the neighbouring Monastery of Bangor marched in procession, to pray for the success

of their countrymen. But the British being totally defeated, the heathen victor put the monks to the sword, and destroyed their monastery. The tune to which these verses are adapted is called the Monks' March, and is supposed to have been played at their ill-omened procession.

WHEN the heathen trumpet's clang
Round beleaguer'd Chester rang,
Veiled nun and friar gray
March'd from Bangor's fair Abbaye;
High their holy anthem sounds,
Cestria's vale the hymn rebounds,
Floating down the silvan Dee,

O miserere, Domine!

On the long procession goes,
Glory round their crosses glows,
And the Virgin-mother mild
In their peaceful banner smiled;
Who could think such saintly band
Doom'd to feel unhallow'd hand?
Such was the Divine decree,

O miserere, Domine!

Bands that masses only sung,
Hands that censers only swung,
Met the northern bow and bill,
Heard the war-cry wild and shrill :

Woe to Brockmael's feeble hand,
Woe to Olfrid's bloody brand,
Woe to Saxon cruelty,

O miserere, Domine!

Weltering amid warriors slain,
Spurn'd by steeds with bloody mane,
Slaughter'd down by heathen blade,
Bangor's peaceful monks are laid :
Word of parting rest unspoke,
Mass unsung, and bread unbroke;
For their souls for charity,

Sing, O miserere, Domine!

Bangor! o'er the murder wail !
Long thy ruins told the tale,
Shatter'd towers and broken arch
Long recall'd the woeful march:
On thy shrine no tapers burn,
Never shall thy priests return;
The pilgrim sighs and sings for thee,
O miserere, Domine!

MACKRIMMON'S LAMENT.
AIR-" Cha till mi tuille."

[1818.]

Mackrimmon, hereditary piper fo tne Laird of Macleod, is said to have com-
posed 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 Mackrimmon," "I shall never
return; although Macleod returns, yet Mackrimmon shall never return!"
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.

MACLEOD'S wizard flag from the grey castle sallies,
The rowers are seated, unmoor'd are the galleys;
Gleam war-axe and broadsword, clang target and quiver,
As Mackrimmon sings, "Farewell to Dunvegan 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;
Macleod may return, but Mackrimmon shall never!

"Farewell the bright clouds that on Quillan are sleeping;
Farewell the bright eyes in the Dun that are weeping;
To each minstrel delusion, farewell!—and for ever-
Mackrimmon departs, to return to you never!

The