ducers, continued to play upon a trump, or Jew's harp, some strain, consecrated to the Virgin Mary. Day at length came, and the temptress vanished. Searching in the forest, he found the bones of his unfortunate friend, who had been torn to pieces and devoured by the fiend, into whose toils he had fallen. The place was from thence called the Glen of the Green Women.

Glenfinlas is a tract of forest-ground, lying in the Highlands of Perthshire, not far from Callender, in Menteith. It was formerly a royal forest, and now belongs to the Earl of Moray. This country, as well as the adjacent district of Balquidder, was, in times of yore, chiefly inhabited by the Macgregors. To the west of the forest of Glenfinlas lies Loch Katrine, and its romantic avenue, called the Troshachs. Benledi, Benmore, and Benvoirlich, are mountains in the same district, and at no great distance from Glenfinlas. The river Teith passes Callender and the castle of Doune, and joins the Forth near Stirling. The pass of Lenny is immediately above Callender, and is the principal access to the Highlands, from that town. Glenartney is a forest near Benvoirlich. The whole forms a sublime

tract of Alpine scenery.

GLENFINLAS,

OR

LORD RONALD'S CORONACH.

"For them the viewless forms of air obey, "Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair; " They know what spirit brews the stormful day, "And heartless oft, like moody madness, stare, "To see the phantom-train their secret work prepare."

“O HONE a rie' ! O hone a rie'!

"The pride of Albin's line is o'er, "And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree; "We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more!

*

Qhone a rie' signifies-" Alas for the prince, or chief.

O, sprung from great Macgillianore,
The chief that never feared a foe,
How matchless was thy broad claymore,
How deadly thine unerring bow!

Well can the Saxon widows tell,

How, on the Teith's resounding shore,

The boldest Lowland warriors fell,

As down from Lenny's pass you bore.

But o'er his hills, on festal day,

How blazed Lord Ronald's beltane-tree; While youths and maids the light strathspey So nimbly danced with Highland glee.

Cheer'd by the strength of Ronald's shell,
E'en age forgot his tresses hoar;
But now the loud lament we swell,

O ne'er to see Lord Ronald more!

From distant isles a Chieftain came,
The joys of Ronald's hall to find,
And chase with him the dark-brown game,

That bounds o'er Albin's hills of wind.

'Twas Moy; whom in Columba's isle The seer's prophetic spirit found,

As, with a minstrel's fire the while,

He waked his harp's harmonious sound.

Full many a spell to him was known,

Which wandring spirits shrink to hear;

And many a lay of potent tone,

Was never meant for mortal ear.

For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood,

High converse with the dead they hold,

And oft espy the fatal shroud,

That shall the future corpse enfold.

O so it fell, that on a day,

To rouse the red deer from their den, The chiefs have ta'en their distant way, And scour'd the deep Glenfinlas glen.

No vassals wait their sports to aid,

To watch their safety, deck their board; Their simple dress, the Highland plaid, Their trusty guard, the Highland sword.

Three summer days, through brake and dell,
Their whistling shafts successful flew ;

And still, when dewy evening fell,

The quarry to their hut they drew.

In grey Glenfinlas' deepest nook
The solitary cabin stood,

Fast by Moneira's sullen brook,

Which murmurs through that lonely wood.

1

Soft fell the night, the sky was calm,

When three successive days had flown;

And summer mist in dewy balm

Steep'd heathy bank, and mossy stone.

The moon, half-hid in silvery flakes,
Afar her dubious radiance shed,
Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes,
And resting on Benledi's head.

Now in their hut, in social guise,
Their sylvan fare the chiefs enjoy;
And pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes,
As many a pledge he quaffs to Moy.