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And ever, when they moved again,
The pipes resumed their clamorous strain,
And, with the pibroch's shrilling wail,
Mourned the young heir of Donagaile.
Round and around, from cliff and cave,
His answer stern old Coolin gave,
Till high upon his misty side
Languished the mournful notes, and died.
For never sounds by mortal made,
Attained his high and haggard head,
That echoes but the tempest's moan,
Or the deep thunder's rending groan.

VII.

Merrily, merrily, bounds the bark,
She bounds before the gale,

The mountain breeze from Ben-na-darch
Is joyous in her sail !

With fluttering sound like laughter hoarse
The cords and canvas strain;
The waves, divided by her force,
In rippling eddies chased her course,
As if they laughed again.

Not down the breeze more blithely flew,
Skimming the wave, the light sea-mew,
Than that gay galley bore

Her course upon that favouring wind,
And Coolin's crest has sunk behind,
And Slapin's caverned shore.
'Twas then that warlike signals wake
Dunscaith's dark towers and Eisord's lake,
And soon from Cavilgarrigh's head

Thick wreaths of eddying smoke were spread,
A summons these of war and wrath

To the brave clans of Sleate and Strath;
And, ready at the sight,

Each warrior to his weapon sprung,
And targe upon his shoulder flung,
Impatient for the fight.

Mac-Kinnon's chief, in warfare grey,
Had charge to muster their array,
And guide their barks to Brodick-Bay.

VIII.

Signal of Ronald's high command,
A beacon gleamed o'er sea and land,
From Canna's tower, that, steep and grey,
Like falcon-nest o'erhangs the bay.
Seek not the giddy crag to climb,
To view the turret scathed by time;
It is a task of doubt and fear
To aught but goat or mountain deer.
But rest thee on the silver beach,
And let the aged herdsman teach
His tale of former day;

His cur's wild clamour he shall chide,
And for thy seat by ocean's side,
His varied plaid display;

Then tell, with Canna's Chieftain came,
In ancient times, a foreign dame
To yonder turret grey.

Stern was her lord's suspicious mind,
Who in so rude a jail confined
So soft and fair a thrall!

And oft when moon on ocean slept,
That lovely lady sate and wept
Upon the castle wall,

And turned her eye to southern climes,
And thought perchance of happier times,
And touched her lute by fits, and sung
Wild ditties in her native tongue.
And still, when on the cliff and bay
Placid and pale the moonbeams play,
And every breeze is mute,
Upon the lone Hebridean's ear

Steals a strange pleasure mixed with fear,
While from that cliff he seems to hear
The murmur of a lute,

And sounds, as of a captive lone,

That mourns her woes in tongue unknown.Strange is the tale-but all too long

Already hath it stayed the song

Yet who may pass them by, That crag and tower in ruins grey, Nor to their hapless tenant pay The tribute of a sigh !

IX.

Merrily, merrily, bounds the bark
O'er the broad ocean driven,
Her path by Ronin's mountains dark
The steersman's hand has given.
And Ronin's mountains dark have sent
Their hunters to the shore,

And each his ashen bow unbent,

And gave his pastime o'er, And at the Island Lord's command, For hunting-spear took warrior's brand. On Scoor-Eigg next a warning light Summoned her warriors to the fight; A numerous race, ere stern Macleod O'er their bleak shores in vengeance strode, When all in vain the ocean cave Its refuge to his victims gave. The Chief, relentless in his wrath, With blazing heath blockades the path; In dense and stifling volumes rolled, The vapour filled the caverned Holá! The warrior-threat, the infant's plain, The mother's screams, were heard in vain;

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!

The vengeful chief maintains his fires,
Till in the vault a tribe expires!

The bones which strew that cavern's gloon
Too well attest their dismal doom.

X.

Merrily, merrily, goes the bark

On a breeze from the northward free,
So shoots through the morning sky the lark,
Or the swan through the summer sea.
The shores of Mull on the eastward lay,
And Ulva dark and Colonsay,
And all the group of islets gay

That guard famed Staffa round.
Then all unknown its columns rose,
Where dark and undisturbed repose
The cormorant had found,

And the shy seal had quiet home,
And weltered in that wondrous dome,
Where, as to shame the temples decked
By skill of earthly architect,

Nature herself, it seemed, would raise
A Minster to her Maker's praise!
Not for a meaner use ascend

Her columns, or her arches bend;
Nor of a theme less solemn tells

That mighty surge that ebbs and swells,
And still, between each awful pause,
From the high vault an answer draws,
In varied tone prolonged and high,
That mocks the organ's melody.
Nor doth its entrance front in vain
To old Iona's holy fane,

That Nature's voice might seem to say,

"Well hast thou done, frail Child of clay!

Thy humble powers that stately shrine
Tasked high and hard-but witness mine!"--

ΧΙ.

Merrily, merrily, goes the bark,

Before the gale she bounds;

So darts the dolphin from the shark,

Or the deer before the hounds.

They left Loch-Tua on their lee,

And they wakened the men of the wild Tiree,

And the Chief of the sandy Coll;

They paused not at Columba's isle,
Though pealed the bells from the holy pile
With long and measured toll;

No time for matin or for mass,

And the sounds of the holy summons pass
Away in the billows' roll.

Lochbuie's fierce and warlike lord

Their signal saw, and grasped his sword,

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