« PreviousContinue »
-"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,
With ghastly sights and sounds of woe,
"The bark thou saw'st, yon summer morn, So gaily part from Oban's bay,
My eye beheld her dash'd and torn,
Thy Fergus too-thy sister's son,
"Thou only saw'st their tartans wave,
As down Benvoirlich's side they wound, Heard'st but the pil roch, answ'ring brave To many a target clanking round.
"I heard the groans, I mark'd the tears, I saw the wound his bosom bore, When on the serried Saxon spears
He pour'd his clan's resistless roar.
That heart, O Ronald, bleeds for thee!
“I see the death-damps chill thy brow;
♦ Tartans-The full Highland dress, made of the chequered stuf so termed
"Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams, Sad prophet of the evil hour! Say, should we scorn joy's transient beams, Because to-morrow's storm may lour?
"Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe,
Clangillian's chieftain ne'er shall fear; His blood shall bound at rapture's glow,
Though doom'd to stain the Saxon spear. "E'en now, to meet me in yon dell,
My Mary's buskins brush the dew." He spoke, nor bade the chief farewell,
But call'd his dogs, and gay withdrew. Within an hour return'd each hound;
In rush'd the rousers of the deer; They howl'd in melancholy sound,
Then closely couch beside the Seer. No Ronald yet; though midnight came,
And sad were Moy's prophetic dreams, As, bending o'er the dying flame,
He fed the watch-fire's quiv'ring gleams. Sudden the hounds erect their ears,
And sudden cease their moaning howl; Close press'd to Moy, they mark their fears By shiv'ring limbs and stifled growl. Untouch'd, the harp began to ring,
As softly, slowly, oped the door;
As light a footstep press'd the floor.
She wrung the moisture from her hair. With maiden blush she softly said,
O gentle huntsman, hast thou seen,
In deep Glenfinlas' moon-light glade,
His shoulders bear the hunter's bow,
Far on the wind his tartans flow?" "And who art thou? and who are they?" All ghastly gazing, Moy replied: "And why, beneath the moon's pale ray
Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas' side ?*
Blue, dark, and deep, round many an isle
"To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer,
"O aid me, then, to seek the pair, Whom, loit'ring in the woods, I lost; Alone I dare not venture there,
Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost."
"Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks there; Then, first, my own sad vow to keep, Here will I pour my midnight pray'r,
Which still must rise when mortals sleep." "O first, for pity's gentle sake,
Guide a lone wand'rer on her way! For I must cross the haunted brake,
And reach my father's tow'rs ere day." "First, three times tell each Ave bead,
And thrice a Pater-noster say;
So shall we safely wind our way."
"Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire,
To wanton Morna's melting eye."
I lay, to her and love resign'd,
Or sail'd ye on the midnight wind! "Not thine a race of mortal blood,
Nor old Glengyle's pretended line Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood,
Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine." He mutter'd thrice St Oran's rhyme,
And thrice St Fillan's pow'rful prayer; Then turn'd him to the eastern clime,
And sternly shook his coal-black hair. And, bending o'er his harp, he flung
His wildest witch-notes on the wind; And loud, and high, and strange, they rung, As many a magic change they find. Tall wax'd the Spirit's alt'ring form,
Till to the roof her stature grew;
With one wild yell, away she flew.
Was way'd by wind, or wet by dew.
Loud bursts of ghastly laughter rise; High o'er the Minstrel's head they sail,
And die amid the northern skies.
The voice of thunder shook the wood,