O high-minded Moray!-the exiled-the dear!—
In the blush of the dawning the STANDARD uprear !
Wide, wide on the winds of the north let it fly,
Like the sun's latest flash when the tempest is nigh!

Ye sons of the strong, when the dawning shall break,
Need the harp of the aged remind you to wake?
That dawn never beam'd on your forefathers' eye
But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or die.

O sprung from the kings who in Islay kept state,
Proud chiefs of Clan Ranald, Glengary, and Sleat!
Combine like three streams from one mountain of snow,
And resistless in union rush down on the foe!

True son of Sir Evan, undaunted Lochiel,

Place thy targe on thy shoulder and burnish thy steel!
Rough Keppoch, give breath to thy bugle's bold swell,
Till far Coryarrick resound to the knell!

Stern son of Lord Kennet, high chief of Kintail,
Let the stag in thy standard bound wild in the gale!
May the race of Clan Gillean, the fearless and free,
Remember, Glenlivat, Harlaw, and Dundee !

Let the clan of gray Fingon whose offspring has given
Such heroes to earth, and such martyrs to heaven,
Unite with the race of renown'd Rorri More,
To launch the long galley, and stretch to the oar !

How Mac-Shimei will joy when their chief shall display
The yew-crested bonnet o'er tresses of gray!
How the race of wrong'd Alpin and murder'd Glencoe
Shall shout for revenge when they pour on the foe!

Ye sons of brown Dermid, who slew the wild boar,
Resume, the pure faith of the great Callain-more!
Mac-neil of the islands, and Moy of the lake,
For honour, for freedom, for vengeance, awake!

Here a large grayhound, bounding up the glen, jumped upon Flora, and interrupted her music by his importunate caresses. At a distant whistle, he turned

and shot down the path again with the rapidity of an arrow. "That is Fergus's faithful attendant, Captain Waverley, and that was his signal. He likes no poetry but what is humorous, and comes in good time to interrupt my long catalogue of the tribes, whom one of your saucy English poets calls

Our bootless host of highborn beggars,
Mac-Leans, Mac-Kenzies, and Mac-Gregors."

Waverley expressed his regret at the interruption. Oh, you cannot guess how much you have lost! The bard, as in duty bound, had addressed three long stanzas to Vich Ian Vohr of the Banners, enumerating all his great properties, and not forgetting his being a cheerer of the harper and barda giver of bounteous gifts.' Besides, you should have heard a practical admonition to the fair-haired son of the stranger, who lives in the land where the grass is always green-the rider on the shining pampered steed, whose hue is like the raven, and whose neigh is like the scream of the eagle for battle. This valiant horseman is affectionately conjured to remember that his ancestors were distinguished by their loyalty, as well as by their courage. All this you have lost; but since your curiosity is not satisfied, I judge, from the distant sound of my brother's whistle, I may have time to sing the concluding stanzas before he comes to laugh at my translation.

Awake on your hills, on your islands awake,

Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the lake!
'Tis the bugle-but not for the chase is the call:
'Tis the pibroch's shrill summons-but not to the hall.

'Tis the summons of heroes for conquest or death,
When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath;
They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe,
To the march and the muster, the line and the charge,

Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire!
May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire!
Burst the base foreign yoke, as your sires did of yore,
Or die like yours sires, and endure it no more!

CHAPTER XXIII.

Waverley continues at Glennaquoich.

As Flora concluded her song Fergus stood before them. "I knew I should find you here, even without the assistance of my friend Bran. A simple and unsublimed taste now, like my own, would prefer the jet d'eau at Versailles to this cascade, with all its accompaniments of rock and roar; but this is Flora's Parnassus, Captain Waverley, and that fountain her Helicon. It would be greatly for the benefit of my cellar, if she could teach her coadjutor, Mac-Murrough, the value of its influence: he has just drank a pint of usquebaugh, to correct, he said, the coldness of the claret.-Let me try its virtues." He sipped a little water in the hollow of his hand, and immediately commenced, with a theatrical air

"Oh Lady of the desert, hail!

That lovest the harping of the Gael,
Through fair and fertile regions borne,
Where never yet was grass or corn.

But English poetry will never succeed under the influence of a Highland Helicon-Allons, courage

VOL. I.

O vous, qui buvez a tasse pleine,
A cette hereuse fontaine,

Ou on ne voit sur le rivage,
Que quelques vilains troupeaux,
Suivis de nymphes de village,
Qui les escortent sans sabots".

15

"A truce, dear Fergus! spare us those most tedious and insipid persons of all Arcadia. Do not, for heaven's sake, bring down Coridon and Lindor upon us."

"Nay, if you cannot relish la houlette et la chalumeau, have with you in heroic strains."

"Dear Fergus, you have certainly partaken of the inspiration of Mac-Murrough's cup, rather than of mine."

"I disclaim it, ma belle demoiselle, although I protest it would be the more congenial of the two. Which of your crack-brained Italian romancers is it that says,

Io d'Elicona niente

Mi curo, in fe de Dio, che'l bere d'acque
(Bea chi ber ne vuol) sempre mi spiacque !*

But if you prefer the Gaelic, Captain Waverley, here is little Cathleen shall sing you Drimmindhu.-Come, Cathleen, astore, (i. e. my dear,) begin; no apologies to the Cean-kinné.”

Cathleen sung with much liveliness a little Gaelic song, the burlesque elegy of a countryman upon the loss of his cow, the comic tones of which, though he did not understand the language, made Waverley laugh more than once.

"Admirable, Cathleen!" cried the chieftain; " I must find you a handsome husband among the clansmen one of these days."

Cathleen laughed, blushed, and sheltered herself behind her companion.

In the progress of their return to the castle, the chieftain warmly pressed Waverley to stay for a week or two, in order to see a grand hunting party, in which

*Good sooth, I reck naught of your Helicon;
Drink water whoso will, in faith I will drink none.

he and some other Highland gentlemen proposed to join. The charms of melody and beauty were too strongly impressed in Edward's breast to permit his declining an invitation so pleasing. It was agreed, therefore, that he should write a note to the Baron of Bradwardine, expressing his intention to stay a fortnight at Glennaquoich, and requesting him to forward by the bearer (a gillie of the chieftain) any letters which might have arrived for him.

This turned the discourse upon the baron, whom Fergus highly extolled as a gentleman and soldier. His character was touched with yet more discrimination by Flora, who observed he was the very model of the old Scottish cavalier, with all his excellencies and peculiarities. "It is a character, Captain Waverley, which is fast disappearing; for its best point was a self-respect which was never lost sight of till now. But now, in the present time, the gentlemen whose principles do not permit them to pay court to the present government, are neglected and degraded, and many conduct themselves accordingly; and, like some of the persons you have seen at Tully-Veolan, adopt habits and companions inconsistent with their birth and breeding. The ruthless proscription of party seems to degrade the victims whom it brands, however unjustly. But let us hope a brighter day is approaching when a Scottish country gentleman may be a scholar without the pedantry of our friend the baron, a sportsman without the low habits of Mr. Falconer, and a judicious improver of his property without becoming a boorish twolegged steer like Killancureit."

Thus did Flora prophecy a revolution, which time indeed has produced, but in a manner very different from what she had in her mind.

The amiable Rose was next mentioned, with the warmest encomium on her person, manners, and mind. "That man," said Flora, "will find an inestimable treasure in the 'affections of Rose Bradwardine, who shall be so fortunate as to become their object. Her