« 前へ次へ »
Pursued by seven Orkneymen's boats and no more,
THE A. OF WA.... Betwixt Truffness and Luffness were drawn on the shore !
(Author of Waverley.) You'll ask if I saw this same won
No, John, I will not own the bookderful sight;
I won't, you Piccaroon. I own that I did not, but easily might, When next I try Saint Grubby's brook, For this mighty shoal of leviathans
• The A. of Wa-'shall bait the hooklay
And flat-fish bite as soon On our lee-beam a mile, in the loop As if before them they had got of the bay,
The worn-out wriggler And the islesmen of Sanda were all
WALTER Scott. at the spoil, And flinching (so term it) the blubber
to boil; (Ye spirits of lavender, drown the
FAREWELL TO MACKENZIE, reflection That awakes at the thoughts of this
HIGH CHIEF OF KINTAIL. odorous dissection).
(1815.) To see this huge marvel full fain would
(From the Gaelic.) But Wilson, the wind, and the current, • Farewell to Mackenneth, great Earl said no.
of the North, We have now got to Kirkwall, and The Lord of Lochcarron, Glenshiel, needs I must stare
and Seaforth; When I think that in verse I have To the Chieftain this morning his once call'd it fair;
course who began, 'Tis a base little borough, both dirty Launching forth on the billows his and mean.
bark like a swan. There is nothing to hear, and there's For a far foreign land he has hoisted nought to be seen,
his sail, Save a church, where, of old times, a Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief prelate harangued,
of Kintail ! And a palace that's built by an earl that was hang'd.
O swift be the galley, and hardy her But, farewell to Kirkwall-aboard we
crew, are going,
May her captain be skilful, her mari. The anchor's a-peak, and the breezes
ners true, are blowing;
In danger undaunted, unwearied by Our commodore calls all his band to
toil, their places,
Though the whirlwind should rise, And 'tis time to release you-good
and the ocean should boil : night to your Graces !
On the brave vessel's gunnel I drank
his bonail", And farewell to Mackenzie, High
Chief of Kintail !.
Awake in thy chamber, thou sweet But no bard was there left in the land southland gale !
of the Gael Like the sighs of his people, breathe To lament for Mackenzie, last Chief soft on his sail ;
of Kintail. Be prolong'd as regret, that his vassals must know,
And shalt thou then sleep, did the Be fair as their faith, and sincere as
Minstrel exclaim, their woe :
Like the son of the lowly, unnoticed Be so soft, and so fair, and so faithful,
by fame? sweet gale,
No, son of Fitzgerald! in accents of Wafting onward Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail !
The song thou hast loved o'er thy
coffin shall flow, Be his pilot experienced, and trusty, And teach thy wild mountains to join and wise,
in the wail To measure the seas and to study That laments for Mackenzie, last Chief the skies :
of Kintail. May he hoist all his canvas from streamer to deck,
In vain, the bright course of thy But O! crowd it higher when wafting
talents to wrong, him back
Fate deaden'd thine ear and imprison'd Tillthe cliffs of Skooroora, and Conan's thy tongue; glad vale,
For brighter o'er all her obstructions Shall welcome Mackenzie, High Chief
arose of Kintail!'
The glow of the genius they could
And who in the land of the Saxon or So sung the old Bard, in the grief
Gael of his heart,
Might match with Mackenzie, High When he saw his loved Lord from
Chief of Kintail ? his people depart. Now mute on thy mountains, O Albyn, | Thy sons rose around thee in light are heard
and in love, Nor the voice of the song, nor the All a father could hope, all a friend harp of the bard;
could approve ; Or its strings are but waked by the What 'vails it the tale of thy sorrows stern winter gale,
to tell, As they mourn for Mackenzie, last Chief | In the spring-time of youth and of of Kintail.
promise they fell !
Of the line of Fitzgerald remains From the far Southland Border a
not a male Minstrel came forth,
To bear the proud name of the Chief And he waited the hour that some
of Kintail. Bard of the north His hand on the harp of the ancient | And thou, gentle Dame, who must should cast,
bear, to thy grief, And bid its wild numbers mix high For thy clan and thy country the with the blast;
cares of a Chief,
The drum's deep roll was heard afar, (From the Gaelic.)
The bugle wildly blew
Good-night to Hulan and Hussar, A WEARY month has wander'd o'er
That garrison Saint Cloud.
With broken urns withdrew,
And silenced was that proud cascade,
Nor could its silence rue,
When waked, to music of our own, Clan-Gillian is to ocean gone
The echoes of Saint Cloud.
Slow Seine might hear each lovely note
Fall light as summer dew, For wide is heard the thundering fray,
While through the moonless air they The rout, the ruin, the dismay,
float, When from the twilight glens away
Prolong'd from fair Saint Cloud. Clan-Gillian drives the spoil.
And sure a melody more sweet
With Princes at Saint Cloud.
Nor then, with more delighted ear. Woe to the bark whose crew shall gaze
The circle round her drew, Where Lachlan's silken streamer plays!
Thanours, when gather'd round to hear The fools might face the lightning's
Our songstress at Saint Cloud. blaze
Few happy hours poor mortals pass, As wisely and as well!
Then give those hours their due, And rank among the foremost class
Our evenings at Saint Cloud.
But long his native lake's wild shore, THE DANCE OF DEATH.
And Sunart rough, and high Ard
And Morven long shall tell,
And proud Bennevis hear with awe, Night and morning were at meeting
How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras,
Brave Cameron heard the wild hurra Cocks had sung their earliest greeting;
Of conquest as he fell.
Lone on the outskirts of the host
course, Broad and frequent through the night | And spurr’d’gainst storm the swervFlash'd the sheets of levin-light;
ing horse. Muskets, glancing lightnings back, But there are sounds in Allan's ear Show'd the dreary bivouac
Patrol nor sentinel may hear,
And sights before his eye aghast Chill and stiff, and drench'd with Invisible to them have pass’d, rain,
When down the destined plain, Wishing dawn of morn again,
'Twixt Britain and the bands of France, Though death should come with day. Wild as marsh-borne meteor's glance,
Strange phantoms wheeld a revel 'Tis at such a tide and hour,
dance, Wizard, witch, and fiend have power, And doom'd the future slain. And ghastly forms through mist and Such forms were seen, such sounds shower
were heard, Gleam on the gifted ken;
When Scotland's James his march And then the affrighted prophet's ear prepared Drinks whispers strange of fate and For Flodden's fatal plain ; fear,
Such, when hedrew his ruthless sword, Presaging death and ruin near As Choosers of the Slain, adored Among the sons of men ;-
The yet unchristen'd Dane. Apart from Albyn's war-array, An indistinct and phantom band, 'Twas then grey Allan sleepless lay ; They wheel'd their ring-dance hand Grey Allan, who, for many a day,
in hand, Had follow'd stout and stern,
With gestures wild and dread : Where, through battle's rout and reel, The Seer, who watch'd them ride Storm of shot and hedge of steel,
the storm, Led the grandson of Lochiel,
Saw through their faint and shadowy Valiant Fassiefern.
form Through steel and shot he leads no The lightning's flash more red; more,
And still their ghastly roundelay Low laid 'mid friends' and foemen's Was of the coming battle-fray, gore
And of the destined dead :
Sons of the spear!
In many a ghastly dream;
And hear our fatal scream.
Just when to weal or woe
· Wheel the wild dance While lightnings glance,
And thunders rattle loud, And call the brave To bloody grave, To sleep without a shroud.
· Wheel the wild dance
And thunders rattle loud,
To sleep without a shroud.
They do not bend the rye That sinks its head when whirlwinds
As each wild gust blows by ;
Our fatal steps that bore,
Of blackening mud and gore.
And thunders rattle loud,
To sleep without a shroud. "Wheel the wild dance ! Brave sons of France,
For you our ring makes room ;
For banner, spear, and plume.
Room for the men of steel !
Both head and heart shall feel,
Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers, Redder rain shall soon be ours !
See! the east grows wanYield we place to sterner game, Ere deadlier bolts and direr flame Shall the welkin's thunders shame : Elemental rage is tame
To the wrath of man.'
At morn, grey Allan's mates with
Heard of the vision'd sights he saw,
The legend heard him say ; But the Seer's gifted eye was dim, Deafen'd his ear, and stark his limb,
Ere closed that bloody day He sleeps far from his Highland
heath, But often of the Dance of Death
His comrades tell the tale,
• Wheel the wild dance While lightnings glance,
And thunders rattle loud, And call the brave To bloody grave,
To sleep without a shroud.