The kirk was decked at morning-tide, She's o'er the Border and awa' PIBROCH OF DONALD DHU AIR-Piobair of Donuil Dhuidh' This song was written for Albyn's Anthology, 1816, and contained the following preface by Scott: This is a very ancient pibroch belonging to Clan MacDonald, and supposed to refer to the expedition of Donald Balloch, who, in 1431, launched from the Isles with a considerable force, invaded Lochaber, and at Inverlochy defeated and put to flight the Earls of Mar and Caithness, though at the head of an army superior to his own. The words of the set, theme, or melody, to which the pipe variations are applied, run thus in Gaelic: "Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; Piobaireachd Dhonuil Dhuidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi." "The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, The pipe-summons of Donald the Black, The war-pipe and the pennon are on the gatheringplace at Inverlochy." This readily suggests the gathering song in the third canto of The Lady of the Lake. PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu, Hark to the summons ! Gentles and commons. True heart that wears one, Leave untended the herd, The flock without shelter; 427 Cast your plaids, draw your blades, NORA'S VOW AIR-Cha teid mis a chaoidh' Written for Albyn's Anthology, 1816, with this note by Scott: In the original Gaelic, the Lady makes protestations that she will not go with the Red Earl's son, until the swan should build in the cliff, and the eagle in the lake - until one mountain should change places with another, and so forth. It is but fair to add, that there is no authority for supposing that she altered her mind except the vehemence of her protestation.' HEAR what Highland Nora said, I would not wed the Earlie's son.' 'A maiden's vows,' old Callum spoke, 'Are lightly made and lightly broke; The heather on the mountain's height Begins to bloom in purple light; The frost-wind soon shall sweep away That lustre deep from glen and brae; by day; Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach! Our signal for fight, that from monarchs we drew, Must be heard but by night in our vengeful haloo! Then haloo, Grigalach! haloo, Grigalach! Haloo, haloo, haloo, Grigalach, etc. Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchurn and her towers, Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours; We're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach! Landless, landless, landless, etc. But doomed and devoted by vassal and lord, MacGregor has still both his heart and his sword! COMPOSED FOR THE OCCASION, ADAPTED GOD protect brave ALEXANDER, From Chapter x. 'WHY sit'st thou by that ruined hall, Thou aged carle so stern and gray? Dost thou its former pride recall, Or ponder how it passed away?' 'Know'st thou not me?' the Deep Voice cried: So long enjoyed, so oft misused Alternate, in thy fickle pride, Desired, neglected, and accused! 'Before my breath, like blazing flax, Man and his marvels pass away! And changing empires wane and wax, Are founded, flourish, and decay. the space is brief 'Redeem mine hours While in my glass the sand - grains shiver, And measureless thy joy or grief, The cronach 's cried on Bennachie, They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds, And a good knight upon his back. They hadna ridden a mile, a mile, When Donald came branking down the brae Wi' twenty thousand men. Their tartans they were waving wide, Their glaives were glancing clear, C The pibrochs rung frae side to side, Would deafen ye to hear. The great Earl in his stirrups stood, That Highland host to see: 'Now here a knight that 's stout and good May prove a jeopardie: 'What would'st thou do, my squire so gay, To turn the rein were sin and shame, 'Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide, And ye were Roland Cheyne, 'If they hae twenty thousand blades, For time will rust the brightest blade, And years will break the strongest bow; Was never wight so starkly made, But time and years would overthrow. II VERSES FOUND, WITH A LOCK OF HAIR, IN BOTHWELL'S POCKET-BOOK From Chapter xxiii. THY hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright As in that well-remembered night, When first thy mystic braid was wove, And first my Agnes whispered love. Since then how often hast thou pressed Oh, if such clime thou canst endure, Lived Sultaun Solimaun, a mighty prince, Whose eyes, as oft as they performed their round, Beheld all others fixed upon the ground; Whose ears received the same unvaried phrase, 'Sultaun! thy vassal hears and he obeys!' this may the fancy All have their tastes Of strike A sort of stimulant which hath its uses yours The Sultaun lacking this same wholesome bitter, Or cordial smooth for prince's palate fitter— themes 50 Belonging to the Mollah's subtle craft, such grave folks as pomp and grandeur Or mazed or dumb, hath Burton none so bad. like; For me, I love the honest heart and warm Of monarch who can amble round his farm, Or, when the toil of state no more annoys, 20 corner seek domestic joys In chimney |