And there was mounting in hot haste: the `steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car And wild and high the Cameron's gathering' rose! The war-notes of Locheil which Albyn's hills Have heard, and heard too have her Saxon foes. How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill! but with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers And Ardennes waves above them her green Ere evening, to be trodden like the grass, And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, The morn the marshalling in arms-the day The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent, The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent Rider and horse-friend, foe-in one red burial blent! THE OLD FAMILIAR STRAIN. Makenzie. SING me the old familiar strain Which touched my heart in boyhood's years, Before its chords were jarred by pain, Before its hopes were dimmed by tears. Time has fled fast since first I heard Thine eyes have their soft radiance kept That won my heart in life's young spring, And o'er thy beauty Time hath swept, Gently with light and charmed wing. Unaltered is thy graceful form, Thy trusting heart is still the same, Keeping those true affections warm, As when before I dreamt of fame, You sang me that old strain. Yes, sing! as in those golden hours When life, and love, and hope were young, When fancy strewed our path with flowersOh sing the strain that then you sung! Your voice may have a sadder tone, Than made sweet music in that time, Ere grief or trials we had known, When first you sang in youthful prime That old familiar strain. Methinks that on thy placid brow, So lightly touched by furrowing years, Since first we plighted love's fond vowThought's graver shadow now appears; But yet if in thy very mirth Remembrance of our dead will come, Strong ties yet bind thee to the earthSo breathe once more within our home The old familiar strain. THE JOYS OF YOUTH. Carpenter. THE joys of youth, how soon, alas! The laughter loud and gay, The thrilling hearts, the hopes that bless'd, Estranged from all we loved, we live The friends of youth-that ceaseless band Where are they now? alone I stand And others now look coldly on, But all the kindred hearts are gone They lived-loved-and have been. I hear some stranger's voice repeat And then-oh! would I then could meet The love of youth-when friends are gone, No passing grief, no transient care In youth the hearts that faithful were 'Tis love alone, when all we see That brings, though but in Memory, THE THREE SONS. Moultrie. I HAVE a son, a little son, a boy just five years old, With eyes of thoughtful earnestness and mind of gentle mould; They tell me that unusual grace in all his ways appears, That my child is grave and wise of head beyond his childish years. |