IN-LOCHIEL'S WARNING. 1803. WIZARD-LOCHIEL. WIZARD. OCHIEL, Lochiel! beware of the day When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array! For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, And the clans of Culloden are scatter'd in fight. They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown; Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down! Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? 'Tis thine, O Glenullin! whose bride shall await, Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. A steed comes at morning: no rider is there; But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. Weep, Albin! to death and captivity led! Oh weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead; For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, Culloden! that reeks with the blood of the brave. LOCHIEL. Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer! Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, WIZARD. Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn ! Say, rush'd the bold eagle exultingly forth, From his home, in the dark-rolling clouds of the north? Lo! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode But down let him stoop from his havoc on high! For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, LOCHIEL. False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshall'd my clan, WIZARD. -Lochiel, Lochiel! beware of the day; I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring Now in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight; But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where? Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banish'd, forlorn, The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier; Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell! LOCHIEL. -Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale: For never shall Albin a destiny meet, So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat. Though my perishing ranks should be strew'd in their gore, Like ocean-weeds heap'd on the surf-beaten shore, Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe! Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame. IV. THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. UR bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd, OUR sang truce, for set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd, The weary to sleep and the wounded to die. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore, From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart, Stay, stay with us,-rest, thou art weary and worn! A V.-LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. 1804. CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound, Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferry." "Now who be ye would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?" "O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter.— "And fast before her father's men Outspoke the hardy Highland wight, "And by my word! the bonny bird So though the waves are raging white, By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. |