I. "Wake, Maid of Lorn!" the Minstrels sung. Thy rugged halls, Artornish! rung,1 And the dark seas, thy towers that lave, As mid the tuneful choir to keep Lull'd were the winds on Inninmore, And green Loch-Alline's woodland shore, Since, met from mainland and from isle, Were silent in Artornish hall. II. "Wake, Maid of Lorn!" 'twas thus they sung, And yet more proud the descant rung, '[See Apendix, Note A.] 2 [MS.-" Made mountain echoes," &c.] Wake, Maid of Lorn! high right is ours, Will pause, the harp's wild chime to hear; 66 III. "O wake, while Dawn, with dewy shine, Wakes Nature's charms to vie with thine! She bids the mottled thrush rejoice To mate thy melody of voice; The dew that on the violet lies Mocks the dark lustre of thine eyes; 2 The seal displays a taste for music, which could scarcely be expected from his habits and local predilections. They will long follow a boat in which any musical instrument is played, and even a tune simply whistled has attractions for them. The Dean of the Isles says of Heiskar, a small uninhabited rock, about twelve (Scottish) miles from the Isle of Uist, that an infinite slaughter of seals takes place there. But, Edith, wake, and all we see Of sweet and fair shall yield to thee!"- Those notes prolong'd, that soothing theme, IV. "Wake, Maid of Lorn! the moments fly, Which yet that maiden-name allow ; Wake, Maiden, wake! the hour is nigh, When Love shall claim a plighted vow. By Fear, thy bosom's fluttering guest, By Hope, that soon shall fears remove, We bid thee break the bonds of rest, And wake thee at the call of Love! "Wake, Edith, wake! in yonder bay Lies many a galley gaily mann'd, We hear the merry pibrochs play, We see the streamers' silken band. What Chieftain's praise these pibrochs swell, What crest is on these banners wove, The harp, the minstrel, dare not tell The riddle must be read by Love." V. Retired her maiden train among, But tamed the minstrel's pride had been The glow of pride when Flattery spoke, While on the ankle's slender round Those strings of pearl fair Bertha wound, Had weightiest task-the mantle's fold 1[MS.-"Retired amid her menial train, Edith of Lorn received the strain."] [MS.—" The train upon the pavement } flow'd."] Then to the floor descending VI. O! lives there now so cold a maid, Save that such lived in Britain's isle, When Lorn's bright Edith scorn'd to smile. VII. But Morag, to whose fostering care Proud Lorn had given his daughter fair, Morag, who saw a mother's aid1 By all a daughter's love repaid, 1 [MS." But Morag, who the maid had press'd, And seen a mother's early aid," &c.] |