Farewell to each cliff, on which breakers are foaming; Farewell each dark glen, in which red deer are roaming; Farewell lonely SKYE, to lake, mountain, and river, Macleod may return, but Mackrimmon shall never!

"Farewell the bright clouds that on Quillan are sleeping;
Farewell the bright eyes in the Dun that are weeping;
To each minstrel-delusion, farewell!-and for ever-
Mackrimmon departs, to return to you never!

The Banshee's wild voice sings the death-dirge before me,
The pall of the dead for a mantle hangs o'er me;
But my heart shall not flag, and my nerves shall not shiver,
Though devoted I go-to return again never!

"Too oft shall the notes of Mackrimmon's bewailing Be heard when the GAEL on their exile are sailing; Dear land! to the shores, whence unwilling we sever, Return-return-return-shall we never!

Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille!

Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille,

Cha till, cha till, cha till sin tuille,

Ged thillis Macleod, cha till Macrimmon!

THE

LAST WORDS OF CADWALLON.

AIR-" Dafydd y Garreg-wen."*

Written for Mr GEORGE THOMSON'S Welch Melodies.

There is a tradition that Dafydd y Garreg-wen, a famous Welsh Bard, being on his death-bed, called for his harp, and composed the sweet melancholy air to which these verses are united, requesting that it might be performed at his funeral.

DINAS EMLINN, lament, for the moment is nigh, When mute in the woodlands thine echoes shall die ; No more by sweet Teivi CADWALLON shall rave, And mix his wild notes with the wild dashing wave.

*"David of the White Rock."

In spring and in autumn thy glories of shade

Unhonour'd shall flourish, unhonour'd shall fade;

For soon shall be lifeless the and the tongue,

eye

That view'd them with rapture-with rapture that sung.

Thy sons, Dinas Emlinn, may march in their pride,
And chase the proud Saxon from Prestatyn's side;

But where is the harp shall give life to their name?
And where is the bard shall give heroes their fame?

And Oh, Dinas Emlinn! thy daughters so fair,
Who heave the white bosom, and wave the dark hair,
What tuneful enthusiast shall worship their eye,

When half of their charms with CADWALLON shall die?

Then adieu, silver Teivi! I quit thy loved scene,
To join the dim choir of the bards who have been;
With Lewarch, and Meilor, and Merlin the old,
And sage Taliessin, high harping to hold.

And adieu, Dinas Emlinn! still green be thy shades, Unconquer'd thy warriors, and matchless thy maids! And thou, whose faint warblings my weakness can tell, Farewell, my lov'd harp! my last treasure, farewell!