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From high Dunedin's towers we come,
A band of brothers true ;

MAC-GREGOR'S GATHERING.
Our casques the leopard's spoils surround;

WRITTEN FOR ALB YN'S ANTHOLOGY. With Scotland's hardy thistle crown'd,

Air-Thain' a Grigalach.* We boast the red and blue.*

Though tamely crouch to Gallia's frown

Dull Holland's tardy train ;
Their ravish'd toys though Romans mourn,
Though gallant Switzers vainly spurn,

And foaming gnaw the chain ;

THESE verses are adapted to a very wild, yet lively gathering-tune, used by the Mac-Gregors. The severe treatment of this clan, their outlawry, and the proscription of their very name, are alluded to in the ballad.

0! had they mark'd th’avenging callt

Their brethren's murder gave, Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown, Nor patriot valour, desperate grown,

Sought freedom in the grave !

Shall we, too, bend the stubborn head,

In freedom's temple born,
Dress our pale cheeks in timid smile,
To hail a master in our isle,

Or brook a victor's scorn ?

No! though destruction o'er the land

Come pouring as a flood,
The sun that sees our falling day
Shall mark our sabres' deadly sway,

And set that night in blood.

For gold let Gallia's legions fight,

Or plunder's bloody gain ;
Unbribed, unbought, our swords we draw,
To guard our king, to fence our law,

Nor shall their edge be vain.

THE moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the

brae, And the clan has a name that is nameless by day!

Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalach!

Gather, gather, gather, &c.
Our signal for fight, that from monarchs we drew,
Must be heard but by night in our vengeful haloo !

Then haloo, Gregalach ! haloo, Gregalach !

Haloo, haloo, baloo, Gregalach, &c.
Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchuirn and her

towers,
Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours :

We're landless, landless, landless, Gregalach !

Landless, landless, landless, &c.
But doom'd and devoted by vassal and lord
Mac-Gregor has still both his heart and his sword !

Then courage, courage, courage, Gregalach !

Courage, courage, courage, &c.
If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles,
Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the

eagles !
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Gre-

galach! Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, &c. While there's leaves in the forest, and foam on the

river, Mac-Gregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever!

Come then, Gregalach ! come then, Gregalach !

Come then, come then, come then, &c. Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall

career, O'er the peak of Ben Lomond the galley shall

steer,
And the rocks of Craig Royston like icicles melt,
Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt!

Then gather, gather, gather, Gregalach !
Gather, gather, gather, &c.

If ever breath of British gale

Shall fan the tri-colour,
Or footstep of invader rude,
With rapine foul, and red with blood,

Pollute our happy shore

Then farewell home! and farewell friends!

Adieu each tender tie!
Resolved, we mingle in the tide,
Where charging squadrons furious ride,

To conquer or to die.

To horse ! to horse! the sabres gleam ;

High sounds our bugle call ; Combined by honour's sacred tie, Our word is, Laws and Liberty!

March forward, one and all !

* The royal colours.

MACKRIMMON'S LAMENT. + The allusion is to the massacre of the Swiss guards, on the fatal 10th of August, 1792. It is painful, but not use

Air-Cha till mi tuille. less, to remark, that the passive temper with which the Swiss regarded the death of their bravest countrymen,

MACKRIMMON, hereditary piper to the laird of mercilessly slaughtered in discharge of their duty, encouraged and authorized the progressive injustice by which Macleod, is said to have composed this lament the Alps, once the seat of the most virtuous and free peo when the clan was about to depart upon a distant ple upon the continent, have, at length, been converted into the citadel of a foreign and military despot. A state

* "The Mac-Gregor is come.” degraded is half enslaved.

+ “We return no more."

and dangerous expedition. The minstrel was im- the head of an army superior to his own. The pressed with a belief, which the event verified, words of the set theme, or melody, to which the that he was to be slain in the approaching feud; pipe variations are applied, run thus in Gaelic : and hence the Gaelic words, “ Cha till mi tuille ; Piobaireachd Dhonuil, piobaireachd Dhonuil; ged thillis Macleod, cha till Macrimmon,” “I shall Piobaireachd Dhonuil Duidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; never return; although Macleod returns, yet Mack- Piobaireachd Dhonuil Duidh, piobaireachd Dhonuil; rimmon shall never return !” The piece is but too Piob agus bratach air faiche Inverlochi. well known, from its being the strain with which the pipe summons of Donald the Black, the emigrants from the west highlands and isles The pipe summons of Donald the Black, usually take leave of their native shore.

The war-pipe and the pennon are on the gathering.place

at In verlochy.

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SONG.

Tempest clouds prolong'd the sway

And still their ghastly roundelay Of timeless darkness over day;

Was of the coming battle-fray,
Whirlwind, thunderclap, and shower,

And of the destined dead.
Mark'd it a predestined hour.
Broad and frequent through the night
Flash'd the sheets of levin light;

Wheel the wild dance,
Muskets, glancing lightnings back,

While lightnings glance, Show'd the dreary bivouack

And thunders rattle loud, Where the soldier lay,

And call the brave Chill and stiff , and drench'd with rain,

To bloody grave, Wishing dawn of morn again,

To sleep without a shroud. Though death should come with day. "Tis at such a tide and hour,

Our airy feet, Wizard, witch, and fiend have power,

So light and fleet, And ghastly forms through mist and shower,

They do not bend the rye, Gleam on the gifted ken;

That sinks its head when whirlwinds rave, And then th' affrighted prophet's ear

And swells again in eddying wave, Drinks whispers strange of fate and fear,

As each wild gust blows by ; Presaging death and ruin near

But still the corn, Among the sons of men.

At dawn of morn, Apart from Albyn's war-array,

Our fatal steps that bore, 'Twas then gray Allan sleepless lay ;

At eve lies waste, Gray Allan, who for many a day,

A trampled paste Had follow'd stout and stern,

Of blackening mud and gore. Where through battle's rout and reel,

Wheel the wild dance, Storm of shout and hedge of steel,

While lightnings glance, Led the grandson of Lochiel,

And thunders rattle loud, Valiant Fassiefern.

And call the brave Through steel and shot he leads no more

To bloody grave,
Low laid mid friends and foemen's gore-

To sleep without a shroud.
But long his native lake's wild shore,
And Sunart rough, and high Ardgower,

Wheel the wild dance,
And Morven long shall tell,

Brave sons of France ! And proud Ben Nevis hear with awe,

For you our ring makes room ; How, upon bloody Quatre-Bras,

Make space full wide Brave Cameron heard the wild hurra

For martial pride, Of conquest as he fell.

For banner, spear, and plume.

Approach, draw near, Lone on the outskirts of the host,

Proud cuirassier ! The weary sentinel held post,

Room for the men of steel! And heard, through darkness, far aloof,

Through crest and plate The frequent clang of courser's hoof,

The broadsword's weight, Where held the cloak'd patrol their course,

Both head and heart shall feel.
And spurr'd 'gainst storm the swerving horse ;

Wheel the wild dance,
But there are sounds in Allan's ear
Patrol nor sentinel may hear;

While lightnings glance,

And thunders rattle loud,
And sights before his eyes aghast

And call the brave
Invisible to them have pass'd,
When down the destined plain

To bloody grave, 'Twixt Britain and the bands of France,

To sleep without a shroud. Wild as marsh-bome meteors glance,

Sons of the spear! Strange phantoms wheeld a revel dance,

You feel us near, And doom'd the future slain.

In many a ghastly dream; Such forms were seen, such sounds were

With fancy's eye heard,

Our forms you spy, When Scotland's James his march prepared

And hear our fatal scream. For Flodden's fatal plain ;

With clearer sight Such, when he drew his ruthless sword,

Ere falls the night, As choosers of the slain, adored

Just when to weal or wo The yet unchristen’d Dane.

Your disembodied souls take flight An indistinct and phantom band,

On trembling wing-each startled sprite They wheeld their ring-dance hand in hand,

Our choir of death shall know.
With gesture wild and dread;
The seer, who watch'd them ride the storm,

Wheel the wild dance,
Saw through their faint and shadowy form

While lightnings glance, The lightnings flash more red;

And thunders rattle loud,

HELLVELLYN.

And call the brave
To bloody grave,

To sleep without a shroud.
Burst, ye clouds, in tempest showers,
Redder rain shall soon be ours-

See, the east grows wan-
Yield we place to sterner game,
Ere deadlier bolts and drearer flame
Shall the welkin's thunders shame;
Elemental rage is tame

To the wrath of man.
At morn, gray Allan's mates with awe
Heard of the vision's sights he saw,

The legend heard him say:
But the seer's gifted eye was dim,
Deafen'd his ear, and stark his limb,

Ere closed that bloody day.
He sleeps far from his bighland heath-
But often of the Dance of Death

His comrades tell the tale
On piquet-post, when ebbs the night,
And waning watch-fires grow less bright,

And dawn is glimmering pale.

In the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Hellvellyn. His remains were not discovered till three months afterwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier bitch, his constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland.

I CLIMB'D the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn,
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleam'd misty

and wide ;
All was still, save by fits when the eagle was yell-

ing,
And starting around me the echoes replied.
On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was

bending,
And Catchedicam its left verge was defending,
One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending,
When I mark'd the sad spot where the wanderer

had died.

FAREWELL TO THE MUSE.

Dark green was the spot 'mid the brown mountain ENCHANTRESS, farewell, who so oft has decoy'd me,

heather, At the close of the evening, through woodlands to

Where the pilgrim of nature lay stretch'd in roam,

decay, Where the forester, lated, with wonder espied me Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather, Explore the wild scenes he was quitting for home.

Till the mountain winds wasted the tenantless Farewell, and take with thee thy numbers wild,

clay. speaking

Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, The language alternate of rapture and wo:

For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended, 0! none but some lover, whose heart-strings are

The much-loved remains of her master defended, breaking,

And chased the hill fox and the raven away. The pang that I feel at our parting can know.

How long didst thou think that his silence was Each joy thou couldst double, and when there came slumber? sorrow,

When the wind waved his garment, how oft Or pale disappointment, to darken my way,

didst thou start? What voice was like thine, that could sing of to- How many long days and long weeks didst thou morrow,

number, Till forgot in the strain was the grief of to-day! Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart? But when friends drop around us in life's weary And, O! was it meet that, no requiem read o'er waning,

him, The grief, queen of numbers, thou canst not as- No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, suage ;

And thou, little guardian, alone stretch'd before Nor the gradual estrangement of those yet remain- him, ing,

Unhonour'd the pilgrim from life should depart? The languor of pain, and the chillness of age.

When a prince to the fate of the peasant has 'Twas thou that once taught me, in accents bewail

yielded, ing,

The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted To sing how a warrior lay stretch'd on the plain,

hali; And a maiden hung o'er him with aid unavailing, With 'scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded,

And held to his lips the cold goblet in vain ; And pages stand mute by the canopied pall: As vain those enchantments, 0 queen of wild Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches numbers,

are gleaming; To a bard when the reign of his fancy is o'er, In the proudly-arch'd chapel the banners are beamAnd the quick pulse of feeling in apathy slumbers. ing; Farewell then! Enchantress! I meet thee no Far adown the lone aisle sacred music is streaming,

Lamenting a chief of the people should fall.

niore.

But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through To lay down thy head like the meek mountain channel, lamb:

Hardships and danger despising for fame, When, wilder'd, he drops from some cliff huge in Furnishing story for glory's bright annal, stature,

Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and hame! And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. And more stately thy couch by this desert lake Enough, now thy story in annals of glory, lying,

Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover Aying,

Spain ;
With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, No more shalt thou grieve me, no more sbalt thou
In the arms of Hellvellyn and Catchedicam.

leave me,
I never will part with my Willie again.

WANDERING WILLIE.

HUNTING SONG.

ALL joy was bereft me the day that you left me,

And climb'd the tall vessel to sail yon wide sea ; O weary betide it! I wander'd beside it,

And bann'd it for parting my Willie and me. Par o'er the wave hast thou follow'd thy fortune,

Oft fought the squadrons of France and of Spain ; Ae kiss of welcome's worth twenty at parting,

Now I hae gotten my Willie again.

When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they were

wailing, I sat on the beach wi' the tear in my e'e, And thought o' the bark where my Willie was

sailing, And wish'd that the tempest could a' blaw on me.

Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring,

Now that my wanderer's in safety at hame,
Music to me were the wildest winds' roaring,
That e'er o'er Inch-Keith drove the dark ocean

faem.

WAKEN, lords and ladies gay,
On the mountain dawns the day,
All the jolly chase is here,
With hawk, and horse, and hunting spear;
Hounds are in their couples yelling,
Hawks are whistling, horns are kpelling,
Merrily, merrily, mingle they,
“Waken, lords and ladies gay.”
Waken, lords and ladies gay,
The mist has left the mountain gray,
Springlets in the dawn are streaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming ;
And foresters have busy been,
To track the buck in thicket green ;
Now we come to chant our lay,
“ Waken, lords and ladies gay."
Waken, lords and ladies gay,
To the greenwood haste away
We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot, and tall of size ;
We can show the marks he made,
When 'gainst the oak his antlers fray'd
You shall see him brought to bay,
“Waken, lords and ladies gay."
Louder, louder chant the lay,
Waken, lords and ladies gay!
Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee,
Run a course as well as we:
Time, stern huntsman! who can balk, .
Stanch as hound, and fleet as hawk:
Think of this, and rise with day,
Gentle lords and ladies gay.

When the lights they did blaze, and the guns they

did rattle, And blithe was each heart for the great victory, In secret I wept for the dangers of battle,

And thy glory itself was scarce comfort to me.

But now shalt thou tell, while I eagerly listen,

Of each bold adventure, and every brave scar, And, trust me, I'll smile though my e'en they may

glisten; For sweet after danger's the tale of the war.

And O! how we doubt when there's distance 'tween

lovers, When there's naething to speak to the heart thro'

the e'e ; How often the kindest and warmest prove rovers,

And the love of the faithfullest ebbs like the sea.

THE BARD'S INCANTATION.

WRITTEN UNDER THE THREAT OF INVASION, IN TED

AUTUMN OF 1804.

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The forest of Glenmore is drear,

It is all of black pine and the dark oak tree, And the midnight wind to the mountain deer

Is whistling the forest lullaby :

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