While Allan's soul belied his form, Unworthy with such charms to dwell: Keen as the lightning of the storm, On foes his deadly vengeance fell. From high Southannon's distant tower And Oscar claimed the beauteous bride, Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note! See how the heroes' blood-red plumes It is not war their aid demands, The pibroch plays the song of peace; To Oscar's nuptials throng the bands, Nor yet the sounds of pleasure cease. But where is Oscar? sure'tis late: At length young Allan joined the bride: "Perchance forgetful of the day, "Tis his to chase the bounding roe; Or ocean's waves prolong his stay; Yet Oscar's bark is seldom slow." 66 "Oh no!" the anguished sire rejoined, Nor chase, nor wave, my boy delay; Would he to Mora seem unkind? Would aught to her impede his way? "Oh! search, ye chiefs! oh! search around! Haste, haste, nor dare attempt reply." All is confusion- through the vale Till night expands her dusky wings; It breaks the stillness of the night, Three days, three sleepless nights, the Chief For Oscar searched each mountain cave; Then hope is lost; in boundless grief, His locks in gray-torn ringlets wave. 23 "Oscar! my son! - thou God of Heaven Restore the prop of sinking age! Or if that hope no more is given, "Yes, on some desert's rocky shore My Oscar's whitened bones must lie; Then grant, thou God! I ask no more, With him his frantic sire may die! "Yet he may live, -away, despair! Be calm, my soul! he yet may live; T'arraign my fate, my voice forbear! O God! my impious prayer forgive! "What, if he lives for me no more, Thus did the hapless parent mourn, Till Time, who soothes severest woe, Had bade serenity return, And made the tear-drop cease to flow. For still some latent hope survived That Oscar might once more appear; His hope now drooped and now revived, Till Time had told a tedious year. Days rolled along, the orb of light For youthful Allan still remained, She thought that Oscar low was laid, And Allan's face was wondrous fair; If Oscar lived, some other maid Had claimed his faithless bosom's care. And Angus said, if one year more Slow rolled the moons, but blest at last Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note! In joyous strains the voices float, Again the clan, in festive crowd, Throng through the gate of Alva's hall; The songs of mirth re-echo loud, And all their former joy recall. But who is he, whose darkened brow Glooms in the midst of general mirth? Before his eyes far fiercer glow The blue flames curdle o'er the hearth. Dark is the robe which wraps his form, But light and trackless is his tread. "Tis noon of night, the pledge goes round, The bridegroom's health is deeply quaffed; With shouts the vaulted roofs resound, And all combine to hail the draught. Sudden the stranger-chief arose, And all the clamorous crowd are hushed; And Angus' cheek with wonder glows, And Mora's tender bosom blushed. “Old man!” he cried, "this pledge is done: Thou saw'st 'twas duly drank by me; It hailed the nuptials of thy son: Now will I claim a pledge from thee. "While all around is mirth and joy, "Alas!" the hapless sire replied, The big tear starting as he spoke, "When Oscar left my hall, or died, This aged heart was almost broke. "Thrice has the earth revolved her course Since Oscar's form has blessed my sight; And Allan is my last resource, Since martial Oscar's death or flight." |