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LORD OF THE ISLES.
STRANGER! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced
The northern realms of ancient Caledon, Where the proud Queen of Wilderness hath placed,
By lake and cataract, her lonely throne; Sublime but sad delight thy soul hath known,
Gazing on pathless glen and mountain high, Listing where from the cliffs the torrents thrown
Mingle their echoes with the eagle's cry, And with the sounding lake, and with the moaning sky. Yes ! 'twas sublime, but sad.-The loneliness
Loaded thy heart, the desert tired thine eye; And strange and awful fears began to press
Thy bosom with a stern solemnity. Then hast thou wish'd some woodman's cottage nigh,
Something that show'd of life, though low and mean; Glad sight, its curling wreath of smoke to spy,
Glad sound, its cock's blithe carol would have been, Or children whooping wild beneath the willows green.
Such are the scenes, where savage grandeur wakes
An awful thrill that softens into sighs;
In dark Glencoe such gloomy raptures rise :
Chides wild Loch-Eribol his caverns hoar-
Of desert dignity to that dread shore,
Through such wild scenes the champions pass'd,
He marks us, and his eager cry
Loud Edward shouts, “ What make ye here,
When Scotland wants her King ?
These joyful news to bring
The Stuart stirs in Teviotdale,
Still stood The Bruce-his steady cheek
But then his colour rose :
And vengeance on thy foes !
Yet to no sense of selfish wrongs,
My joy o'er Edward's bier ;
And well may vouch it here,
And to his people dear."-
Edward said ; “ Eternal as his own, my hate Surmounts the bounds of mortal fate,
And dies not with the dead ! Such hate was his on Solway's strand, When vengeance clench'd his palsied hand, That pointed yet to Scotland's land,
As his last accents pray'd