a

Was Edward Mansell once;—the lightest heart,
That ever play'd on holyday his part !
The leader he in every

Christmas game,
The harvest-feast grew blither when he came,
And liveliest on the chords the bow did glance,
When Edward named the tune and led the dance.
Kind was his heart, his passions quick and strong,
Hearty his laugh, and jovial was his song ;
And if he loved

gun,

his father swore, 6. 'Twas but a trick of youth would soon be o'er, Himself had done the same some thirty years before."

But he whose humours spurn law's awful yoke,
Must herd with those by whom law's bonds are broke,
The common dread of justice soon allies
The clown, who robs the warren, or excise,
With sterner felons train'd to act more dread,
Even with the wretch by whom his fellow bled.
Then, as in plagues the foul contagions pass,
Leavening and festering the corrupted mass,
Guilt leagues with guilt, while mutual motives draw,
Their hope impunity, their fear the law;
Their foes, their friends, their rendezvous the same,
Till the revenue balk'd, or pilfer'd game,
Flesh the young culprit, and example leads
To darker villany, and direr deeds.

Wild howl'd the wind the forest glades along,
And oft the owl renew'd her dismal song ;
Around the spot where erst he felt the wound,
Red William's spectre walk'd his midnight round.
When o'er the swamp he cast his blighting look,
From the green marshes of the stagnant brook
The bittern's sullen shout the sedges shook !

The wading moon, with storm-presaging gleam,
Now
gave

and now withheld her doubtful beam; The old Oak stoop'd his arms, then flung them high, Bellowing and groaning to the troubled sky'Twas then, that, couch'd amid the brushwood sere, In Malwood-walk

young

Mansell watch'd the deer: The fattest buck received his deadly shotThe watchful keeper heard, and sought the spot. Stout were their hearts, and stubborn was their strife, O'erpower'd at length the Outlaw drew his knife. Next morn a corpse was found upon

the fellThe rest his waking agony may tell !

THE

BARD'S INCANTATION.

WRITTEN UNDER THE THREAT OF INVASION IN THE

AUTUMN OF 1804.1

The Forest of Glenmore is drear,

It is all of black pine and the dark oak-tree;
And the midnight wind, to the mountain deer,

Is whistling the forest lullaby:
The moon looks through the drifting storm,
But the troubled lake reflects not her form,
For the waves roll whitening to the land,
And dash against the shelvy strand.
There is a voice among the trees,

That mingles with the groaning oak-
That mingles with the stormy breeze,

And the lake-waves dashing against the rock ;There is a voice within the wood, The voice of the bard in fitful mood; His song was louder than the blast, As the bard of Glenmore through the forest past.

“ Wake ye from your sleep of death,

Minstrels and bards of other days! For the midnight is on the heath,

And the midnight meteors dimly blaze:

1

[This poem was first published in the “ English Minstrelsy," 2 vols. Edin. 1810.]

The Spectre with his Bloody Hand,'
Is wandering through the wild woodland;
The owl and the raven are mute for dread,
And the time is meet to awake the dead!

“ Souls of the mighty, wake and say,

To what high strain your harps were strung,
When Lochlin plow'd her billowy way,

And on your shores her Norsemen flung ?
Her Norsemen train'd to spoil and blood,
Skill'd to prepare the Raven's food,
All, by your harpings doom'd to die
On bloody Largs and Loncarty.
“ Mute are ye all? No murmurs strange

Upon the midnight breeze sail by
Nor through the pines, with whistling change,

Mimic the harp's wild harmony !
Mute are ye now? — Ye ne'er were mute,
When Murder with his bloody foot,
And Rapine with his iron hand,
Were hovering near yon mountain strand.
“ yet awake the strain to tell,

By every deed in song enrollid,
By every chief who fought or fell,

For Albion's weal in battle bold;-
From Coilgach, first who rollid his car
Through the deep ranks of Roman war,
To him, of veteran memory dear,
Who victor died on Aboukir.

The forest of Glenmore is haunted by a spirit called Lhamdearg, or Red-hand.

Where the Norwegian invader of Scotland received two bloody defeats.

• By all their swords, by all their scars,

By all their names, a mighty spell !
By all their wounds, by all their wars,

Arise, the mighty strain to tell !
For fiercer than fierce Hengist's strain,
More impious than the heathen Dane,
More grasping than all-grasping Rome,
Gaul's ravening legions bither come !"
The wind is hush'd, and still the lake --

Strange murmurs fill my tingling ears,
Bristles my hair, my sinews quake,

At the dread voice of other years“ When targets clash'd, and bugles rung, And blades round warrior's heads were flung, The foremost of the band were we, And hymn'd the joys of Liberty!"

THE PALMER.

“O, OPEN the door, some pity to show,

Keen blows the northern wind ! The glen is white with the drifted snow,

And the path is hard to find.

“No outlaw seeks your castle gate,

From chasing the King's deer,
Though even an outlaw's wretched state

Might claim compassion here.