55.

«Perchance, if those, whom most he lov❜d,
Would call, thy Oscar might return;
«Perchance, the chief has only rov❜d,
«For him thy Beltane,* yet, may burn.

56.

« Fill high the bowl, the table round,
"We will not claim the pledge by stealth;
« With wine let every cup be crown'd,

Pledge me departed Oscar's health. »

57.

« With all my soul,» òld Angus said,
And fill'd his goblet to the brim;
«Here's to my boy! alive or dead,
<< I ne'er shall find a son like him. »

་

58.

Bravely, old man, this health has sped,
«But why does Allan trembling stand?
« Come, drink remembrance of the dead,
«And raise thy cup with firmer hand.

59.

The crimson glow of Allan's face

Was turn'd at once to ghastly hue;
The drops of death each other chase,
Adown in agonizing dew."

>>

(1) Beltane Tree. A Highland festival, on the first of may, held near fires lighted for the occasion..

66.

Thrice did he raise the goblet high,
And thrice his lips refused to taste;
For thrice he caught the stranger's eye,
On his with deadly fury plac'd.

61.

« And is it thus a brother hails

« A brother's fond remembrance here? a If thus affection's strength prevails,

What might we not expect from fear? »

62.

Rous'd by the sneer, he rais'd the bowl:

« Would Oscar now could share our mirth! » Internal fear appall'd his soul,

He said, and dash'd the cup to earth.

63.

« 'Tis he! I hear my murderer's voice, » Loud shrieks a darkly gleaming form; « A murderer's voice!» the roof replies, And deeply swells the bursting storm.

64.

The tapers wink, the chieftains shrink,
The stranger's gone,-amidst the crew
A form was seen, in tartan green,

And tall the shade terrific grew.

65.

His waist was bound with a broad belt round,
His plume of sable stream'd on high;

But his breast was bare, with the red wounds there,
And fix'd was the glare of his glassy eye.

66..

And thrice he smil'd, with his eye so wild,
On Angus bending low the knee;

And thrice he frown'd, on a chief on the ground,
Whom shivering, crowds, with horror see.

67.

The bolts loud roll, from pole to pole,

The thunders through the welkin ring;

And the gleaming form, through the mist of the storm, Was borne on high by the whirlwind's wing.

68.

Cold was the feast, the revel ceas'd;
Who lies upon the stony floor?
Oblivion prest old Angus's breast,

At length his life-pulse throbs once more.

69.

eyes; »

་

Away, away, let the leech essay,

"To

pour the light on Allan's

His sand is done,-his race is run,
Oh! never more shall Allan rise!

70.

But Oscar's breast is cold as clay,
His locks are lifted by the gale;
And Allan's barbed arrow lay,

With him in dark Glentanar's vale.

71.

And whence the dreadful stranger came,
Or who, no mortal wight can tell;
But no one doubts the form of flame,
For Alva's sons knew Oscar well.

Ambition nerv'd young Allan's hand,
Exulting demons, wing'd his dart,
While Envy wav'd her burning brand,
And pour'd her venom round his heart.

73..

Swift is the shaft from Allan's bow:

Whose streaming life-blood stains his side?

Dark Oscar's sable crest is low,

The dart has drunk his vital tide.

74.

And Mora's eye

could Allan move,

She bade his wounded pride rebel :

Alas! that eyes, which beam'd with love,

Should urge the soul to deeds of Hell.

75.

Lo! see'st thou not a lonely tomb,
Which rises o'er a warrior dead?
It glimmers thro' the twilight gloom;
Oh! that is Allan's nuptial bed.

76.

Far, distant far, the noble grave,

Which held his clan's great ashes, stood; And o'er his corse no banners wave,

For they were stain'd with kindred blood.

77.

What minstrel grey, what hoary bard,
Shall Allan's deeds on harp-strings raise?

The song is glory's chief reward,

But who can strike a murd'rer's praise?

Unstrung, untouch'd, the harp must stand,
No minstrel dare the theme awake;
Guilt would benumb his palsied' hand,
His harp in shuddering chords would break.

79.

No lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse,
Shall sound his glories high in air,

A dying father's bitter curse,

A brother's death-groan echoes there.