t

Yes, sweep they on!-But with that skiff
Abides the minstrel tale,

Where there was dread of surge and cliff,
Labour that strain'd each sinew stiff,
And one sad Maiden's wail.

XVIII.

All day with fruitless strife they toil'd,
With eve the ebbing currents boil'd

More fierce from strait and lake;
And midway through the channel met
Conflicting tides that foam and fret,
And high their mingled billows jet,
As spears, that, in the battle set,
Spring upward as they break.
Then, too, the lights of eve were past,
And louder sung the western blast

On rocks of Inninmore;

Rent was the sail, and strain'd the mast,
And many a leak was gaping fast,
And the pale steersman stood aghast,
And gave the conflict o'er.

XIX.

'T was then that One, whose lofty look
Nor labour dull'd nor terror shook,
Thus to the Leader spoke:-
"Brother, how hopest thou to abide
The fury of this wilder'd tide,
Or how avoid the rock's rude side,
Until the day has broke?

Didst thou not mark the vessel reel,
With quivering planks, and groaning keel,
At the last billow's shock?

Yet how of better counsel tell,
Though here thou see'st poor Isabel

lalf dead with want and fear;
For look on sea, or look on land,
Or yon dark sky, on every hand

Despair and death are near. For her alone I grieve-on me Danger sits light by land and sea, I follow where thou wilt, Either to bide the tempest's lour, Or wend to yon unfriendly tower, Or rush amid their naval power, With war-cry wake their wassail-hour, And die with hand on hilt."

XX.

That elder Leader's calm reply In steady voice was given, "In man's most dark extremity

Oft succour dawns from Heaven.

Edward, trim thou the shatter'd sail,
The helm be mine, and down the gale
Let our free course be driven;

So shall we 'scape the western bay,
The hostile fleet, the unequal fray,
So safely hold our vessel's way
Beneath the Castle wall;

For if a hope of safety rest,
'Tis on the sacred name of guest,
Who seeks for shelter, storm-distress'd
Within a chieftain's hall.

If not-it best beseems our worth,
Our name, our right, our lofty birth,
By noble hands to fall."

XXI.

The helm, to his strong arm consign'd,
Gave the reef'd sail to meet the wind,
And on her alter'd way,

Fierce bounding, forward sprung the ship,
Like greyhound starting from the slip
To seize his flying prey.
Awaked before the rushing prow,
The mimic fires of ocean glow,

Those lightnings of the wave;1
Wild sparkles crest the broken tides,
And, flashing round, the vessel's sides
With elvish lustre lave,

While, far behind, their livid light
To the dark billows of the night
A gloomy splendour gave,

1 The phenomenon called by sailors Sea-fire, is one of the most beautiful and interesting which is witnessed in the Hebrides. At times the ocean appears entirely illuminated around the vessel, and a long train of lambent coruscations are perpetually bursting upon the sides of the vessel, or pursuing her wake through the darkness. These phosphoric appearances, concerning the origin of which naturalists are not agreed in opinion, seem to be called into action by the rapid motion of the ship through the water, and are probably owing to the water being saturated with fish-spawn, or other animal substances. They remind one strongly of the description of the sea-snakes in Mr. Coleridge's wild, but highly poetical ballad of the Ancient Mariner::

It seems as if old Ocean shakes

From his dark brow the lucid flakes

In envious pageantry,

To match the meteor light that streaks Grim Hecla's midnight sky.

XXII.

Nor lack'd they steadier light to keep Their course upon the darken'd deep;— Artornish, on her frowning steep

'Twixt cloud and ocean hung, Glanced with a thousand lights of glee, And landward far, and far to sea, Her festal radiance flung.

By that blithe beacon-light they steer'd, Whose lustre mingled well

With the pale beam that now appear'd, As the cold moon her head uprear'd Above the eastern fell.

XXIII.

Thus guided, on their course they bore,
Until they near'd the mainland shore,
When frequent on the hollow blast
Wild shouts of merriment were cast,
And wind and wave and sea-birds' cry
With wassail sounds in concert vie,
Like funeral shrieks with revelry,
Or like the battle-shout

By peasants heard from cliffs on high,
When Triumph, Rage, and Agony,

Madden the fight and rout.

Now nearer yet, through mist and storm
Dimly arose the Castle's form,

And deepen'd shadow made,
Far lengthen'd on the main below,
Where, dancing in reflected glow,
A hundred torches play'd,
Spangling the wave with lights as vain
As pleasures in this vale of pain,
That dazzle as they fade.

XXIV.

Beneath the Castle's sheltering lee,
They staid their course in quiet sea.
Hewn in the rock, a passage there
Sought the dark fortress by a stair,
So strait, so high, so steep,

With peasant's staff one valiant hand
Might well the dizzy pass have mann'd,
Gainst hundreds arm'd with spear and brand,
And plunged them in the deep.'

The fortress of a Hebridean chief was almost always on the sea-shore, for the facility of communication which the ocean afforded. Nothing can be more wild than the situations which they chose, and the devices by which the architects endeavoured to defend them. Narrow stairs and arched vaults were the usual mode of access; and the drawbridge appears at Dunstaffnage, and elsewhere, to have fallen from the gate of the building to the top of such a staircase; so that any one advancing with hostile purpose, found himself in a state of exposed and precarious elevation, with a guif between him and the object of his attack.

These fortresses were guarded with equal care. The duty of the watch devolved chiefly upon an officer called the Cockman, who had the charge of challenging all who approached the castle. The very ancient family of Mac-Niel of Barra kept this attendant