And soon on Arran's shore shall meet, With Torquil's aid, a gallant fleet, Among the islesmen of the west." VI. Thus was their venturous council said. But, ere their sails the galleys spread, And ever, when they moved again, And, with the pibroch's shrilling wail, Round and around, from cliff and cave, His answer stern old Coolin Till high upon his misty side gave, Languish'd the mournful notes, and died. 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 canvass strain, The waves, divided by her force, In rippling eddies chased her course, As if they laugh'd again. Not down the breeze more blithely flew, Skimming the wave, the light sea-mew, Than the gay galley bore Her course upon that favouring wind, And Slapin's cavern'd 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 Sleat and Strath, And, ready at the sight, Each warrior to his weapons sprung, And targe upon his shoulder flung, Impatient for the fight. Mac-Kinnon's chief, in warfare grey, And guide their barks to Brodick-Bay. VIII. Signal of Ronald's high command, A beacon gleam'd o'er sea and land, 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, how with their 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 turn'd her eye to southern climes, And thought perchance of happier times, And touch'd 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 mix'd 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. |