Each boat-man, bending to his oar,

With measured sweep the burthen bore,
In such wild cadence, as the breeze
Makes through December's leafless trees.
The chorus first could Allan know,

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Roderigh Vich Alpine, ko! iro!"

And near, and nearer as they rowed,
Distinct the martial ditty flowed.

XIX.

Boat Song.

Hail to the chief who in triumph advances ! Honoured and blessed be the ever-green Pine! Long may the Tree in his banner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line!

Heaven send it happy dew,

Earth lend it sap anew,

Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow,

While every highland glen

Sends our shout back agen,

Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain,

Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade;

When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on the

mountain,

The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade.

Moored in the rifted rock,

Proof to the tempest's shock,

Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow;

Menteith and Breadalbane, then,

Echo his praise agen,

"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

XX.

Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin, And Banochar's groans to our slogan replied;

Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin,

And the best of Loch-Lomond lie dead on her

side.

Widow and Saxon maid

Long shall lament our raid,

Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe;

Lennox and Leven-glen

Shake when they hear agen,

"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands !
Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green Pine!
O! that the rose-bud that graces yon islands,

Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine!

O that some seedling gem,

Worthy such noble stem,

Honoured and blessed in their shadow might grow!

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Loud should Clan-Alpine then

Ring from her deepmost glen,

Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

XXI.

With all her joyful female band,

Had Lady Margaret sought the strand.
Loose on the breeze their tresses flew,

And high their snowy arms they threw,

As echoing back with shrill acclaim,

And chorus wild, the chieftain's name;

While, prompt to please, with mother's art,

The darling passion of his heart,

The Dame called Ellen to the strand,

To greet her kinsman ere he land:

"Come, loiterer, come! a Douglas thou,

And shun to wreathe a victor's brow ?".

Reluctantly and slow, the maid

The unwelcome summoning obeyed,

And, when a distant bugle rung,

In the mid-path aside she sprung :

"List, Allan-bane! From main-land cast,

I hear my father's signal blast.

Be our's," she cried, "the skiff to guide,
And waft him from the mountain side.".
Then, like a sun-beam, swift and bright,
She darted to her shallop light,

And, eagerly while Roderick scanned,

For her dear form, his mother's band,

The islet far behind her lay,

And she had landed in the bay.

XXII.

Some feelings are to mortals given,

With less of earth in them than heaven;

And if there be a human tear

From passion's dross refined and clear,

A tear so limpid and so meek,

It would not stain an angel's cheek,

'Tis that which pious fathers shed

Upon a duteous daughter's head!

And as the Douglas to his breast

His darling Ellen closely pressed,

Such holy drops her tresses steep'd,
Though 'twas an hero's eye that weep'd.

Nor while on Ellen's faultering tongue
Her filial welcomes crowded hung,

Marked she, that fear, (affection's proof,)
Still held a graceful youth aloof;