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CONTRIBUTIONS BORDER MINSTRELSY.
GLENFINLAS; OR, LORD RONALD'S CORONACH.
Tub simple tradition, upon which the following stanzas are founded runs thus: While two Highland hunters were passing the night ln a solitary bothy (a hut built for the purpose of hunting), and making merryover their venison and whiaky, one of them expressed a wish, that they had pretty lasses to complete their party. The words were scarcely uttered, when two beautiful young women, habited in green, entered the hut, dancing and singing. One of the hunters was seduced, by the syren who attached herself particularly to him, to leave the hut; the other remained, and, suspicious ol the fair seducers, 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 piece* and devoured by the fiend lnto whose toils he had fallen. The place wu* from thence called, The Glen of the Green Women.
"O Hone a rie'! O hone a rie'!"
The pride of Albin's line is o'er,
We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more!
0, sprung from great Macgillianore,
The chief that never feared a foe,
How deadly thine unerring bow!
Well can the Saxon widows tell,
The boldest Lowland warriors fell,
But o'er the hills, on festal day,
While youths and maids the light strathspey
Cheered by the strength of Ronald's shell,
But now the loud lament we swell,
From distant isles a Chieftain came,
And chase with him the dark-brown game,
m 'T«as Moy; whom in Colnmba's isle
Full many a spell to him was known,
And many a lay of potent tone,
For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood,
And oft espy the fated shroud,
O sojt fell, that on a day,
The chiefs have ta'en their distant way,
No vassals wait their sports to aid,
Their simple dress, the Highland plaid,
Three summer days, through brake and dell,
And still, when dewy evening fell,
In grey Glenfinlas' deepest nook
The solitary cabin stood,
Which murmurs through that lonely wood.
Soft fell the night, the sky was calm,
And summer mist in dewy balm
The moon, half hid in silvery flakes,
Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes,
Now in their hut, in social guise,
Their sylvan fare the chiefs enjoy; And pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes,
Aa many a pledge he quaffs to Moy.—
"What lack we here to crown our bliss,
What, but fair woman's yielding kiss,
To chase the deer of yonder shades.
This morning left their father's pile The fairest of our mountain maids,
The daughters of the proud Glengyle
Long have I sought sweet Mary's heart,
But vain the lover's wily art,
But thou mayst teach that guardian fair,
While far with Mary I am flown, Of other hearts to cease her care,
And find it hard to guard her own.
Touch but thy harp, thou soon shalt see
The lovely Flora of Glengyle, Unmindful of her charge and me,
Hang on thy notes, 'twixt tear and smile.
Or, if she choose a melting tale,
All underneath the greenwood bough, Will good St. Oran's rule prevail,
Stern huntsman of the rigid brow?"—
"Since Enrick's fight, since Morna's death,
No more on me shall rapture rise, Responsive to the panting breath,
Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes.
E'en then, when o'er the heath of woe,
I bade my harp's wild wailings flow,
The last dread curse of angry Heaven,
To dash each glimpse of joy, was given—
The bark thou saw'st, yon summer morn,
So gaily part from Oban's bay, My eye beheld her dashed and torn,
Far on the rocky Colonsay.
Thy Fergus too—thy sister's son,
As marching 'gainst the Lord of Downe,
Thou only saw'st their tartans wave,
Heardst but the pibroch, answering brave
I heard the groans, I marked the tears,
When on the serried Saxon spears
And thou, who bidd'st me think of bliss,
And court, like thee, the wanton kiss,—
I see the death-damps chill thy brow;
I hear thy Warning Spirit cry;
No more is given to gifted eye!"
"Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams,
Sad prophet of the evil hour!
Because to-morrow's storm may lour?
Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe,
His blood shall bound at rapture's glow,
E'en now, to meet me in yon dell,
He spoke, nor bade the chief farewell,
Within an hour returned each hound;
In rushed the rousers of the deer;
Then closely couch beside the seer.
No Ronald yet; though midnight came,
As, bending o'er the dying flame,
Sudden the hounds erect their ears,
Close pressed to Moy, they mark their fears
Untouched, the harp began to ring,
As softly, slowly oped the door; And shook responsive every string,
As light a footstep pressed the floor.
And by the watch-fire's glimmering light,
Close by the minstrel's side was seen A huntress maid, in beauty bright,
All dropping wet her robes of green.
All dropping wet her garments seem;
Chilled was her cheek, her bosom bare, As. bending o'er the dying gleam,
She wrung the moisture from her hair.
With maiden blush she softly said,
"O gentle huntsman, hast thou seen, In deep Glenfinlas' moonlight glade,
A lovely maid in vest of green:
With her a chief in Highland pride;
His shoulders bear the hunter's bow, The mountain dirk adorns his side,
Far on the wind his tartans flow i"
"And who art thou? and who are they V
All ghastly gazing, Moy replied:
Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas' side 1"
"Where wild Loch Katrine pours her tide
Our father's towers o'erhang her side,
To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer,
And haply met, while wandering here,
O aid me, then, to seek the pair,
Alone, I dare not venture there,
"Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks there;
Then first, my own sad vow to keep, Here will I pour my midnight prayer,
Which still must rise when mortals sleep."
"0 first, for pity's gentle sake,
Guide a lone wanderer on her way! For I must cross the haunted brake,
And reach my father's towers ere day."