If on windy days the Raven Gambol like a dancing skiff, Not the less she loves her haven In the bosom of the cliff. Though the Sea-horse in the Ocean Yet he slumbers-by the motion The fleet Ostrich, till day closes When chill night that care demands. Day and night my toils redouble, Never nearer to the goal; Night and day, I feel the trouble Of the Wanderer in my soul. XX. THE SEVEN SISTERS; OR, THE SOLITUDE OF BINNORIE. SEVEN Daughters had Lord Archibald, All Children of one Mother: I could not say in one short day Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, Fresh blows the wind, a western wind, And from the shores of Erin, Across the wave, a Rover brave Right onward to the Scottish strand The gallant ship is borne; The Warriors leap upon the land, And hark! the Leader of the Band Hath blown his bugle horn. Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie. Beside a Grotto of their own, With boughs above them closing, The Seven are laid, and in the shade They lie like Fawns reposing. But now, upstarting with affright At noise of Man and Steed, Away the seven fair Campbells fly, With menace proud, and insult loud, The youthful Rovers follow. Cried they, "Your Father loves to roam: Enough for him to find The empty House when he comes home; For us your yellow ringlets comb, For us be fair and kind!" Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie. Some close behind, some side by side, They run, and cry, "Nay let us die, A Lake was near; the shore was steep; There never foot had been; They ran, and with a desperate leap Nor ever more were seen. Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Stream that flows out of the Lake, Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, |