we go,

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 !.

1 Bon-allez,


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

not oppose;

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,

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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.
Since last we parted on the shore;
Heaven ! that I saw thee, love, once The startled Naiads from the shade

With broken urns withdrew,
Safe on that shore again !

And silenced was that proud cascade,
'Twas valiant Lachlan gave the word The glory of Saint Cloud.
Lachlan, of many a galley lord :
He call'd his kindred bands on board, We sate upon its steps of stone,
And launch'd them on the main.

Nor could its silence rue,

When waked, to music of our own, Clan-Gillian is to ocean gone

The echoes of Saint Cloud.
Clan-Gillian, fierce in foray known;
Rejoicing in the glory won

Slow Seine might hear each lovely note
In many a bloody broil :

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
Woe to the hills that shall rebound His waters never knew,
Our banner'd bagpipes' maddening Though music's self was wont to meet

With Princes at Saint Cloud.
Clan-Gillian's onset echoing round
Shall shake their inmost cell.

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

gower, (1815.)

And Morven long shall tell,

And proud Bennevis hear with awe, Night and morning were at meeting

How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras,
Over Waterloo ;

Brave Cameron heard the wild hurra Cocks had sung their earliest greeting;

Of conquest as he fell.
Faint and low they crew,
For no paly beam yet shone

Lone on the outskirts of the host
On the heights of Mount Saint John; | The weary sentinel held post,
Tempest-clouds prolong'd the sway And heard, through darkness far aloof,
Of timeless darkness over day; The frequent clang of courser's hoof,
Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower, Where held the cloak'd patrol their
Mark'd it a predestined hour.

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,
Where the soldier lay,

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!
You feel us near

In many a ghastly dream;
With fancy's eye
Our forms you spy,

And hear our fatal scream.
With clearer sight
Ere falls the night,

Just when to weal or woe
Your disembodied souls take flight
On trembling wing-each startled

Our choir of death shall know.

· 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
While lightnings glance,

And thunders rattle loud,
And call the brave
To bloody grave,

To sleep without a shroud.
• Our airy feet,
So light and fleet,

They do not bend the rye That sinks its head when whirlwinds

And swells again in eddying wave

As each wild gust blows by ;
But still the corn,
At dawn of morn,

Our fatal steps that bore,
At eve lies waste
A trampled paste

Of blackening mud and gore.
• 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 ! Brave sons of France,

For you our ring makes room ;
Make space full wide
For martial pride,

For banner, spear, and plume.
Approach, draw near,
Proud cuirassier !

Room for the men of steel !
Through crest and plate
The broadsword's weight

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,
On picquet-post, when ebbs the night,
And waning watch-fires glow less

And dawn is glimmering pale.

• Wheel the wild dance While lightnings glance,

And thunders rattle loud, And call the brave To bloody grave,

To sleep without a shroud.

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