PART II.

Late, when many years had passed him, And the Chiefs old age begun, Seemed his youth again to blossom With the birth of his fair son.

Late, when all his days had hardened Into flint his nature wild, Seemed it softer grown and kinder For the sake of that one child.

And again a hunting morning Saw Loch Búy and his men, With his boy, his guests, and kinsmen, Hidden o'er a coppiced glen.

Deep within its oaken thickets Ran its waters to the sea: On the hill the Chief lay careless, While the child watched eagerly.

'Neath them, on the shining Ocean, Island beyond island lay, Where the peaks of Jura's bosom Rose o'er holy Oronsay.

Where the greener fields of Islay Pointed to the far Kintyre, Fruitful lands of after-ages, Wasted then with sword and fire.

For the spell that once had gathered All the chiefs beneath the sway Of the ancient Royal sceptre Of the Isles had passed away.

Once from Rathlin to the southward, Westward, to the low Tiree, Northward, past the Alps of Coolin, Somerled ruled land and sea.

Colonsay, Lismore, and Scarba, Bute and Cumrae, Mull and Skye, Arran, Jura, Lew's and Islay Shouted then one battle-cry.

But those Isles that, still united, Fought at Harlaw, Scotland's might, Broken by their fierce contentions Singly waged disastrous fight.

And the teaching of forgiveness, Grey Iona's creed, became Not a sign for men to reverence, But a burning brand of shame.

Still among the names that Ruin Had not numbered in her train, Lived the great Clan, proud as ever Of the race of strong Maclaine.

And his boy, like her he wedded, Though of nature like the dove, Showed the eagle-spirit flashing Through her heritage of love.

Heir of all the vassals' homage Rendered to the grisly sire, He had grown his people's treasure, Fostered as their heart's desire.

Surely Safety guards his footsteps; Enmity he hath not sown: Yet who stealthily glides near him, Whose the arm around him thrown?

It is Eachan, who has wolf-like Seized upon a helpless prey! Fearlessly and fast he bears him Where a cliff o'erhangs the bay.

There, while sea-birds scream around them, Holding by his throat the boy, Eachan turns, and to the father Shouts in scorn and mocking joy:

"Take the punishment thou gavest, Give before all there a pledge For my freedom, or thy darling Dying, falls from yonder ledge.

"Take the strokes in even number As thou gavest, blow for blow, Then dishonoured, on thine honour Swear to let me freely go."

Silent in his powerless anger Stood the Chief, with all his folk; And before them all the ransom Was exacted stroke for stroke.

Then again the voice of vengeance Pealed from Eachan's lips in hate: "Childless and dishonoured villain, Expiation comes too late.

"My revenge is not completed!" And they saw in dumb despair How he hurled his victim downward Headlong through the empty air.

Then they heard a yell of laughter As they turned away the eye; And they gazed again where nothing Met their sight but cliff and sky;

For the murderer dared to follow Where the youthful spirit fled, To the Throne of the Avenger, To the Judge of Quick and Dead.

THE HARD STRAIT OF THE FEINNE

Now of the hard strait of the Feinne this legend's verse shall tell: When Fionn's men had fought and won, and all with them was well, And victory on Erin's shores had given spoil which they Alone could win whose swords of old were mightiest in the fray: For in those days the bravest hand, and not the craftiest brain, Got gold, and skill in gallant fight was found the surest gain. Great Fionn's wont it was to give, when foes had bled and broke, A feast to nobles and to chiefs and all the humble folk: Upon the plain they sat, and ate the meat which smoking came From layers of stone, well laid on pits half filled with charcoal flame, Where 'neath the covering roof of turf that kept the heat aglow.

The boar was quickly roasted whole, with many a stag and roe. And while the feast, with laugh and jest, gave careless time to most, Two watchers bold kept guard the while, and gazed o'er sea and coast— Two watchers good, and keenly eyed, sent out by Fionn to mark If danger rode upon the sea, with Norway's pirate bark. Full well they watched, although behind they heard the shouted song, And knew the wine was bathing red the fair beards of the strong, While chanted verse, and music's notes, arose upon the air, And the briny breeze itself half seemed a savoury steam to bear; Nor left their post, when from the clouds the hailstones leaped to ground, And plaids were wrapt o'er shoulders broad, and o'er deep chests were wound. But Fionn's plaid untouched lay yet upon the earth outspread, And white it grew as lichened rock, or Prophet's hoary head. "Oh would it were all ruddy gold, there lying thickly strewn; What joy were ours to share alike, and bear away each stone." And laughingly each filled his hands, forgetful of the twain, Their comrades good, on guard who stood to watch the moor and main. But when their lonely vigil o'er, they, Roin and Aildé, came, And found how little friendship counts, when played the spoiler's game, Sore angered that no hand for them had set apart a prize, They murmured. "With such men of greed all faith and kindness dies! When thus they deal with us in peace, how shall we fare when blood Runs from the wounds to blind the eyes to aught but selfish good?" They swore that they forgotten thus were better far away, And sailed to Lochlin's distant shore, and served in her array. Their fame was great in Norway's realm, and love for Aildé came To melt the heart of Norway's queen, a sudden quenchless flame. She fled with Aildé from the King, and soon on Scotland's coast She trod, a messenger of ill, a danger to the host Great Eragon, far Lochlin's King, was not the man to know The blood mount hot at insult's stroke without an answering blow, His dragon keels were rolled to waves that shouted welcome loud To glittering helm and painted shield beneath each spar and shroud Oh! strong was Eragon in war, in battle victor oft, From many a rank, from many a mast his banner streamed aloft; With forty ships he set to sea, and scores of glancing oars Streaked white his wake on fiord and loch along the echoing shores. The Shetland Islands saw them pass, where on the tides, their sails Shone like a flight of mighty swans, fast borne on wintry gales: Hoarse as the raven's note their oath rang over all the seas, False Fionn's host should bend and break before the Northern breeze. And southward, onward still they steered, and up Loch Leven bore, As you may know, for one great ship was lost upon the shore: The sunken rock on which she drove and inlet where she lay Were called the Galley's Crag and Port, and bear the name to-day. They left her, taking all her crew, and landing near Glencoe, On level ground their tents were set, thick planted row on row.

To Fionn of the Feinne that day, King Eragon sent word, To yield him homage or abide the hard doom of the sword; But grievous then was Fionn's strait, for thrice a thousand men, His best and bravest, far away were hunting hill and glen. The wives, the old and feeble folk alone were left, and these He gathered, asking how to blind the strangers of the seas? Then gave they counsel: "We are weak. By thee must peace be sought, E'en though with massy store of gold the boon to-day be bought; And if all this do not avail," they said, "O Fionn, thou Shouldst yield thy daughter as the price, our ransom on her brow!" Their messenger then offered these before the set of sun; When flamed the wrath from Norway's King: "I ask not what I've won, Your master stands before you now, my vengeance is my own; For Aildé's deed the Feinne as slaves in Norway shall atone." Back went the messenger in haste, and sadly Fionn knew The threat was uttered by the strong, against the old and few. But homeward from the forest soon he saw each hero's hound Come swiftly back, in front of all he saw his Oscar bound; And when the foremost hunters came, he told their noble band How fight was sought with them this day upon the Northern strand. Then looked they for some ground whose strength would quickly hide and save Their little force, till gathering might gave fortune to the brave. They dug four trenches deep, where firs above the birches flung Red gnarled limbs that glowed at eve the dark green plumes among; There hidden silently they watched, while rugged, scarred, and high, Just at their rear a peak appeared to move against the sty. Steep were its rocky ledges, strewn with jagged stones that lay So loose one hand might send a mass on its resistless way, While from the neighbouring hills the mount was sundered by a glen, Where lightly crossed the grey cloud mists, but never mortal men. Such was the chosen fort The Feinne into the trenches went; For succour through all Alban's realm their messengers were sent; To the green slopes of deep Glencoe the warriors summoned came, Alas, too few to brave in fight the men of Norway's name.

They held long counsel, and the chief sent forth that hostage fair His daughter, with a chosen band, his words of peace to bear; And Fergus, his young son, to speak on his behalf, that they Might change to love the king's black thought, and all his wrath allay— For Fergus' speech, like ivy wreath, o'er heart of rock could wind Till tender thoughts, like nestling birds, would come and shelter find. Wealth to awake the Northmen's greed should weight his tempting word For quaichs of gold and precious belts, and magic stones which stirred The torpid blood of all disease to vigorous life once more, And fivescore mares of iron grey, and hunting hawks threescore, Were gifts to promise, with good herds, and cows with calves at side. They placed the maid upon a horse, and bade her boldly ride; With Fergus marching at her rein, his comrades close at hand, They came to where the fleet and camp thick covered sea and land.

And halting there, young Fergus spake across a space of ground Unto the king, who foremost stood with mailed men around; He offered all the tribute rich, and that fair lady proud. But when he ceased a silence fell, and then the answer loud In Eragon's deep voice rang forth: "Let Fionn bring me all, All that he hath on earth, and here let him before me fall, Him and his wife before me here upon the shore, that I May see them on their knees to me swear troth and fealty, While as they homage make I shall above them rear my blade To spare, or slay them at my feet, if so their debt be paid."

Then called in scorn the lady's voice, "No, Eragon, your might Hath not across the broad salt seas brought such a host to fight As e'er shall cause my father's knees to bend to you in prayer, Nor shall you ever call me bride, or spoil of Erin wear." She quickly turned her horse and went, but Fergus stood and waved The signal banner for the chief, and for awhile he braved The onset of the foe, and fought until the evening fell. Then gave the council their advice to Fionn. "It were well That Aildé should himself defy the king, and man to man With sevenscore 'gainst sevenscore contend before the van." And thus they fought, and Aildé fell, and Eragon defied An equal band to equal fight, for great had grown his pride. Then paused and pondered Fionn long, and doubted whom to ask To lead in such a venture great, and dare so grave a task. But Goll, the son of Morna, named at Fionn's call, went forth And matched with equal force, back drove the boasters of the North. And yet again a band as strong was overcome and made To own our heroes' swords were best, when man to man arrayed; But Eragon in fury cried his men should conquer yet. For eight days more aye sevenscore 'gainst sevenscore were set, And when the blood had flowed in streams, to utter madness urged Against the trenches of the Feinne their baffled army surged.

Then sparkled swords like gleams of light upon the ocean's spray When tossed aloft to wind and sun where battling currents play. In that fierce fray did Eragon the son of Morna greet, And, striking fast their mighty blades ascend and flashing meet; Then sank the stranger king in death, and Goll sore wounded fell, Against the Northmen went the day; and of their slain they tell That from Glen Fewich to the shore they lay, and of the host So few escaped that galleys twain alone left Scotland's coast. Nay, even they ne'er reached a port, so that in Norway none Could tell how Eragon revenged the deed by Aildé done. But sorrow came upon the Feinne for all their strongest, dead; And Fionn found that from that time his fortune waned and fled, For ne'er again in equal strength the Feinne in arms were seen Since the dark days of Aildé's love, and Norway's evil queen.

Note.—This story was taken down by J. Dewar in prose from oral recitation in Gaelic in 1860. Translated by H. McLean, of Islay. It is rendered here nearly literally.

TOBERMORY BAY.

1588.

In the vapour and haze on the ocean, Where the skies and the waters meet, There's a form that drifts, phantom-like, onward As it follows the grey clouds' feet.

O'er the sea come the winds and the billows, And they howl to the rocks, and they cry, They will bring them a wreck on the morrow, Ere the joy of the tempest die.

The shade looming dark in the distance Is naught but a galleon proud; And the spray has long battered her turrets, And loosened each yard and each shroud;

But not on the surf-beaten islands, Nor yet upon Morven's land, Does she drive, for her rudder, unshattered, Is firm in the steersman's hand.

No mist wreath, no cloud, was the shadow That moved on the height of the seas; Like a castle how steep are her bulwarks, Her spars like a forest of trees!

She is safe from the gales for a season, In the shelter and calm of the sound; A harbour named after the Virgin, The "Well of Our Lady" she found.

She may rest in that haven, hill-girdled, Near the shade of the woods on the shore, Where the hush of the forest is deepened By the waterfall's song evermore.

How grandly her masts rise to heaven, How glitters the blest Mary's form, High placed o'er the stern, and upholding The Prince of our Peace through the storm!

Now waters their orisons murmur As they fold her bright robes to their breast, Where they mirror the galleried windows, And the flag and the face of the Blest.

Again with that sign and the banner Of the gold and the crimson of Spain, Shall this ship front the foes of the Virgin, And the English be chased from the Main.

Yes, again on the heretic Saxon Her cannon shall thunder in scorn, Till in triumph through insolent England Shall the Faith and King Philip be borne.

But the rows of dark mouths that have spoken Defiance with sulphurous breath, Glisten black, stretching forth in the silence, And in vain ask the presence of death.

Yes, repose and surcease of all hazard, A truce to all war for a time! The cliffs and the pines only echo The laugh of a sunnier clime.

And gaily the dark-visaged seamen Quaff, cursing the mists and the rain; Gravely drinking from goblets of silver Sits their chief, Don Fereija of Spain. [1]

[1] This galleon was said to have been "The Florida," commanded by Don Fereija. A search at Madrid among the archives shows that the only vessel named the "Florida" in the Armada, was a small ship which came safely back to Santander Roads after the destruction of the fleet. No commander had the name assigned to the captain of the vessel sunk at Tobermory. The identity of this galleon remains, therefore, a mystery.

But the souls of the men to whose nostrils Had risen the smoke of the fight, Soon tired of the shore and of slumber, Soon yearned for the red battle light.

And courtesy fled from the weary, From idleness arrogance grew; And all they received as a favour They haughtily claimed as their due.

Then answered the Islesmen in anger, "The food you demand as your own, By our people's free favour long given Shall be bought by your gold now alone."

"Now, down with the savage's envoy, Set sail and away on our track! Carthagena's sweet girls shall deride him, And jeer the red locks on his back."

Below, in the dark narrow spaces, The Islesman gropes, down in the hold; Unnoticed, and one among many; What harm can his hatred unfold?

Swarm the men to the rigging, and swiftly Shine clouds of white canvas, and clank The links of the anchor's great cable, Creaks, trampled on deck, every plank:

Swings round the huge bowsprit, and slowly With motion majestic and free, The galleon, vast, gilded, and mighty, Passes on, passes forth, to the sea.

Her colours still paint all the ripples, Repeated her banners all seem, Her sails, and her gold, and her cannon Float on like a gorgeous dream.

Came a flash, and a roar, and a smoke-cloud Rushed up, and spread far o'er the sky; Sank a wreck, black, and rugged, and blasted, While the sound on the winds swept by.

And the mountains sent back the dull thunder As though to all time they would tell The vengeance that pealed to the Heavens From the Harbour of "Mary's Well."

LOCH UISK, ISLE OF MULL.

Yon vale among the mountains, So sheltered from the sea, That lake which lies so lonely, Shall tell their tale to thee.

Here stood a stately convent Where now the waters sleep, Here floated sweeter music Than comes from yonder deep. Above the holy building The summer cloud would rest, And listen where to heaven Rose hymns to God addressed; For the hills took up the chanting, And from their emerald wall The sounds they loved, would, lingering, In fainter accents fall.

Hard by, beside a streamlet Fast flowing from a well, A nun, in long past ages, Had built her sainted cell: To her in dreams 'twas given As sacred task and charge, To keep unchanged for ever The bright Spring's mossy marge. "Peace shall with joys attendant For ever here abide, While reverently and faithfully You guard its taintless tide."

And when she knew her spirit Was summoned to its rest, To all around her gathered She gave that high behest; And many followed after To seek the life she chose, Till, like a flower, in glory The cloistered convent rose.

Through Scotland's times of bloodshed, Of foray, feud, and raid, Their home became the haven Where storm and strife were stayed. Men blessed each dark-robed Sister, And thought an angel trod, Where walked in love and meekness A lowly maid of God!

Right happy were they, lighting With love those days of doom; For heart need ne'er be darkened By any garment's gloom. Yes, often life thereafter Was here with gladness crowned, For, sad as seemed their vesture The peace of God was found His holiness in beauty Made every trial seem A rock that lies all harmless Deep hidden in a stream. While life was pure there never Was wish in thought to gain The world, where far behind them The black nuns left their pain; And time but flew too quickly O'er that friend-circle small, Where each one loved her neighbour, And God was loved of all.

Still from its beauteous chalice, That well's unceasing store Poured forth, through whispering channels, The crystal load it bore. Hope seemed to bring the fountain To seek the light of day; Faith made it bright; Obedience Smoothed, hallowing, its way. Full many a gorgeous Summer Woke heather into bloom, And oft cold stars in Winter Looked on a Sister's tomb; Before the joy had withered That virtue once had nursed; Before their Lord and Master Grew love for things accursed. Lo! then the stream neglected Forsook its wonted way: In stagnant pools, dark-tainted, Its wandering waters lay.

There choked by moorland ridges, Black with the growth of peat, Beneath the quaking surface The fetid floods would meet; Till rising, spreading ever Above the chalice green Of that fair Well, they covered The place where it had been. Then, near the careless convent, Within the hill's deep shade, The Fate which works in silence A lake had slowly made. As evil knows not halting When passions strongly flow, So daily deeper, deeper Would those dark waters grow; Till on an awful midnight, When red the windows flamed And song and jest and revel The Vesper hour had shamed, And wanton sin dishonoured The time Christ's birth had crowned, They burst their banks in darkness, And with their raging sound The rocks of all the valley Rung for a few hours' space; Then the wide Loch at morning Reflected heaven's face.

Few voices now are heard there, Around the wild deer feed; And winds sigh loud in Autumn Through copse, and rush, and reed. Men say that when in darkness They pass the water's verge, Each hears, mid sounds of revel The "Miserere's" dirge; That faintly, strangely, ever Upon the Loch's dark breast, Beneath, above, around it Shine lights that never rest.

Of all such ghastly phantoms, Bred of the night and fear, By hope of our salvation None meets the noontide clear! The blue sky's tender beauties Upon the strong floods shine, As God's eternal mercy Dwells with His might divine! Pure as their mystic fountain They sleep and flow unstained, Although the hue of sorrow Hath in their depths remained.

The swallow, swiftly passing Flies low to kiss the wave When rippling gently over Some pure saint's holy grave: The hunter's eyes discover Beneath those waters still The walls of that proud convent, Where God hath worked His will.

THE LADY'S ROCK

A brother's eye had seen the grief That Duart's lady bore; His boat with sail half-raised flies down The sound by green Lismore. Ahaladah, Ahaladah! Why speeds your boat so fast? No scene of joy shall light your track Adown the spray-strewn blast.

The very trees upon the isle Rock to and fro, and wail; The very birds cry sad and shrill, Storm driven, where you sail; O when for yon dim mainland shore You launched your keel to start You knew not of the load 'twill bear, The heavier load your heart.

See what is that, which yonder gleams, Where skarts alone make home; Is that but one oft-breaking sea, Some frequent fount of foam? The morn is dark and indistinct, Is all through drift and cloud; Around the rock white waters toss, As flaps in wind a shroud.

It cannot be a leaping jet, Nor form of rock or wave There stands some being saved by God In mercy from the grave! "Down with the sail, out oars! the boat Can reach the leeward side: Mother of Heaven! look you, men, Where breaks that roaring tide."

"A living woman, do I dream Or stands my sister there, Where only at the middle ebb The shelving ledge is bare?" O white as surf that sweeps her knee, She falls, but not to die; Ahaladah is at her side, He bears her up on high.

Away from Duart now he steers; Why curses he its lord; Why flee to Inveraray's strength, As though he feared his sword? Proud triumph's notes were often heard Where Aray's waters sing, And mourners there have often wept The slain for faith and king.

But never would that lady's lips There speak her grievous woe, Though in her chamber in the night Her frequent tears would flow. She dreamt of wrong where love was sought, Of crafty cruel eyes, Of one steep stair, of grasping hands That stifled piteous cries;

Of wind which tore the hissing waves, And howled o'er mountains bare; Where swollen burns in feathery clouds Were dashed into the air. Of one wet rock, of horror wild, When she was left alone, Till madness seemed to whelm her thought And, with a shuddering moan,

Again she heard the surges rush, And, where she shrinking turned, The seaweed there, like woman's hair, The murderous billows spurned. Again the night and wind were joined To mock her hope of aid, Till shrieking, she awoke, where once She slept a happy maid.

But none would she accuse, and dumb Rebuked the vengeance call, Till one dark eve at supper-time Within the old dim hall, She heard some whisper, and she saw Her brother leave his place, Go forth, and entering, beckon out A band, with stern set face.

Again he came, and o'er her bent, And whispered "Sister dear, Let fall your veil about your head, Nor tremble when you hear That Duart comes in mourner's guise! Lo, there he takes his seat. Chief, tell us why your mien is sad, When friends and kinsmen meet?"

"My woes are great, my wife lies dead, But yester week these hands Closed her sweet eyes, and now I bring Her body to your lands." Then was the arras drawn aside And girt with wake lights drear, Beneath the archway's carven vault, Was borne a white-crossed bier.

And Duart rose; his shifting eye Moved like a marsh-fire pale, But circling back, still restless scanned The lady of the veil. Then through the silence broke a voice, "Know you that lady, chief? She too, a guest with us, like you, Well knows the pangs of grief.

"You come from far, bring wine." To each The ruddy goblet passed. The lady raised her hand, and back The heavy veil she cast. Strong Duart reeled as from a stroke; He stared as at the dead: How could her glance o'er that dark face Such deathly palor spread?

"Your play is out, ah cursed fiend!" Ahaladah cried loud; "Your death shall be no phantom false, No empty mask your shroud: If hospitality's high law Here shields your life awhile, By all the saints you yet shall feel The vengeance of Argyll."

* * * * *

In Edinburgh Duart's Lord Strides down the shadowed town; The white moon glints on roofs o'erhead, And on St Giles's crown. Another step is on the street, The watchmen hear no cry; But drenched in blood lies Duart, where Ahaladah passed by.

THE POOL OF THE IRON SHIRT.

Colin, Chief of Diarmid's kin, Strode alone to Ederlinn.

Night, and heath, and deep morass Hear the chain-mailed warrior pass. Ambushed lay the treacherous foe, Ear to earth, and dart on bow.

Vain their arrows' ringing hail Fell on pointed helm and mail.

As he backward leaped, there flew Moonlight down the sword he drew.

In his front the lonely man Saw approach the hostile van:

Near him on the moor a tarn; On a knoll a wattled barn.

Refuge bad, yet near its door Sank the hot pursuit's uproar.

For, unsheathed his battle brand, There they saw great Colin stand.

Dauntless cried he: "Here within Rest I, then to Ederlinn!"

Yelled the circling hounds in ire, Set the woven wall on fire.

Sword in hand he stood, the light Gleaming on his limbs of might,

Like a cloud-built column high, Red, in sunset's flaming sky.

All too hot for mortal frame Glowed his armour, wrapped in flame.

Hidden by the wreaths of smoke, Hewing through the wall, he broke,

Felling seven, onward sped Plunging through the lake's reed-bed.

Hiss the waters where he springs, Hatred's yell again forth rings.

But he throws his mail away, Dives, and darkness hides his way.

Smiling hears their lessening din; Onward strides to Ederlinn.

Ages since have passed, yet still Tales recount his dauntless will.

"Pool of the Iron shirt," thy name Keeps, in Erse, the hero's fame.

Look you, race of ancient Gael, Never let such memories fail!

Set them far o'er gems and gold, For your sons to have and hold.

Steadfast Will its goal shall win. Fairer e'en than Ederlinn!

INVERAWE.

Does death cleanse the stains of the spirit When sundered at last from the clay, Or keep we thereafter till judgment, Desires that on earth had their way? Bereft of the strength which was given To use for our good or our bane, Shall yearnings vain, impotent, endless, Be ours with their burden of pain?

Though flesh does not clothe them, what anguish Must be known in the world of the dead, If the future lies open before them, And fate has no secret unread. And yet, oh how rarely our vision May know the lost presence is nigh; How seldom its purpose be gathered, Be it comfort, or warning to die!

With mute or half breathed supplication Permitted to utter their prayer, Demanding earth's justice, but ever Poor phantoms of mist and of air; If in aught our belief may be certain Where founded on witness of man, They come; and no tomb e'er imprisoned The shade when corruption began.

They come: and oh swiftly they follow The track of the murderer vile; He is haunted for ever; his refuge A hell on far ocean or isle! Though he fly as once fled from Barcaldine Young Donald's assassin, to claim Guest-right, where all mercy a treason To kinship and justice became.

"Inverawe, Inverawe, give me shelter, I have shed a man's blood in a fray; Oh swear that you will not betray me, By your dirk, by the dear light of day!" And the prayer in his kindness he answered, But aghast heard the voices that cried; "Your cousin lies slain! Can a stranger Have passed by the steep river side?"

Then bound by his oath he deceived them; But night brought a dream full of fear, His cousin's pale image stood o'er him, Came a voice he had loved to his ear: "Inverawe, Inverawe, give no shelter To the man by whom blood has been shed:" And he went to his guest, saying, "Leave me, I obey the dear voice of the dead."

"By your oath, by the light of God's heaven Your word has been passed for your guest" "Then sleep in the cave in the mountain, If Donald allow you to rest!" Again shone the vision more awful, Ere the hours of the darkness had fled; "Inverawe, Inverawe, give no shelter To the man by whom blood has been shed."

But empty the cave was at morning, When searched for the murderer's trace, And the ghost came again in the darkness, The gore on its breast and its face. "Inverawe, Inverawe," again whispered The shade of the echoless feet, "My blood has been shed, I await thee, At Ticonderoga we meet."

And often in wonder repeated That warning to many was known, The strangely named place for the trysting Men said was in dreamland alone; "Why cherish a dismal illusion? War summons gay hearts to the strife: All share in the prizes of glory, The chances of death or of life."

In camp, on the march, in the battle, His thought would repeat evermore, "At the place fore-ordained in the vision I shall pass to the Dark River's shore." And often awaiting the summons, He asked for the wild Indian name, When curled o'er American hamlets The smoke from the guns' sudden flame.

The forest one evening was silent As though in the calm of a trance Yet within it two armies were resting, The soldiers of Britain and France. Our Highlanders slumbered, march-wearied, Their sentries at watch in the wood: Behind their long lines of entrenchment The French in their bivouacs stood.

"Inverawe, take your sleep ere the morning, When our praise or our death shall be sung," A comrade cried; "soon for Carillon A chime that is new shall be rung!" But the air of that night of midsummer Seemed chilly, and sleep fled away; And he wandered to where, near Carillon, The charge would be sounded at day.

To the North a pale ray of Aurora Shot white o'er the black forest spars, A lake through the pines softly gleaming Lay calm in the radiance of stars. It seemed a sweet heaven, whose brightness Life's dark prison-bars could not hide: As he gazed, lo, he thought that a figure Advanced from that silvery tide.

Distinct as a luminous shadow, It moved in the starlight alone, Till it came to him close, and he shuddered, For the face that he saw was his own! The cloak of the dread apparition His own, but bedabbled in blood! Inverawe stretched his hand, but the spectre Had vanished like mist in the wood.

To the fires of his comrades returning, "Ah! friends, you deceived me," he said; "Why conceal from my ears that Carillon Has the name that was named by the dead? 'Tis Ticonderoga, the fortress We march on the morrow to storm, Where Death and the Phantom stand watching The hour when our column shall form."

The morn brought the hell of the onset, When bayonet and Highlanders' blade Sank crushed where the trenches were flashing In the roll of the long fusillade. Repulsed! O how sadly at night-fall The remnant was gathered and told! In silence they thought of the wounded, And mourned the brave hearts that were cold.

Ere thundered again the dim battle Saluting the deathless in God, A truce found that Leader all gory, Yet gasping his breath on the sod. They bore him to camp, where around him They pressed as he beckoned in pain: His voice seemed a breath in the forest, "I die—I have seen him again."

AN ISLESMAN'S FAREWELL.

Ah! must we part, my darling? O let the days be few, Until your dear returning To one who loves but you! Where'er your ship be sailing, Think on your own love true; The back of the wave to you, darling, The back of the wave to you!

The witch, who oft at midnight Above Ben Caillach flew, Told me she dreamed no danger Athwart your vessel drew; For you she said the breezes Aye strong and fairly blew; The back of the wave to you, darling, The back of the wave to you!

Ah! waiting here, and trembling When dark the water's hue, I'll long for the dear pleasure That in your glance I knew; And pray to Him who never Can lose you from His view. The back of the wave to you, darling, The back of the wave to you.

PREFACE TO DIARMID'S STORY

Best beloved of ancient stories Are our Diarmid's woes to me. Like a mist, by breezes broken, So this tale of olden glories Floats in fragments, as a token Of the song of Ireland's sea.

Through long centuries repeated Lived the legend told in Erse, But a change comes swift or slowly Fades the language, and defeated Flies the faith, once counted holy, Old-world ways, and oral verse.

Not from men of note or learning May we gather now these tales, Heard beneath the cotter's rafter, Or where smithy sparks are burning, Or at sea, when hushed the laughter Of the breeze on hull and sails.

Then with Ossian's rhythmic Measure Comes upon the fancy's sight, One with golden locks; resplendent, Great and strong with eyes of azure, And, again in the ascendant, Magic reasserts her might.

Nought can wound him, sword or arrow, Only powerless are the spells Where on the footsole implanted There is hid a birth-mark narrow, But this hero's brow enchanted Every woman's love compels.

Woe to him, that she whose glances Won the king on Denmark's shore, Evil, beautiful, imperious, Born where wheel the grisly dances Through the glen of ghosts mysterious, Love's first passion for him bore.

For she saw his forehead bending O'er the snarling dogs at strife At the wedding-feast of greeting; And at dusk unto him wending, "Come," she said, "let this our meeting Pledge my soul to thee for life."

"If, O queen, we go together, Not with friends, nor yet alone Must thou be, nor sheltered ever, Housed, nor braving wind and weather; If on horse or foot, then never Can thy love to me be known!"

Flight were shield and fence far surer Gainst a wily woman's ways Than the wit of man; for seated Ere the dawn, his fair allurer At his open door repeated All his words, with longing gaze.

"Go with me, O Diarmid; see me Not on horse, or foot; with friends, Nor alone; not night or morning Reigns: O come; thou wilt not flee me? Never lived a warrior scorning Every joy that loving lends!"

Then at last by her caresses Into flight and guilt beguiled, Diarmid loathed his life, abiding In the caves' or woods' recesses, Like a thief or coward hiding, To his fate unreconciled.

Thus the mightiest magician Warped the true and loyal heart, And he fled with her, forsaking. Friends and kinsfolk, while contrition Gnawed into his life's days, making Sad his journey, hard his part.

He, a fugitive, whose valiance Made the Feinne fair Erin's boast! Where the red cascade descended, Lovely Grinie's evil dalliance Held him thrall as though were ended Noble warring with the host.

He a slave! whose oaths had ever Bade him "champion the oppressed," Pledged him to "confound the clever, Aid the losing man's endeavour, Be the first in fight, and never Heedless of the king's behest"

Once upon a rock, tree-shrouded, Hungry they had climbed to eat Where the scarlet berries clustered: Suddenly below them crowded Dogs and huntsmen, 'til were mustered All the Feinne beneath their feet.

Fionn, then, their grim commander, Dreaming not his wife was near, Had a giant chess-board graven On the sod, and played; and under The green leaves which gave him haven Diarmid watched the game in fear.

Oscar lost, with Fionn playing, Until Diarmid, from on high Dropped the scarlet seeds to guide him, Thus his presence there betraying: And the friends of Fionn eyed him, Shouting, "Thou shalt surely die!"

But all Diarmid's comrades for him Fought, each venturing his life: And amid the dread commotion Fled the twain, until before him To the peaceful sands of ocean Ran a woodland stream of strife.

Dwelling on its banks he made him There the wooden bowls that none Fashioned with the dirk so deftly. But the chattering stream betrayed him: From the secret forest swiftly Flashed white shavings in the sun.

Then the king cried, "Grinie's lover Near us hath his lurking place! Sound the hunting horns around him! See if from the thickets' cover By the ancient vows that bound him He shall come to join the chase!"

* * * * *

How the queen bore his upbraiding; How his death in hunting came, Tell the verses here translated: Lights are they, in transit fading, Scattered sparks, oblivion fated, Memories from a mighty flame!

GRINIE'S FLIGHT WITH DIARMID.

(FROM THE GAELIC)

The Hern at early morning cries, Where at Sleve-gail the meadow lies.

Say, Dúin's son, whom I love well, Canst thou thereof the reason tell?

O! Gormla's daughter, thou whose sire Was named from tireless steeds of fire;

Thou evil-working one! thy feet Tread treacherous ways of ice and sleet.

Grinie! of lovelier hue than Spring To flower, or bloom on bough can bring,

More fleeting far your love that flies Like the cold clouds of dawning skies.

Because of thine ill-chosen part My fortune's firm set rivets start.

Yes, thine the deed, brought low to pain, My grievous woe thine only gain.

From palaces of kings beguiled, For ever outcast and exiled:

Like night-owl mourning, as she strays, Her joy through dark and distant ways.

Like timid hind or hunted deer, Through secret glens I tread in fear.

Shunning the loving friends who hold The house of hosts so loved of old.

Their forms shone glorious as the lights On the deep snows of frosted heights.

All these I left—mine own—whose love Was generous as the Sun above.

But they are now hate-filled as though Hate's sea would never ebb ward flow.

Yes, since beguiled by you I fled, Misfortune follows where I tread.

Lost now my white sailed fleet's array, Through you my band is lost for aye.

Gone all my wealth, my gems, my gold, All for the tale of love you told!

To me my friends are lost, to me No more my country mine shall be.

Lost are my men whom none e'er found Weak behind shield on battle ground.

Lost is their kindness evermore The love for me the Feinne once bore.

Lost to mine honour mine own right, Lost music's joy and lost delight;

Erin and all I there have known, For your ill-omened love alone.

Return I dare not,—may not,—never Know their great friendship, gone for ever.

More than the beast of sharpest beard My deed in hate by Fionn is feared. Yes, fairest Grinie, thou hast done Ill to thyself in love thus won.

Thou, winning hatred, wentst with me, And kingly joys were spurned by thee.

GRINIE.

O Diarmid! O Diarmid! of face far more fair Than the new-fallen snow, or the hill flowret rare, The sound of thy voice was more dear to my breast Than all the bright satin the Fianti possessed.

More beloved to me is the hue of thine eyes, Those eyes like the morning's bright dew of the skies, Ay, dearer to me than all strength or all gold The great hall of the king of the Feinne shall e'er hold.

Love's mark is more sweet on thy beautiful brow Than honey that drops where the green grasses bow; Ah, when I beheld it above me, how pale Seemed the glory and power of the Monarch of Fail.

My heart seemed to fall as I looked at thy face, Adoring thy might ever blended with grace, And wert thou not mine, to be gained to my side, Not one day in this world would my spirit abide.

Oh! white-handed hero, so handsome, so strong, Although it is I who have wrought all thy wrong, Yet stay, stay again with me, wife would I be, Vowing never on earth to be faithless to thee.

DIARMID.

Why love a woman mild in speech, And yet a traitoress to each?

GRINIE.

'Twas misery sundered my life from the king's, I left thee awhile, for love, torturing, stings; Never more will I leave thee-my tender love round thee Like fresh boughs for thy life, would have sheltered and crowned thee.

DIARMID.

Fulfil then thy word, though so faithless, how fair! Thy love, oh my Grinie, no giant shall share.

Note.—From Gaelic verse, printed by J. F. Campbell, Esq., in "Leabhar na Feinne."

THE DEATH OF THE BOAR

[Taken from "Leabhar na Feinne," and a prose version written down from oral recitation by J. Dewar.]

OSSIAN.

This vale of Peace, this glen close by, Where deer and elk would often cry, Of old saw the fleet-footed Fianti bound In the strath of the west as they followed the hound.

List if you wish to hear a lay Of gentle folks long passed away, Of him who was Prince; of Gulban's blue hill, And sorrow-cursed Diarmid's sad legend of ill.

AUDIENCE.

Loved Ossian, sweetest voiced, what day But sees us listeners to thy lay? Such strains from no birds of the shoreland can float, Though dawn give each leaf in the woodland a note.

OSSIAN.

My own good king was hunting gone, They whom no deerlike terror won, His Feinne, through the secret glens followed, and we Descended the slopes that lead down to the sea.

Then saw our own great king, whose word The Feinne, the brave, obeying heard, A nine folded shaving of wood brightly curled, Shining white, as to seaward the swift waters swirled.

He grasped it, scanning it, the coil Hid five feet and a span of soil; Then loudly he cried, "Ah, Diarmid is here, No swordsman of Cormac, but Diarmid is near!"

In truth, my own good king then swore To break his fast and drink no more, Until were unearthed the vile face of his foe, If the caves of all Erin should refuge bestow.

Our hounds we sent, and shouting went Where o'er the vales the branches bent; The wild-cat we chased from the glens, that the cheer And cries of our hunting might fall on his ear.

He who was never weak in fight Heard the loud voices strike the height; To Grinie he cried, "Though the hounds do not bay, I wait not their voice, to the hunt I'll away."

GRINIE.

O Diarmid! wait until they cry, That hunting shout is but a lie, Where grieves for his wife Cùall's son, there for thee Thou know'st thy peril for ever must be.

DIARMID

Ere hounds can open on the scent, To every chase my steps are bent, And shame were it now for the king's evil will To lose a good hunt as it sweeps o'er the hill.

OSSIAN.

Then down came Diarmid to the vale, To the famed sons of Innisfail, And glad was the king, for his foe in his sight Came aidless and powerless to baffle his might.

Where o'er his red straths Gulban soars, Were haunts well loved by savage boars, And fine were the knolls on the blue mountain's face, Where oft for King Fionn resounded the chase.

There Grinie's love brought her to shame, 'Twas there the king, with cheeks of flame, Commanded the hunt, and 'twas there Diarmid stood To watch for the boar if he broke from the wood.

Deceit a grievous evil wrought! The monster's ear our tumult caught; He moved in the glen, as from east and from west, The shouting grew louder as nearer we pressed.

Envenomed, old, rage-filled, his jaw Foamed as his eyes the heroes saw, And faster he went, his strong bristles and mane Erect, sharp as darts, strong as wood of the plain;

High reeds that fringed a marsh he found,— Turned on the dogs all baying round, And killed in a moment the bravest, and glared As though to the combat their master he dared.

FIONN.

A huge old boar hastes yonder, mark Of wounding full and bloodstains dark, Now follow yourself, noble Diarmid, there goes A monster of evil and terrible woes.

OSSIAN.

As quick his way the warrior took, No trembling hand the javelin shook, And hurrying fast as he closed with the boar He rushed as in floodtide the wave to the shore.

Shot gleaming from white hand the spear, Straight through the flank its path to shear, But, splintering there, left the head buried deep; The shaft fell in three as it whirred o'er the steep.

The sword, the olden, he unsheathed That victory in each battle breathed, Then died the great beast on its blade's dripping length; Unweakened, unharmed rose the youth in his strength.

But gloom the monarch's heart oppressed, For from the hillside to the west, He saw how fair Diarmid, unhurt by the tooth, A conqueror stood in the beauty of youth.

He saw the Feinne's loud wandering band, Deep-ringed around the carcass stand, And heard as they praised the good courage and might That vanquished so soon the grim beast in the fight. [The verses in italics are from the prose version received from J. Dewar]

But Diarmid went apart, lest he To praise of self should listener be; That praise was to Conan's vile envy a sting, Whose eye looked for gain to the hands of the king.

A dart in deadly poison dipped Among the rough black hair he slipped, And none could have seen where the bristles o'erlaid The point firmly set of the venomous blade.

Then silent long, the king at last Spake, all his thought to hatred cast, "O Diarmid, now measure the Boar, snout to heel, What length on the ground may the dark hide conceal?"

What man among the Feinne e'er saw The youth from friend or foe withdraw? He measured the back barefooted, and passed Unharmed down the rugged spine, rigid and vast.

FIONN.

"O youth, whose weapons wound so sore, I pray thee prove this yet once more, Whate'er thou desirest I'll give thee, but see, From foot to the snout what the measurement be?" OSSIAN.

Again his sandals he unlaced, And 'gainst the hair he slowly paced, And bare was the foot where alone mortal harm Could strike his limbs guarded by magic and charm.

There at one spot, lifers crimson well Was fenced by no enchanted spell. Ah! if on that death-spot but one vein were rent, How staunchless the flow of lifts fountain unpent!

And fear was on him: as he stepped, A keen pang through his senses swept, For, pierced by the venomous bristle, his sight Saw gloom shroud the mountain, and darkness the light.

Full soon the poison through his veins Ran like a fire with fever's pains, Then sank the bright locks of the warrior brave, Whose face bore in anguish the hue of the grave.

His blood ran fast, as down a hill From some high spring a slender rill; Ah, piteous it was on the brae to behold How the guileless youth lay in his torture untold.

The cheek which shared the berry's hue Which flushes red the hillside's dew, Now blanched, was as cold as a cloud when it lies Blue-shadowed at noon in the vault of the skies.

DIARMID.

A drink, one drink, O Fionn, give, One cup to let me drink and live! My blood flows so fast, give me drink from the spring. Oft kind were thy words, the good words of a king!

FIONN.

No! not one cup your lips shall drain, To quench your thirst, to cool your pain! What good is your life to me? what has it won, That the deed of one hour has not more than undone?

DIARMID.

Not mine the wish to cause you care, In East or West, not here or there! But Grinie's the evil, when, captive, I found Her love but a shadow, her word but a sound!

A drink, one drink, O Fionn, give, One cup to let me drink and live! My blood flows so fast, give me drink from the spring, Oft kind were thy words, the good words of a king.

FIONN. No cup of mine your lips shall drain To quench your thirst, to cool your pain, What good is your life, can its fair deeds o'erpower The guilt of one act, and the curse of one hour?

DIARMID.

If you could think of Sween's dread day— No! vain that memory passed away!— When fell the eight hundred and three, and my sword In the narrow pass drank of their blood as it poured!

When prisoned in the Rowan Hold, Of gratitude your words once told, When the white teeth were wounding your limbs, and your breath Came quick, for the fray brought you near unto death. And yet again your friend was I In Tara when the strife waxed high, Not vainly you sought in that hour for a friend, I fought for thee, king, making Enmity bend;

And Innse's sons, the three, the brave, From lands far hidden by the wave: I killed them for thee, who oppressest me sore; Hard died they, O ruthless one, washed in their gore!

Remember Connell! see again Carbúi front thee with his men, To the host of the Feinne see how threatening their gaze: Ah, Gulban, I burn, as I look on thy braes.

If known to Oigé's women fair How snared and trapped I here despair, Their mourning would rise, and their men would lament The friend whose sad eyes on Ben Gulban are bent.

I, Diarmid of Newry named, Of Connaught, of Béura famed— Foster son to that Angus of Broá whose stride Revealed the best man on the far mountain side:—

"The Eagle of the Red Cascade"— "The blue-eyed Hawk whom no man stayed"— They called me—"the strongest of all who could throw The stone, or the spear, at our game or our foe."

Then knew he, as his strength grew less That death would end his sore distress; The Feinne stood around, and they pitied the man So weak, once the strongest who fought in their van.

They searched for water, and they found A spring, clear-eyed, in mossy ground, But cup had they none, and their hands, as they went, Let fall every drop ere o'er Diarmid they bent.

In bitterness of soul he thought, "They mock me, now that I am naught, Your kind hands all leak! of your deed men shall tell, The 'spring of holed palms' shall they name yonder well.

"Yet would I ask you, now I die, To lay me where the stream flows by The water of Lunnan, for there in my grave I'll hear, though I see not, its cold shining wave.

"There place a pillar stone, and bear My Grinie some day to me there, And well to the traveller the words shall be known, 'Tis Diarmid who lies 'neath yon Pillar of Stone.

"Oh woe is me! a foul swine's prey, The victor lord of battle's day! I faint, done to death, let me turn, let me lie With my face to Ben Gulban, to see it, and die."—

OSSIAN.

In tears, and mourning sore, Then to his grave we bore That brave and hardy one; On a green knoll alone, Beneath a mighty stone That sees the western sun.

When Grinie coming there, At last of all aware, Beheld his narrow bed; As though her life took flight, Bereft of sense and sight, She fell, above the dead!

Then from her swoon awoke, Her voice in cries outbroke, And in this song of woe, Wherein his praise was heard In every mournful word, Above the river's flow.

GRINIE.

Two in a fastness of rock were concealed, Oft we lay there for a year unrevealed, Though hidden from Fionn by the stream as it leapt, Where it wet not the head of my love as he slept.

In the hunt's contest the keenest to share, Hard was that bed for thy thick golden hair! Never thought he of fear as he sprang to the cry, When the chase was afoot, and he joined it, to die!

Hour of my torture, ochone, how the pain, Sore, and sharp, as at first, smites again and again, Sightless dear eyes, voiceless lips, and the breath Sweet as honey, now lost in the chambers of death!

Sister's son of a king, a monarch high-placed, Victor and friend, once with courtesy graced! Ah what a generous heart to have nursed Vengeance so causeless, a plot so accursed!

Diarmid, O Love, the best sword of them all, Victory flew to the field at thy call; Strongest arm in the games, thou wast ever the best, Whether called to the fight, or to aid the distressed.

Bluer your eye than the blaeberry kissed On the high mountain's shoulder by sun and by mist; Gentler your eyelids' soft motion, than where The upland grass waves to the breezes of air.

Whiter your teeth than the blossoming spray Danced in the winds 'mid the brightness of day; Never harp was so sweet, never bird-song above, As the voice that is hushed on the lips of my love.

Like to the sun-nurtured sparkles of air Were the fair yellow waves of the locks of thy hair, Pure as foam the soft skin of the one of our race, Who was mighty in mind as majestic in grace.

Sad is my heart, to no joy-shout replying, Restless, lamenting in grief never-dying; Oh, the mavis calls sweetly in drear deserts lone, But in vain I must yearn for the notes I have known.

Now shall my soul find its calm nevermore In the depths—the blue depths—of your eyes as of yore, Overborne by a perilous flood I shall know Surcease of no sorrow, no lightening of woe!

Dark is your dwelling-place under the mould, Narrow your frozen bed, songless and cold; Never morn shalt thou see, till the day of God's doom, When awakened, O hero, thou'lt rise from the tomb.

Dead in the earth, and there hidden away, Who shall not yearn for thee, fairer than day? Be my blessing now thine, be it thine evermore, Let it rest on the beauty 'twas mine to adore.

OSSIAN.

Each bard prepared his harp for singing That calm and lofty hero's praise; Deep sorrow through the long notes ringing, How wild their dirge, how sad their gaze!

THE BARDS.

Mayest thou be blessed, O thou our fairest Beloved, once to fortune dear, If still for Ireland's Feinne thou carest, See how they wail thine absence here.

O strength, like flood on foemen pouring, Or swoop of eagle from the sky, Or as the rush through ocean roaring When myriads from leviathan fly!

Béura's lord! thy fair locks, waving Hath ceased, pressed down beneath the soil: Thou'rt seen no more the billows braving, No more thou'lt know the hunter's toil.

When blows are rained thy blade no longer Shall strike where clear thy war cry rose, O man, whose love than man's seemed stronger, Whose voice no more high Tara knows.

For thee our eyes are red with weeping, No beauty like to thine have we; Our solace gone, our best are keeping The death watch, bravest soul, with thee.

OSSIAN.

Yes, fallen all, to leave me living, A leafless tree decayed and grey, Old oaks and young, their green life giving; The strong must fall, the weak must stay!

Yet though to-day so frail, what glory Around my youth once shone of old! Changed world! this poor man, weak and hoary, Was great in war and rich in gold.

KING ARTHUR AND THE CAPTIVE MAIDEN.

(TRANSLATED FROM THE GAELIC. [1]) [1] Taken down in Gaelic by Dewar.

King Arthur on a journey went, His men and he on hunting bent.

Came to the hill for victories known; He, and Sir Balva, armed alone.

The King of Britain dreamed at night Of fairest maid 'neath Heaven's light.

Her face's beauteous hues so clear More than all gold to him were dear.

Yet all unknown where dwelt the maid, His doubt and awe the search delayed.

For better were a battle stern Than, blindly wandering, still to yearn.

Then spoke Sir Balva, kindly, meek, "It is my wish this maid to seek. Let me now take my Squire and hound, And search until the maid be found."

Then seven weeks, with toil and pain, We travelled wearily the main.

No harbour gave our ship a home, No land kept off the drifting foam.

But high above the rough sea wave, We saw a smooth-walled castle brave.

Its gables shone with glass. We laughed, "Ah many a drink-horn there is quaffed."

Then sailing to its base there fell A chain that lashed the ocean swell.

I seized it, fearless, hand o'er hand I climbed upon the frowning land,

And seated on a golden chair, I found a maiden wondrous fair,

Holding a mirror on her knee, Her vesture beautiful to see.

I blest her, whose sad voice replied, "Grief here thy blessing doth betide.

O comer from the sea, thou'lt feel The heart of stone, the blade of steel"

Though merciless he be, yet know, His sword can deal my heart no blow.

His love or hatred I despise If gained the favour of thine eyes.

"The giant's star-white sword alone," Said she, "can wring from him a groan.

O hide thee in some place secure, Or, gallant knight, thy death is sure."

Sir Balva heard the giant roar, "What wave-thrown stranger climbed our shore?"

Her voice replied, "Now come, nor wait, My soul, for thee my love is great.

Put thou thy head upon my knee, I'll sweetly play the harp to thee."

He rested, and a laugh displayed The white teeth of the blue-eyed maid.

The wild harp-music sweetly rung, And sweeter still her tuneful tongue.

And on his eyes, by sea winds fanned, Sleep laid full soon his tranquil hand.

Then took they off his star-white sword And slew the Castle's Giant Lord.

Thus how the captive maid was found, Oft heard they of The Table Round.

SEANN ORAN GAILIC. [Note: The Gaelic spelt as by Dewar.]

Do reir beulaithris ann an linn Righ Artair bhi ann an Duneidean, bha Triath urramach Eirinneach a chuir tigh dìdean air a chraig ris an abairte Aill-séid-chuan, agus ghoid e na braighde rìomhfhinne uasal, agus thug e i do'n Dun a thog e air Aill-séid-chuan, s bha e ga gleidh an sin na braighde. Bha Righ Artair latha anns a bheinn a sealg, luidh e a' leigeadh a sgìtheas dheth, chaidil e agus bhruadair e air an rìmhfhinne a bha ann am braighdeanas, agus ghabh e toil a cuir saor, ach cha robh fios aige c'aite an robh i. Ghabh sir Bhalbha os laimh dol g'a h iarraidh na'm faigheadh e long o'n Righ. Thug an Righ long dh'a, agus sheol sir Bhalbha gus gun d'fhuair e air thuileamus i, agus thug e dh'ionnsaidh Righ Airteir i, agus b'ann do'n chùis chaidh an t óran a leasas a dheanamh.

Turus a chaidh Righ Arstair s a shluagh Gu tullach na'm buadh, a shealg; Gun duine mar-ris an Righ Ach Sir Bhalbha, fo a lion arm. Gun duine, &c.

Chunnaic Righ Bhreatun s e na shuain An aon bhean a b'aillidh snuadh fo'n ghrein 'S b fhearr leis ro na bh'aige a dh'or An òg-bhean bhi aige fein. 'S b fhearr leis, &c.

Ach b'fhearr leis tuiteam ann an sin Le comhrag fir, mar bha e fein. No dol a dh'iarraidh na mnà S gun fhios aige cia an t'aite fo n ghréin. No dol a dh'iarraidh, &c.

Thubairt Sir Bhalbha suairce cuin. 'S e mo rùn dol a dh'iarraidh na mnà, Theid mi fein mo ghille s mo chu Nar triuir 'g a sireadh gun dàil Theid mi fein, &c

Seachd seachdainnean le stri Bha sinn sgìth a sinbhal cuain Gun chala gun talamh gun fhonn Gun ionad amis an gabhadh an long tàmh. Gun chala gun, &c.

Chuannacas an iomall a chuain Ghairbh Caisteal mór mìn-gheal ghuirm, Uinneagan gloine air a stuagh S bu lìon-mhor ann cuaich coirn. Uninneagan gloine, &c.

Air dhuinn bhi seoladh stigh ri bhun, Chaidh slabhraidh a chuir a nuas; S roimh an t slabhraidh cha do ghabh-ar crith Ach chaidhearurra na m'ruith suas. S roimh an t slabhraidh, &c.

Cuanna'cas an ighean eididh òg Air cathair òir na suidhe a steach Sgàthan gloine air a glùn, S bheannaich-eam do a gnuis gheal. Sgàthan gloine, &c.

Fhir a thainig oìrun o'n chuan S truagh brìgh do bheannachadh ann.

* * * * *

Ged thigeadh am fear mor na m dhàil Gun iochd gun bhàigh le a chlaidheamh cruaidh, Air do ghuidh-se a bhean bhlath. S coingeis leam a ghradh seach fhuath. Air do ghuidh-se, &c.

Arm cha deargadh air an thear, Ach a chlaidheamh run-geal fein. Agus is fhearr dhuit dol fo-chleith Do aite air leith tearruinnt' o'n eug. Agus is fhearr, &c.

Chaidh Sir Bhalbha fa-chleith Agus a steach thainig am fear mor Tha boladh an fhar-bhalaich a steach Oirrinn iar teachd o thuinn na traigh. Tha boladh an, &c.

Anamain, a sheircein, s a rùin Is mor an gaol a thug mi dhuit, Cuir thusa do cheann air mo ghlùin, Agus seinnidh mi ciùin duit a chruit. Cuir thusa do, &c.

Chuir e a cheann air uchd an ighinn ùir, Bu ghuirme sùil, s bu ghile deud, S ge bu bhinn a sheinneadh i a chruit, Bu bhinneadh an guth bha teachd o a beul. S ge bu bhinn, &c.

Air dhuinn bhi cuairteachadh na'n cuan Chaidil e suain, na thruim sheamh fann, S thug iad an claidheamh a chrios S ghearr iad gun fhios d'dheth an ceann, S thug iad an, &c.

Ghoid iad a bhraighdeach s gu leir S bha a bhean fein fo chumha thruim Siod agaibh aithris mo sgeul S mar a leugh iad am bòrd-cruinn. Siod agaibh, &c.

Latha do Righ Arstair s a shluagh Bhi air Tullach na'm buadh, a shealg. Gun duine mar-ris an Righ Ach Bhalbha, fo lion arm.

DUNOLLY'S DAUGHTER.

Oh, dear to old Dunolly's heart His darling daughter seemed, Yet when she fled, how pitiless His bitter curse was deemed.

To death he doomed her lover true, And swore his lowly blood Should stain the land, whose soil would blush At wanton womanhood.

But leaves were thick, and woods were green, Where summer saw their love, And none could tell Dunolly where Was nesting his wild dove.

Two years had sped, and all unchanged Dunolly's mood remained; When tired with hunting, late at eve A forest hut he gained.

A cheerful scene! for hung on trees On either side the door A stag and roe, and salmon there Lay strewn the hut before.

There pausing silently he heard Light laughter, O well known; And, looking through the wattled wall Stood motionless as stone.

He saw a happy woman lie Her true man's form beside; And laugh as on the bed they tossed A smiling child in pride.

No word Dunolly spoke, but went, An altered man, and said; "Go bring them home, for rich are they, Love shows them nobly wed."

THE ARMADA GUN [1]

[1] This cannon was recovered in 1740 from the wreck of a vessel of the Spanish Armada sunk in Tobermory Bay, and is at Inveraray.

An ancient cannon, finely cast. Of bronze, all smooth and green with age, A by-gone actor on the stage, Yet fit to take, as in the past A role in war, and be the last Dread argument of kings!

The daisies grew around, and brought The homage of young spring to praise This stately relic of old days, When France with Spain for mastery fought; And Philip over England sought To spread the Papal wings.

Initialed with King Francis' name, With Gallic lilies sculptured o'er, Above the vent the metal bore A Salamander crowned, in flame; The massive breech could even claim A sheath of lotos bloom.

This goodly weapon, forged where Seine By Fontainebleau and Paris flows, And many a painted Palace shows These emblems of the Valois' reign, For centuries unseen has lain Within the sea's dark tomb.

How came it there? A Spanish keel One of the Great Armada gay, Was blasted in Our Lady's Bay; One of the Fleet the floods conceal, Though o'er the waves was wont to peal The thunder of their pride.

But how came France's lilies there Beneath the flag of red and gold? And o'er the ancient gun we told The story which the legends bear, How in defeat it bore its share And stemmed the Victory's tide.

We thought the winds of hollow sound Spoke from its mouth in solemn tone, Of great events its life had known, That thronged, as with the nearly drowned, To recollection, ere it found Beneath the sea a grave.

"'In flame I live, I quench its glow;' This motto at the foundry fire Was given me by his desire, The king, whose crest and lilies show How love and valour could bestow Their favour on the brave.

"My form was fashioned in each part By him who wrought in gems and gold, Whose glory, trumpet-tongued, is told In fearful wars, in peaceful Art, Cellini of the ardent heart, And Benvenuto named!

"The silver-voiced and laughing crowd Of ladies praised his fair design And asked if on the German Rhine, Or English coasts of fog and cloud, Would soon be heard my challenge loud For rights our country claimed?

"To conquer fair Milan I threw My shot against the Swiss array On Marignano's dreadful day: On sledges hardy soldiers drew My weight through snows, where eagles knew Alone the Alpine way.

"And warring for the emperor's crown, I saw around me fall and die The noblest of our chivalry: When peerless Bayard's high renown Quenched not his blood, that streaming down Fell on me where I lay.

"Pavia felt my iron hail, When traitor Bourbon won the fight, Yet glad was I no foreign knight Alone had made our siege to fail, When wrote our king the dismal tale, 'Save honour all is lost!'

"The impious victor hurled my fire Against the walls of holy Rome, But there the devil took him home! For at the storm my artist sire, Cellini, felled him, for the ire Of God his path had crossed.

"To nobler masters still a slave, I felt the fame of Doria mine; Saw Venice o'er her channels shine; Pursued the Moslem on the wave, And shattered them, when victory gave Her palm to Malta's isle.

"When Naples sent her ships to swell The swarming armaments that bore 'Gainst England from each southern shore In fleets whose numbers none could tell; I saw how Drake upon us fell, How fortune ceased to smile.

"For tempests gathered o'er our track, The little English hornets stung, My heavy shot against them flung Passed o'er their barks, so swift to tack, And every ball they gave us back Upon our galleons told.

"Soon drifting o'er the Northern main Grey shores unknown were quickly past; Our consorts on the rocks were cast, It was our fate alone to gain The peaceful haven where Maclaine Set fire unto our hold.

I sank: a hundred years past by, And diving bells with searchers keen For treasure in the wreck were seen. They took the gold, but let me lie To sleep another century, Then raised and brought me here.

* * * * *

"Valois is dead, and Bourbon's Line No longer fills my country's throne. But death dear France shall never own! Once more of late her joy was mine, Once more for her my flames could shine, My thunder echo clear.

"For when the tide of battle rolled Against the far Crimean shore, And France and Britain downward bore The Russian in his chosen hold, My last salute of victory told For France, as oft of yore!"

CAVALRY CHARGE—KÖNIGGRÄTZ

We stood, as the helmeted horsemen Formed up in the light of the sun; We knelt, stretching bayonets towards them As they charged, ere the battle was won.

I marked their young leader apparelled As daintily as for parade, A cigarette smoking, advancing He laughed, as he pointed his blade.

He played with his yellow moustaches, And looked on our ranks, with a scorn Such as mantles 'gainst mist and night-vapour On the brow of the Son of the morn.

He led a bright host where the glitter Of armour illumined the vale; As a flood rises slowly, so, coming, They rode with the sun on their mail.

Thus he steadied his men, and none wavered. As the steeds settled down to their stride, And we heard the first rush of the squadrons, Like the gathering roar of the tide.

Their order was perfect and splendid, And his voice, that at first held them in, Had rung down their ranks for the onset, As though it were fate they should win.

I felt I half liked him as onward The lines of his cuirassiers came, Like breakers wind-driven from seaward, Dark tossed in a whirlwind of flame.

I hated the shot that must enter That steel-girt and confident breast, And quench that brave spirit for ever, That light on the cataract's crest

But I gave forth the word, and our volley Rang clear o'er the thunder of feet That rolled not to us, for Destruction Rejoiced their proud splendour to greet.

And the leader who laughed at our columns, At the ranks that bid gaiety die, On his red bed of honour at even Lay smiling his scorn at the sky.

THE IRISH EMIGRANT.

1880.

Look not for me at eventide, I cannot come when work is done; I go to wander far and wide, For 'tis not here that gold is won. Perchance where'er I go, these hands May find me what I need to live; Whate'er they win, if house, or lands, I'd yield for what they cannot give.

For who can turn away his face From home and kin and be at rest? What country e'er can take the place That Ireland fills within my breast? More kindly smile the distant skies, They say, beyond yon angry sea; I know not what they mean, mine eyes Have never seen these frown on me.

To me these hills beside the wave With every year have dearer grown; Is it so great a thing to crave To call my native land, mine own? But why these useless plaints renew? Farewell! That word, it seems a knell! If still I'm dear, kind hearts, to you, 'Tis all I ask, Farewell, Farewell!

THE IRISH EMIGRANT.

1883.

"They sow in tears who reap in joy," Was truly said of old: We wandered far, but round us still Stretched God Almighty's fold.

'Twas He who led us forth; our grief Discerned His chastening hand, And saw not, though before our eyes Shone bright His promised land.

O bless Him for the love that made The parting greeting sore, But for the bold heart that He gave We bless our God yet more!

He gave us hope, He gave us strength; For us His prairies smile, The new world's untouched soils for us Spread boundless, mile on mile.

The richest heritage on earth For us His mercy saved; For ages Nature's harvests here Unknown, ungathered, waved.

Ours now the grain which decks the plains, Ours all their wondrous yield; Our children, and our kin possess Their own, in house and field.

What wonder then if many laugh, And wonder joy was dumb! To friends in older lands with less Our happy hearts say "Come."

SONG.

OSBORNE, 1882.

Here Rose and Magnolia Our dearest enshrine, The prayer of the south wind Is thine and is mine, For Child and for Mother Here sweetly twice isled, Brave Seamen are praying For Mother and Child.

Where State must surround them Beneath the Great Keep, And green oaks of Windsor Shade River and Steep, For Child and Queen-Mother The choristers aisled, With armed men are chanting For Mother and Child.

Away where the Heather Blooms far o'er the Pine, The Highlander's blessing Is mine and is thine, For Child and for Mother Beloved and mild; What heart does not bless them, Dear Mother and Child.

SONNET.

LORD F. DOUGLAS KILLED ON THE MATTERHORN, SWITZERLAND, 1865.

Not home to land and kindred wast thou brought, Nor laid 'mid trampled dead of battle won,— Nor after long life filled with duty done Was thine such death as thou thyself had'st sought! No, sadder far, with horror overwrought That end that gave to thee thy cruel grave Deep in blue chasms of some glacier cave, When Cervins perils thou, the first, had'st fought And conquered, Douglas! for in thee uprose In boyhood e'en a nature noble, free,— So gently brave with courtesy, that those Old Douglas knights, the "flowers of Chivalry," Had joyed to see that in our times again A link of gold had graced their ancient chain!

SADOWA

JULY 1866.

Wet, cheerless was our bivouac last eve, but still we spoke Of fighting and of winning, to-morrow, when day broke: That day the thundering echoes of cannon in our front Had louder grown until around had raged the battle's brunt At last the carnage ended, and our regiment's retreat Was marked by many wounded, who shrieked beneath our feet! But here in closer order rides past a Lancer Troop— They had but late been charging like falcons when they swoop. How few there are remaining! Now the river's bank is gained; The Trumpeter's white charger with blood on neck is stained. His snowy flanks are heaving; he shudders on the brink, Then, gently urged, he halts again, and stoops his head to drink. He cannot ford the river, for lost are strength and speed: The Trumpeter, dismounted, now swims beside his steed. Together they have struggled; he will not let him die, And soon he stands beside him though the balls are rushing by. He takes him by the bridle;—would lead him to the town,— Too late,—for life is ebbing,—the gallant steed is down! Ah! long I saw that horseman kneel by his charger's head, And when at last he left him, I knew the horse was dead. How fiercely as he passes that comrade on the plain, Remounted on the morrow, shall sound the "charge" again!

ON A FOREIGN WAR SHIP'S SALUTE TO THE QUEEN'S STANDARD AT OSBORNE.

With their deep voice, monotonous and slow, The cannon's thunders roll along the sea; But 'tis in reverence, and to work no woe Those sounds here reach the shore and onward flee Past the oak woods that climb the grassy lea, To strike thy terraces, and palace fair With stately salutation offered thee Who of these potent realms the crown dost wear. So to the fabric of our future fame, Set in the green oak of our Empire's might: Shall history's voice, with measured praise, proclaim Thy life-long love of justice and of right, And the good era that thy reign hath been. To hail thee, reverently, Victoria, Queen.