« 前へ次へ »
Each on its own dark cape reclined,
And listening to its own wild wind,., :'
From where Mingarry, sternly placed,
O'erawes the woodland and the waste,
To where Dunstaffnage hears the raging .
Of Connal with his rocks engaging.'.
Think'st thou, amid this ample round,
A single brow but thine has frown'd,; ,
To sadden this auspicious morn,
That bids the daughter of high Lomn . .
Impledge her spousal faith to wed :
The heir of mighty Somerled;
Ronald, from many a hero sprung,
The fair, the valiant, and the young,
LORD OF THE ISLES, whose lofty name
A thousand bards have given to fame,
The mate of monarchs, and allied
On equal terms with England's pride.-
From chieftain's tower to bondsman's cot,
Who hears the tale, and triumphs not ?
The damsel dons her best attire,
The shepherd lights his beltane fire,
Joy, Joy! each warder's horn hath sung,
Joy, Joy ! each matin bell hath rung;
The holy priest says grateful mass ,
Loud shouts each hardy galla-glass,
No mountain den holds outcast boor,
Of heart so dull, of soul so poor,
But he hath flung his task aside, "
And claim'd this morn for holy-tide;
Yet, empress of this joyful day, is
Edith is sad while all are gay."- '.
Proud Edith's soul came to her eye, ..
Resentment check'd the struggling sigh,
Her hurrying hạnd indignant dried
The burning tears of injured pride-
“ Morag, forbear ! or lend thy praise
To swell yon hireling harpers' lays; ...
Make to yon maids thy boast of power,
That they may waste a wondering hour, 'no?
Telling of banners proudly borne,
Of pealing bell and bugle-horn, 1 .
Or, theme more dear, of robes of price,
Crownlets and gauds of rare device.
But thou, experienced as thou art,
Think'st thou with these to cheat the heart,
That, bound in strong affection's chain,
Looks for return and looks in vain ?
No! sum thine Edith's wretched lot
In these brief words-He loves her not! .
“ Debate it not too long I strove
To call his cold observance love,
All blinded by the league that styled "
Edith of Lorn,---while yet a child,
She tripp'd the heath by Morag's side, -
The brave Lord Ronald's destined bride.
Ere yet I saw him, while afar
His broadsword blazed in Scotland's war,
Train’d to believe our fates the same,
My bosom throbb'd when Ronald's name
Came gracing Fame's heroic tale,
Like perfume on the summer gale.
What pilgrim sought our halls, nor told
Of Ronald's deeds in battle bold;
Who touch'd the harp to heroes' praise,
But his achievements swell'd the lays ?
Even Morag—not a tale of fame
Was her's but closed with Ronald's name.
He came ! and all that had been told
Of his high worth seem'd poor and cold,
Tame, lifeless, void of energy,
Unjust to Ronald and to me!
“ Since then, what thought had Edith's heart And gave not plighted love its part !
And what requital ? cold delay , ,
Excuse that shunn'd the spousal day.-
It dawns, and Ronald is not here !
Hunts he Bentalla's nimble deer,
Or loiters he in secret dell,
To bid some lighter love farewell, , ,
And swear, that though he may not scorn
A daughter of the House of Lorn,
Yet, when these formal rites are o'er,
Again they meet, to part no more !"-
-- Hush, daughter, hush ! thy doubts remove, More nobly think of Ronald's love. Look, where beneath the castle grey His fleet unmoor from Aros bay! . See'st not each galley's topmast bend, As on the yards the sails ascend ? Hiding the dark-blue land they rise,' , ... Like the white clouds on April skies ;