Upon my palfrey's neck, and let him loose.
Within an hour he stands before my gate;
And Magdalen will need no other token
To bid the Melrose monks say masses for me.

SWINTON.

Thou art resolved to cheat the halter, then? HOB HATTELY.

It is my purpose,

Having lived a thief, to die a brave man's death; And never had I a more glorious chance for 't.

SWINTON.

Here lies the way to it, knave.- Make in, make in,
And aid young Gordon!

[Exeunt. Loud and long alarums. After
which the back scene rises, and discovers
SWINTON on the ground, GORDON support-
ing him; both much wounded.

SWINTON.

All are cut down-the reapers have pass'd o'er us, And hie to distant harvest.-My toil's over;

GORDON.

All's lost! all 's lost!-Of the main Scottish host, Some wildly fly, and some rush wildly forward; And some there are who seem to turn their spears Against their countrymen.

SWINTON.

Rashness, and cowardice, and secret treason, Combine to ruin us; and our hot valour, Devoid of discipline, is madmen's strength, More fatal unto friends than enemies!

I'm glad that these dim eyes shall see no more on't.—
Let thy hand close them, Gordon-I will think
My fair-hair'd William renders me that office! [Dies.

GORDON.

And, Swinton, I will think I do that duty Το my dead father.

Enter DE VIPONT.

VIPONT.

Gordon,

Just kindled, to be quenched so suddenly,

Ere Scotland saw its splendour!

GORDON.

Five thousand horse hung idly on yon hill,

Saw us o'erpower'd, and no one stirr'd to aid us!

SWINTON.

It was the Regent's envy-Out!-alas!
Why blame I him?-It was our civil discord,
Our selfish vanity, our jealous hatred,
Which framed this day of dole for our poor country.
Had thy brave father held yon leading staff,
As well his rank and valour might have claim'd it,
We had not fall'n unaided.-How, O how
Is he to answer it, whose deed prevented!

GORDON.

Alas! alas! the author of the death-feud,
He has his reckoning too! for had your sons
And numerous vassals lived, we had lack'd no aid.
SWINTON.

May God assoil the dead, and him who follows!—
We've drank the poison'd beverage which we brew'd;
Have sown the wind, and reap'd the tenfold whirl-
wind!-

But thou, brave youth, whose nobleness of heart
Pour'd oil upon the wounds our hate inflicted;
Thou, who hast done no wrong, need'st no forgiveness,
Why shouldst thou share our punishment?

GORDON.

Forgive one moment, if to save the living,

My tongue should wrong the dead.-Gordon, bethink

thee,

Thou dost but stay to perish with the corpse Of him who slew thy father.

GORDON.

Ay, but he was my sire in chivalry,

He taught my youth to soar above the promptings
Of mean and selfish vengeance; gave my youth
A name that shall not die even on this death-spot.
Records shall tell this field had not been lost,
Had all men fought like Swinton and like Gordon.
Save thee, De Vipont-Hark! the southron trumpets.

VIPONT.

Nay, without thee I stir not.

Enter EDWARD, CHANDOS, PERCY, BALIOL, etc.

GORDON.

Ay, they come on, the tyrant and the traitor,
Workman and tool, Plantagenet and Baliol,
O for a moment's strength in this poor arm,
To do one glorious deed!

[He rushes on the English, but is made pri-
soner with VIPONT.

KING EDWARD.

Disarm them-harm them not; though it was they
Made havoc on the archers of our van-guard,
They and that bulky champion. Where is he?

CHANDOS.

The sable boar chain'd to the leafy oak,

KING EDWARD.

singing. One of the hunters was seduced by the syren, who attached herself particularly to him, to leave the hut: the other remained, and, suspicious of the fair seducers, continued to play upon a trump, or Jew's harp, some strain consecrated to the Virgin Mary. Day at length came, and the temptress vanished. Searching in the forest, he found the bones of his unfortunate friend, who had been torn to pieces and devoured by the fiend, into whose toils he had fallen. The place was from thence called, The Glen of the Green Women.

Glenfinlas is a tract of forest ground, lying in the Highlands of Perthshire, not far from Callender, in longs to the Earl of Moray. This country, as well as Menteith. It was formerly a royal forest, and now bethe adjacent district of Balquidder, was, in times of Yore, chiefly inhabited by the Macgregors. To the west of the forest of Glenfinlas lies Loch Katrine, and its romantic avenue called the Trosachs. Benledi, Benmore, and Benvoirlich, are mountains in the same district, and at no great distance from Glenfinlas. The river Teith passes Callender and the castle of Doune, and

joins the Forth near Stirling. The pass of Lenny is inmediately above Callender, and is the principal access to the Highlands from that town. Glenartney is a forest near Benvoirlich. The whole forms a sublime tract of

Alpine scenery.

O HONE a rie'! O hone a rie'!!
The pride of Albyn's line is o'er,
And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree;
We ne'er shall see Lord Ronald more!

O, sprung from great Macgillianore,
The chief that never fear'd a foe,
How matchless was thy broad claymore,
How deadly thine unerring bow!

Well can the Saxon widows tell, (1) How, on the Teith's resounding shore, The boldest Lowland warriors fell,

As down from Lenny's pass you bore.

But o'er his hills, on festal day,

How blazed Lord Ronald's beltane tree; (2) While youths and maids the light strathspey So nimbly danced, with Highland glee.

Cheer'd by the strength of Ronald's shell,
Een age forgot his tresses hoar;
But now the loud lament we swell,
O, ne'er to see Lord Ronald more!

From distant isles a chieftain came,

The joys of Ronald's hall to find, And chase with him the dark brown game, That bounds o'er Albyn's hills of wind.

'Twas Moy; whom, in Columba's isle, The seer's prophetic spirit found, (3) As, with a minstrel's fire the while,

He waked his harp's harmonious sound.

Full many a spell to him was known, Which wandering spirits shrink to hear; And many a lay of potent tone,

Was never meant for mortal ear.

For there, 't is said, in mystic mood, High converse with the dead they hold, And oft espy the fated shroud,

That shall the future corpse enfold.

O so it fell, that on a day,

To rouse the red deer from their den, The chiefs have ta'en their distant way, And scour'd the deep Glenfinlas glen.

No vassals wait, their sports to aid,

To watch their safety, deck their board : Their simple dress, the Highland plaid;

Their trusty guard, the Highland sword. Three summer days, through brake and dell, Their whistling shafts successful flew ;

'O hone a ric' signifies —« Alas for the prince, or chief.▾

And still, when dewy evening fell,
The quarry to their hut they drew

In gray Glenfinlas' deepest nook
The solitary cabin stood,
Fast by Moneira's sullen brook,

Which murmurs through that lonely wood.

Soft fell the night, the sky was calm,
When three successive days had flown;
And summer mist in dewy balm
Steep'd heathy bank, and mossy stone.
The moon, half-hid in silvery flakes,
Afar her dubious radiance shed,
Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes,
And resting on Benledi's head.

Now in their hut, in social guise,

Their sylvan fare the chiefs enjoy;
And pleasure laughs in Ronald's eye,
As many a pledge he quaffs to Moy.
-What lack we here to crown our bliss,

While thus the pulse of joy beats high?
What, but fair woman's yielding kiss,

Her panting breath, and melting eye?

<< To chase the deer of yonder shades, This morning left their father's pile The fairest of our mountain maids,

The daughters of the proud Glengyle.

<< Long have I sought sweet Mary's heart, And dropp'd the tear, and heaved the sigh: But vain the lover's wily art,

Beneath a sister's watchful eye.

<«< But thou mayst teach that guardian fair, While far with Mary I am flown,

Of other hearts to cease her care,
And find it hard to guard her own.

<< Touch but thy harp, thou soon shalt see The lovely Flora of Glengyle, Unmindful of her charge and me,

Hang on thy notes, 'twixt tear and smile.

Or, if she chuse a melting tale,

All underneath the green-wood bough. Will good St Oran's rule prevail, (4) Stern huntsman of the rigid brow?»

- Since Enrick's fight, since Morna's death,
No more on me shall rapture rise,
Responsive to the panting breath,
Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes.

<< E'en then, when o'er the heath of woe,
Where sunk my hopes of love and fame,
I bade my harp's wild wailings flow,
On me the seer's sad spirit came.

«The last dread curse of angry Heaven,

With ghastly sights and sounds of woe, To dash each glimpse of joy, was givenThe gift, the future ill to know.