The king and his knights prick'd up the hill,
Faster than before;

The king and his knights have topt the hill,
And now they are seen no more.

As the king and his knights went down the hill,
A wild boar crost the way;

Follow him! follow him! cried the king;

We have time by the queen's delay!

A-hunting of the boar astray
Is King Affonso gone:

Slowly, slowly, but straight the while,
Queen Orraca is coming on.

And winding now the train appears
Between the olive trees :
Queen Orráca alighted then,
And fell upon her knees.

The friars of Alanquer came first,
And next the relics past.-
Queen Orraca look'd to see

The king and his knights come last.

She heard the horses tramp behind;
At that she turn'd her face:
King Affonso and his knights came up,
All panting from the chace.

Have pity upon my poor soul,
Holy martyrs five cried she:
Holy Mary, Mother of God,
Virgin, pray for me!

That day in Coimbra,

Many a heart was gay;

But the heaviest heart in Coimbra,
Was that poor queen's that day.

The festival is over,

The sun hath sunk in the west; All the people in Coimbra

Have betaken themselves to rest.

Queen Orraca's father confessor
At midnight is awake;
Kneeling at the martyrs' shrine,
And praying for her sake.

THE CURSE OF MOY,

A Highland Tale.-J. B. S. MORRITT.

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The Castle of Moy is the ancient residence of Mackintosh, the Chief of the ClanChattan. It is situated among the mountains of Inverness-shire, not far from the military road that leads to Inverness. It stands in the hollow of a mountain, on the edge of a small gloomy lake, called Loch Moy, surrounded by a black wood of Scotch fir, which extends round the lake, and terminates in wild heaths, which are unbroken by any other object, as far as the eye can reach. The tale is founded on an ancient Highland tradition, that originated in a feud between the clans of Chattan and Grant. A small rocky island in Loch Moy is still shewn, where stood the dungeon in which prisoners were confined, by the former chiefs of Moy.

LOUD in the gloomy towers of Moy,
The Chattan clan* their carol raise,
And far th' ascending flame of joy
Shoots o'er the loch its trembling blaze.

For long within her secret bower,
In child-bed lay the lady fair,

But now is come th' appointed hour,
And vassals shout, "An heir! an heir!"

And round the fire with many a tale,
The well-spiced bowl the dames prolong,
Save when the chieftains' shouts prevail,
Or war's wild chorus swells the song,

Loud sound the pipes, the dancer's heel
Bounds nimbly from the floor of pine,
When in the light and mazy reel

Young maids and active soldiers join.

* The Chattan clan is a federal clan, consisting of the families of Macintosh, Macpherson, and some others of less consequence. The chief is the laird of Mac intosh; the Chattan country is in the inland part of Inverness-shire.

Late waned the night, the blazing brand
More feebly glimmered in the hall,
Less loudly shout the jovial band,

Less lively sounds the pibroch's call.*

When from the corner of the hearth,
A figure crept, of all the train
Most alien from a scene of mirth,

And muttering sigh'd, " 'Tis vain, 'tis vain !"

Soon ceased the shout, a general thrill
Seiz'd every heart;, th' ill-omen'd voice
Seem'd e'en the warrior's breast to chill,
Nor dared the trembling sire rejoice.

He saw a pale and shiv'ring form,
By age and frenzy haggard made;
Her eyes, still wild with passion's storm,
Belied the snows that shroud her head.

Long had she wander'd on the heath,
Or begg❜d the lonely trav❜ler's aid,
And gossips swear that sudden death

Still follows where her footsteps tread.

Her hut on Badenoch's wildest height,
Full well the mountain hunter knew,
Nor paused to take a narrower sight,
But cursed the witch, and quick withdrew

Slowly she crawl'd before the throng,
Fix'd on the chief her haggard eyes,
Check'd with a look the minstrel's song,

"No more," she cried, "No more rejoice!

"To you, that o'er your midnight ale,

Have listen'd to the tales of glee,

I come to tell a gossip's tale;

Ill-omen'd chieftain! list to me."

* The pibroch is a wild music, played by the piper at the assembling of a clan, in marches, &c. Every clan had its own particular tune, which was played most scrupulously and indefatigably on all great and signal occasions.