The kirk was decked at morning-tide,
The tapers glimmered fair;
The priest and bridegroom wait the bride,
And dame and knight are there.
They sought her baith by bower and ha';
The ladie was not seen!

She's o'er the Border and awa'
Wi' Jock of Hazeldean.

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,
Pibroch of Donuil,
Wake thy wild voice anew,
Summon Clan Conuil.
Come away, come away,

Hark to the summons !
Come in your war array,

Gentles and commons.
Come from deep glen and
From mountain so rocky,
The war-pipe and pennon
Are at Inverlochy.
Come every hill-plaid and

True heart that wears one,
Come every steel blade and
Strong hand that bears one.

Leave untended the herd,

The flock without shelter;

427

Cast your plaids, draw your blades,
Forward each man set!
Pibroch of Donuil Dhu,
Knell for the onset !

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,
'The Earlie's son I will not wed,
Should all the race of nature die
And none be left but he and I.
For all the gold, for all the gear,
And all the lands both far and near,
That ever valor lost or won,

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!
Gather, gather, gather, etc.

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
TO HAYDN'S AIR GOD SAVE THE EM-
PEROR FRANCIS,' AND
SUNG BY A
SELECT BAND AFTER THE DINNER
GIVEN BY THE LORD PROVOST OF
EDINBURGH ΤΟ THE GRAND-DUKE
NICHOLAS OF RUSSIA, AND HIS SUITE,
19TH DECEMBER, 1816.

GOD protect brave ALEXANDER,
Heaven defend the noble Czar,
Mighty Russia's high Commander,
First in Europe's banded war;
For the realms he did deliver
From the tyrant overthrown,
Thou, of every good the Giver,
Grant him long to bless his own!
Bless him, mid his land's disaster
For her rights who battled brave;
Of the land of foemen master,
Bless him who their wrongs forgave.

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,
When Time and thou shalt part forever!'

The cronach 's cried on Bennachie,
And doun the Don and a',
And hieland and lawland may mournfu' be
For the sair field of Harlaw.

They saddled a hundred milk-white steeds,
They hae bridled a hundred black,
With a chafron of steel on each horse's
head,

And a good knight upon his back.

They hadna ridden a mile, a mile,
A mile but barely ten,

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,
That rides beside my reyne,
Were ye Glenallan's Earl the day,
And I were Roland Cheyne?

To turn the rein were sin and shame,
To fight were wond'rous peril,
What would ye do now, Roland Cheyne,
Were ye Glenallan's Earl?'.

'Were I Glenallan's Earl this tide,

And ye were Roland Cheyne,
The spur should be in my horse's side,
And the bridle upon his mane.

'If they hae twenty thousand blades,
And we twice ten times ten,
Yet they hae but their tartan plaids,
And we are mail-clad men.

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
The torrid zone of this wild breast,
Whose wrath and hate have sworn to dwell
With the first sin that peopled hell;
A breast whose blood 's a troubled ocean,
Each throb the earthquake's wild commo-
tion!-

Oh, if such clime thou canst endure,
Yet keep thy hue unstained and pure,
What conquest o'er each erring thought
Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought!
I had not wandered wild and wide,
With such an angel for my guide;
Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove