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“No, not to these, for they have rest, The mist-wreath has the mountain-crest, The stag his lair, the erne her nest,
Abode of lone security. But those for whom I pour the lay, Not wild-wood deep, nor mountain grey, Not this deep dell, that shrouds from day,
Could screen from treach'rous cruelty.
“ Their flag was furld, and mute their drum, The very household dogs were dumb, Unwont to bay at guests that come
In guise of hospitality.
instantly admitted. Macdonald, while in the act of rising to receive his guest, was shot dead through the back with two bullets. His wife had already dressed; but she was stripped naked by the soldiers, who tore the rings off her fingers with their teeth. The slaughter now became general, and neither age nor infirmity was spared. Some women, in defending their children, were killed; boys imploring mercy, were shot dead by officers on whose knees they hung. In one place nine persons, as they sat enjoying themselves at table, were butchered by the soldiers. In Inverriggon, Campbell's own quarters, nine men were first bound by the soldiers, and then shot at intervals, one by one. Nearly forty persons were massacred by the troops; and several who fled to the mountains perished by famine and the inclemency of the season. Those who escaped owed their lives to a tempestuous night. Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, who had received the charge of the execution from Dalrymple, was on his march with four hundred men, to guard all the passes from the valley of Glencoe; but he was obliged to stop by the severity of the weather, which proved the safety of the unfortunate clan. Next day he entered the valley, laid the houses in ashes, and carried
the cattle and spoil, which were divided among the officers and soldiers.” — Article “ BRITAIN;" Encyc. Britannica New edition.)
His blithest notes the piper plied,
To tend her kindly housewifery.
“ The hand that mingled in the meal,
Meed for his hospitality !
Their red and fearful blazonry.
“ Then woman's shriek was heard in vain, Nor infancy's unpitied plain, More than the warrior's groan, could gain
Respite from ruthless butchery! The winter wind that whistled shrill, The shows that night that cloked the hill, Though wild and pitiless, had still
Far more than Southron clemency.
“ Long have my harp's best notes been gone, Few are its strings, and faint their tone, They can but sound in desert lone
Their grey-hair'd master's misery. Were each grey hair a minstrel string, Each chord should imprecations fling, Till startled Scotland loud should ring,
Revenge for blood and treachery !
TO MISS BAILLIE'S PLAY
'Tis sweet to hear expiring Summer's sigh,
Chief, thy wild tales, romantic Caledon,
*[Miss Baillie's Family Legend was produced with considerable success on the Edinburgh stage in the winter of 1809–10. This prologue was spoken on that occasion by the Author's friend, Mr. Daniel Terry.]
Arcadia, or Nova Scotia
It opens on his soul his native dell,
cairn that hides the hero slain;
Are such keen feelings to the crowd confined, And sleep they in the Poet's gifted mind? Oh no! For She, within whose mighty page Each tyrant Passion shows his woe and rage, Has felt the wizard influence they inspire, And to your own traditions tuned her lyre. Yourselves shall judge — whoe'er has raised the sail By Mull's dark coast, has heard this evening's tale. The plaided boatman, resting on his oar, Points to the fatal rock amid the roar Of whitening waves, and tells whate'er to-night Our humble stage shall offer to your sight; Proudly preferr'd that first our efforts give Scenes glowing from her pen to breathe and live; More proudly yet, should Caledon approve The filial token of a Daughter's love.
FAREWELL TO MACKENZIE,
HIGH CHIEF OF KINTAIL.
FROM THE GAELIC.
The original verses are arranged to a beautiful Gaelic air, of
which the chorus is adapted to the double pull upon the oars of a galley, and which is therefore distinct from the ordinary jorrams, or boat-songs. They were composed by the Family Bard, upon the departure of the Earl of Seaforth, who was obliged to take refuge in Spain, after an unsuccessful effort at insurrection in favour of the Stuart family, in the year 1718.
FAREWELL to Mackenneth, great Earl of the North, The Lord of Lochcarron, Glenshiel, and Seaforth; To the Chieftain this morning his course who began, Launching forth on the billows his bark like a swan. For a far foreign land he has hoisted his sail, Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail !
O swift be the galley, and hardy her crew,
should boil :