GLENARA

In silence they reach'd, over mountain and

moor,

To a heath when the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar;

"Now here let us place the grey stone of her

cairn;

Why speak ye no word?" said Glenara the

stern.

"And tell me, I charge you, ye clan of my

spouse!

Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows?"

So spake the rude chieftain. No answer is made.

But each mantle unfolding, a dagger display'd.

"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud,"

Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud;

"And empty that shroud and that coffin did

seem.

Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream."

Oh! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I

ween,

When the shroud was unclosed, and no lady

was seen;

GLENARA

When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn

'Twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn:

"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief, I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous

chief;

On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem. Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"

In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground,

And the desert reveal'd where his lady was found;

From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne

Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn!

DONALD AND FLORA

CIV

DONALD AND FLORA

(HECTOR MACNEILL)

WHEN merry hearts were gay,
Careless of aught but play,
Poor Flora slipt away,
Sadd'ning to Mora:

Loose flowed her yellow hair,
Quick heaved her bosom bare,
As thus to the troubled air
She vented her sorrow.

"Loud howls the stormy West,
Cold, cold is winter's blast;
Haste, then, O Donald, haste,
Haste to thy Flora!

Twice twelve long months are o'er,
Since on a foreign shore

You promised to fight no more,

But meet me in Mora.

"Where now is Donald dear?' Maids cry with taunting sneer; 'Say, is he still sincere

To his loved Flora?'

DONALD AND FLORA

Parents upbraid my moan, Each heart is turn'd to stone: Ah, Flora! thou'rt now alone, Friendless in Mora!

"Come, then, O come away!
Donald, no longer stay;
Where can my rover stray
From his loved Flora!
Ah! sure he ne'er could be
False to his vows and me;
Oh, Heav'ns!-is not yonder he,
Bounding o'er Mora!"

"Never, ah! wretched fair!"
Sigh'd the sad messenger,
"Never shall Donald mair
Meet his loved Flora!
Cold as yon mountains snow
Donald thy love lies low;

He sent me to soothe thy woe,
Weeping in Mora.

"Well fought our gallant men On Saratoga's plain;

Thrice fled the hostile train

From British glory.

DONALD AND FLORA

But, ah! though our foes did flee,
Sad was such victory-

Youth, love, and loyalty

Fell far from Mora.

"Here, take this love-wrought plaid,'

Donald, expiring, said;

'Give it to yon dear maid
Drooping in Mora.
Tell her, O Allan, tell!
Donald thus bravely fell,
And that in his last farewell
He thought on his Flora.""

Mute stood the trembling fair,
Speechless with wild despair;
Then, striking her bosom bare,
Sigh'd out, "Poor Flora!
Ah, Donald! ah, well-a-day!"
Was all the fond heart could say:
At length the sound died away
Feebly on Mora.