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WIZARD, LWhenehe Lochiedebeware 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 signs 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! Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear, Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight, This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright.
WIZARD. Hal 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
False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshall’d my clan,
I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring
-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 ! And leaving in battle no blot on his name, 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,
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,
By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain; At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.
Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array,
Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track : 'Twas Autumn,-and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.
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!
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ;Put sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.
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
Three days we've fled together; For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather. “ His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover?”. Outspoke the hardy Highland wight,
“I'll go, my chief—I'm ready :It is not for your silver bright;
But for your winsome lady:
In danger shall not tarry ;
I'll row you o'er the ferry.”-
The water-wraith was shrieking;
Grew dark as they were speaking.