G L E N D E S S E R A Y

A N D O TH ER P OE M S

B Y . HAI R P C . S J ( 0 F OR truth -bre athed music soul - like lays

- r e e Not of vain glo y born , nor lov of prais , Bu t we e e - lling pur ly from profound h art springs ,

l i e ee w th e e That d p do n amid lif of things ,

A ee e ear nd singing on , h dl ss thou gh mortal S hould n ever their lone murmur overh ear L E N D E S S E

A N D OT H E R P O E M S

L YR I CA L A N D E L E G fA C

J O H N CA MP BE L L S HA I R P

. D . LA T E P R I N C I PA L O F T H E U N I T E D CO L L EG E S T . A N D REWS A N D , , ,

PRO F ES S OR O F POET RY I N T H E U N IV ER S I T Y O F O X F OR D

F A N I T P A L G R A E R C S . V

LL . D . E D I N B U R G H

1 0M on

M A C M I L L A N A N D C O .

A N D N E W Y O R K

’ TO T H E AUTHOR S EARLY FRI END S

\V H O HAVE SU RV IVED H I M ;

TO TH E FRI END S O F LATER YEARS ;

A N D T ALL \V H O O M I S S H I S P RE S ENCE ,

A N D \V HO U E H I S TH O U HTS I N P RO S E AN D ERSE VAL G , V ;

T HE S E P O E MS

A R E FO R H I S S KE ED I C TED BY , A , D A

E . S .

P R E F A C E

IN carrying out th e labour o f love entrusted to me by thos e most nearly conn e ct e d with this much

e e e e honour d and r grett d Fri nd , my wish has been to pre sent such a selection from his published and manuscript verse as shall do justice to one of the

e - e e o f o u r e most sincer and high mind d po ts c ntury .

a s t h e o f Nothing, verdict Time constantly but vainly

e proves , is more insecure than cont mporary judgments

upon contemporary work in art and literature . I n

” e e e d d , Fame herself, as a great critic observes , ev n “ e sh e wh n seems firmly established , has but a short

” memory . I shall therefore attempt no forecasting

’ o r e stimate o f what Sh ai rp s place in o u r poetry may

e e prov , beyond this , which can be saf ly hazarded that in t h e following po e ms no sensitive mind can fail to find th e note o f what his friend M atthew — Arnold has exc e llently describ e d as the b e e e . e note of a pur , refin d , mod st originality I t is

e w e yond question a voic , not an echo , which hear.

- as Even in his ballad songs , easily that form invites

Sh ai r to imitation , p preserves an individual quality ; v iii PREFACE

a s was nor, devoted he to Wordsworth , do we trace in the lyrics more than a few slight reminiscences o f

e his mann r .

e I n a Garland lik this , chosen , unhappily , from t h e th e silent treasury of dead, where but little cer tainty can be fe lt which pieces might have se e med to the writer worthy preservation , my endeavour in — s e lecting has been to follow the only safe rul e admit such poems alone a s fairly s e em on a level with the

’ e i s poet s b st work . A choice thus made difficult ,

h n e O e e o e . and can hardly p to satisfy very I f, ther

e — e fore , any read rs S cottish r aders in particular

e find omissions to regret , let me ask th ir pardon on the pl e a that I have tried to do what is most loyal to

’ Shai r s th e p memory , and would far rather bear blame o f o n bad taste my own account , than follow those deplorable e xamples o f exhaustive publication by

” which a mistaken Love of L e tters h as too often

wam the s e o e s e se es S pt acr d p t with th m lv ,

’ swe eping - i n t h e r ej ected fragments o f the artist s

e o re th e studio , and irreverently alloying with inf rior

o f pure gold genius . Although some short lyrics from the volume pub

li sh e d by Sh airp in 18 6 4 (under th e titl e of th e nar

’ rat i v e e Kz l ma izoe th e e po m , , which fills larg r portion

o f t h e e it) have been included, yet pr sent book con PRE FACE ix

’ e e t h e e e e e tains in g n ral writ r s matur r work , sel ct d e m e ither fro the pap rs in the hands of his family , or from pi e c e s which have hitherto had only a magazin e

e e e e e publication . Th s latter I have r gard d as b aring,

’ h e e o f Sh ai r s e t . on the whol , s al p approval But his

e e e e e a re e own corr cted copi s , wh r possibl , her fol

i n e t h e lowed ; whilst , cas of manuscripts , which hav e not always r e c e iv e d the last touch e s o f the

e e fe w writer, I have v ntur d to omit a very lines .

Fo r th e e e not s , glossarial and illustrativ , I am h T f e t e . . o mainly ind bted to Rev S inton , M inister

n l rr . d e e G en a a . g y, to Mr B ayn of H el nsburgh . My

a sk wish , at first , was to M r . S inton for a transliteration

into English sounds o f the many Gaelic plac e - nam e s

fe w e e e which occur . B ut a sp cim ns prov d that this

would be w e ll -nigh practically impossible in t h e case

fe s o e e e of languages dif ring d ply in th ir intonation .

b e e e e e e And it may f ar d that the ignorant indiff r nc ,

e d scending sometimes into stupid hostility , with which

the b eautiful Celti c dial e cts yet surviving in our

islands are regard e d by almost all e xc ept thos e to

e - e e whom th y are mother tongu s , would have r ndered

translation o f the sound and t h e significanc e o f

these relics o f the past an almost us eless and u n

valued labour . — I t is also probabl e that some readers in S cotland

— - e especially may find the foot not s over numerous . PREFACE

e a e o f Here I would pl ad that Poetry , in this g facile

e e pros , r quires every assistance to attract and hold

e i ts audience . B tter that fifty should find an expl an a o ne tion superfluous , than find a difficulty unsolved .

’ A s the narrative of Principal Sh ai rp s life is in o e ther and more competent hands , it r mains for me now only to offer some brief words on t h e aim and

o f e o n e character th se poems , th ir sentiment and

e style . Such critical not s , it i s almost a truism to sa e e As y, can never really be ad quat . it is with the s o r so pecial perfume of rose lily, the quality by which

f o f e the melody of M ozart dif ers from that B ethoven , the charm with which the childless Reynolds re nd e re d t h e e o f hi s — e e childr n canvas V rgilian magi c , ev n when inte rpre ted by the mast e r-hand o fCardinal N e w man ; Shakespeare an felicity ; of all th e se things t h e e i n de fi nabl e th e e ssence i s , secret inscrutabl .

Through much of the Palace of Art o ur guides may “ l ead u s ; but to the inmost enchanted fountain

— f —w e e e e the mystery o the Maker e n v r p n trate .

A n d o f e e e be stars a l sser magnitud , if only th y

o wn e stars , shining with light of their , ach has also

e a quality peculiar to itself, an influ nce not rained

e from any oth r. This premised , let me take some o f the following poems , and try if I can put

o f e e o f i nto words some slight shadow this influ nc , PREFAC E xi

s o e th is essence , that those r aders may enter into

e Sh ai r h a s e e them with gr ater facility, to whom p b n

e n d hitherto unknown . And although a poet in the

o wn e e e e e is his b st int rpr t r , yet in this cas there is

h e e e t furth r r ason for a short introduction , that the

o f t h e ways and thoughts H ighland peasantry , remote

e u s —s o e e and ali n from most of , far as the remors l ss

o f o f e e wheels the car civilization have yet spar d th m ,

’ - e were my Fri nd s special care , and form everywhere the moral atmosphere with which the wild landscap e

h i e of s native land is suffused and invest d .

Gl en D essem i s y a l ittle Epic, an Epyllion , as the

o f th e ancients said , H ighlands . I nto this poem , his

e Sh ai r d e most sustained att mpt , p has thrown his e pest “ fe eling on the w e stern mountain regions th e Visions o f th e o f e hills , And S ouls lon ly places throughout

e th e e conn cting landscape , as it unfolds its lf, with the

e e Th e human int r sts of the story . narrative covers som e sixty o r s e v e nty y e ars from th e middl e of th e e e e e ight enth c ntury , setting b fore us , as its principal

e e th e e o f th m , romantic wand rings Prince Charles

o f E dward , whilst passing through that cloud danger

e e e th e e e e e o f and d f at , wh n nobl and gallant l m nts — his charact e r shon e forth most brilliantly contrasted

’ with th e sc e n e o f a Chi e f s re turn from exil e followed

e o f e e e by a s cond gathering clansm n for for ign s rvice , “ e o f and , finally , by a glance at that cl aring the xii PREFAC E

th e e e s o glens which , during last hundr d y ars , has

changed ev e n the v e ry landscap e of th e H ighlands

e e e e whilst incid ntal pictures of Ga lic lif , mann rs , and

characte r add animation to the long and vari e d

t h e h as e tapestry which poet embroider d for us .

e e e e S inc Walt r Scott , who practically rev al d , whilst

h e e e th e in some s ns created , H ighlands for his — — h as o n e e countrymen , any any poet , at l ast put

e e u s e them b for with such vividn ss , such charm , such

i e Sh ai r P nn r truth , as p

Skill in devising plot has not at any time been

common among our poets ; their genius turns much

e e o r more to s ntim nt , character, description ; and it

is in th e se elem e nts that th e strength of Gl en D essemy

b e e will found . The narrative wanders discursiv ly

th e o f th e down stream Time , whilst tracing incidents of th e tale through th e long gl e ns o f North - We ste rn

o f S cotland . I t has something the labyrinthine aspect

o f o f h e r e e . wild N ature , appar nt aimlessn ss B ut throughout i s fe lt o ne intens e fervour o f inte rest in th e land of th e Gael and its romantic natives ; o n e

e f pur and lofty passion o patriotism . I t has the unity

f e o . of sentiment , the unity h art

e as o f I t may be notic d, a fine stroke art , that in

’ Sh ai rp s first version o f this poem a love - episode was

o f given in Cantos V and V I , but rejected in favour

’ the more pathetic and unusual picture o f M uriel s PREFACE siste rly devotion and the noble fervour of fri e ndship betwe e n Angus and Ronald ; which w e may like n to

’ P al am o n the similar groups of Chaucer s and Arcite , the Amis and Amil o f th e b e autiful anci e nt Fre nch

e o r th e e e e e o f leg nd , lov b tw n D avid and Jonathan ,

h e e e which t po t himself r minds us .

D escription of nature forms a large portion o f

’ e e Sh ai rp s work . H is landscap is indicat d by brief

e e e e characteristic f atur s , calling up in succ ssion cl ar images b efore the mind ; but there is little r e alistic

- i s e t . d tail , no attempt at word painting for own sake

And at every instant th e sc e ne is conn e ct e d with

r e e e human life o human f ling . I t thus sugg sts a

e o n picture , yet could not be r produced canvas .

Sh ai r e p , in a word , has followed that eternal a sthetic

a r o r i a ten ess o f canon of pp p , which demands that each the Fine Arts shall rend e r its subject sol e ly through h t e method peculiar to itself.

I f we turn from the manner to the matt e r o f

’ Sh ai r s e e e e p landscap , in two mark d f atures it se ms

fe e to dif r from that of Wordsworth , ass rting in these

w e s a ad its own originality , or, as might also y, its h eren c e th e Th e w of to actual facts . narro area the

English Lake district contrasts with th e wild H ighland

e o f r gions by a finished beauty , a soft richness effect ,

e o n e an am nity , to put it in significant word , which

e can hardly be found elsewher , I think , nearer than xiv P R E FAC E

‘ th e e —ze L a r i m ax u m e — mountain lak s , , , and those

f -VV s e o e t . oth rs , which are the charm N orth I taly I t

‘ th e e th e 10m a s for u m desen a was wildn ss , vast fi , the

e o f e th e e asp rity d solation , glory touch d with gloom

o f th e Sh ai r H ighland world , by which p was pene

t rat e d e th e o f e . This asp ct of soul Natur he has

e fi n e e o n e e e characteriz d in his ssay K bl , wh n speak

“ ' o f h e r e e e ing infinit and unhuman sid , which yi lds

’ ” e e no - symbols to soothe man s y arnings . N owh re , he

s o e o n o f writes , is this born in man as in the midst

t h e e e o f th e e e e o f vast d s rts the earth , or in pr s nc the

s o e mountains , which seem impassiv and unchange

e e e e e s o abl . Th ir str ngth and , perman nc contrast — with man o ffew years and full of trouble th ey are

H e s o indiffere nt to his fe elings o r his de stiny . may i e h e e o r d e e . smile or w ep , may liv ; they car not

e are th e e Th y same in all their ongoings , happ n what

th e e will to him . They respond to sunris s and the h e e . t e suns ts , but not to his sympathi s All same they

e fulfil their mighty functions , car less though no human

” e eye should e ver look o n th m .

H o w diffe re nt 15 this tone from that habitual with

V Vo rdswo rth ' e e e To him , the sympathy b tw n the

h e of outer world and t inner world man , the echo and t h e l e ssons with which th e landscape almost consciously responds to the human heart , the pene t rati on o f all Nature by th e PREFAC E xv

Be i n t h e a i r ing that is clouds and ,

h i s ar e th e c e ntral id e as and convictions of soul .

But the not e struck in th e words abov e quoted

h ai r o w n e - from S p is dominant in his landscap work ,

th e e e and it corresponds with human s ntim nt which ,

— b e e e as must always found in tru landscap ,

e e — wh ther paint d in words or in colours , atmo

e e e o f th e sph e re s e v ry picture . The disapp aranc o ld e o f th e e e a s e H ighland lif ; clans , not ind d th y

e e th e e e o ld e w r in lawl ss y ars of , but in th ir later pastoral phas e ; th e cl e aring o f th e gl e ns unde r a long train of circumstanc e s which I can only not e without

— e e e e o f discussion , all th s f atur s human activity and joy and desolation s e e m to supply a soul to his de lin e

e e ation of sc nery , in harmony with its inn rmost char

th e th e e acter . What memory of lost fri nd was to

e e e e th e o f T nnyson in his gr at lyrical l gy , warmth

e e o f th e t nd r sympathy, chastened enthusiasm for Gael ,

h e W e e e th e is in t poems b e fore us . hav h re second

o f e e e F o r e point diff r nc from Wordsworth . that gr at

e e o r e o wn e po t , we know , mor l ss saw his h art , his own

e e e thoughts and motions , mirror d for him in N atur ;

i n de e d in o fa e not , , that mood somewhat morbid sadn ss

e e e o f o w n which , also , has l nt a charm and int r st its to

e e e th e e —a e som spl ndid po try of latt r days , Child

— e H arold or an Alastor , but with a sanity and br adth o f view w hich lifts hi s landscape abov e m e re subj e ct xfi PREFAC E

e ive imaginings . Wordsworth , sp aking for and from

e e e e hims lf, sp aks most oft n for humanity in g n e ral he h as w e s a e e , might perhaps y, an imp rsonal p rsonality .

e his e - H e learned much , doubtl ss , from simpl hearted

e are h is n ighbours but they rarely part of landscape .

' “ Vex nom z nezn s on a l a s are ; Men , they men within

” e s o a s h i s e e — themselv s , far experi nce w nt , not the

’ m e n o f e e W W stmoreland , w re ordsworth s real theme .

’ e o f Sh ai r s Th re are passages , course , in which p

o wn e e hi s e - e f ling for nature , own deep and larg h arted

i s th e religious faith , reveal themselves . Such strik

Gl en D ess er a C . ing reflection in y ( iii , where he

e o n th e e touch s blankness felt , wh n , in some scene to

e th e e which we have eagerly com , filled with r mem

o f w e e brance a glorious Past , find no trac of human

sentiment o r human d e e d sur viving ; in the B ei a r n

a l n e h - e Wi l der n ess l o N r ; or t e profoundly imagin d .

e e e S o, again , in those poems wher a peculiar t ndern ss o f p e rsonal sympathy giv e s i t s tone to the landscape ;

Tkr ee F r i ends i n Ya r r ow S r i n 1 8 6 as in the , the p g , 7 ,

' an d e B u s/z a boon Tr a znzz r — the lov ly g , distinguished

’ above all Sh ai rp s e arly lyrics by such gracious

e e e e exquisit n ss of sentim nt and m lody , that it should

singly be e nough to ensure him an abiding place in

e e — that uniqu and d lightful company , the song

f o f o . writers Scotland Yet , in his poems this class ,

e e e o n self is n v r the l ading note ; and , a survey

xviii PREFACE

t e en th e Ye t e - c ntury po e ts . thes ballad vers e s (to

th e e e o f th e which Dy ing and W aving Plaid , in th e

o f Gl en D esser ez b e e Fifth Canto y , may add d) , display

’ a measure o f S cott s H om e ric simplicity and down

right current o f narration ; a truly Gre e k abstin e nce

’ ’ e fo r e e Th from d coration d coration s sak . e po e t s

o n e e th e e eye is his obj ct , and his object alon ; v rse

' ' has the peculiar charm o fdz s znl er es l edness ; a quality

b e e which , I think , can only impart d to his work by

e e e e i a soul compl t ly fre d and purified from got sm .

i s th e e e e — e I t pr s nc of such a soul , to touch h re a

e e — w e e e o f de per not , that f l in those strains higher

e mood which close the book although , as with po try o f e th e e e t h e this order is inevitabl , voic com s from

’ inner world o fp e rsonal thought and th e h e art s deep

t e e e h ai r e s e . S fe lings I n th s po ms p , I think , had oft e n before his mind th e words or writings o four highly

e Sh ai r e e lov d and admired Arthur Clough . p, ind d ,

e e o f t h e enjoyed a h althy happin ss faith , which , in “ u s beautiful verse left by Clough , too cruelly

” n — distraught , an d dyi g too soon , may be less per c eptibl e but they both

V es e t Pho ebo l ocu ti pii at digna ,

“ ” upon every lin e o f their soul - songs have s et th e

o f sam e stamp an absolute sincerity .

e e - e w e e Th se larg h arted poems , ho ever , are b st l ft

’ e to sp e ak for themselves . Clough s nam carries us PREFAC E xix

’ e o f Sh ai r s to that r maining section p work , in which ,

o f o wn e again , he may claim a field his , littl laboured

Th e o f by recent English writers . large simplicity

“ ” - e e o f his style , his strongly mark d obj ectiv habit

a re e e e Cna r a el er mind , nowher better s n than in the

P i eces e e e . , as I have v ntured to ntitl them Many

read e rs in England will recogniz e the skill o f por

t rait u re in the B a l l i ol S chol a r s ; to th e faithfuln e s s of

e e which , having mys lf be n privileged not long after

e to enter the same gifted company , I can b ar witness .

I t is , truly , a group drawn with the gracious insight

o f a judgment e ve nly poised betwe e n discernment

—th e o f and sympathy love truthfulness, and the

e o f truthfuln ss that only comes love .

H z nl a n d S t u dents Those , doubtless , who knew the g

Sh ai r u whom p ta ght and commemorated , would find

in hi s thre e monum ental e l egies the same sympathetic

o f e o ri fidelity . N one his work se ms to me more

in al e o wn e g , more entir ly his , than this littl series ; and in the management o f that most diffi cult o f all o u r

— —it i s metres the blank verse eminently successful .

’ Mi cha el e e Wordsworth s magnificent must , ind d, have b e en in his mind when he framed thes e cl e ar-cut and tend e r memorials ; but the disciple was worthy of the master .

Returning now fo r a moment to the leading po e m

Gl en D esser a I t will , I think, be felt that y is eminently xx PREFAC E

’ characteristic both of Shai rp s o wn aspects of

” o f hi s a s poetry , and own work a poet . I n the beautiful volume of Lectures given from th e Chair in

’ n on assi ons a e u i s h as s ad which , p q , it been my honour to follow the Friend too early summoned to the Life

h as U nseen , h e defined the qualities which , to his mind , were central in Poetry “ One of th e first characteristics o f the genuine — and healthy poetic nature i s this i t i s rooted rather

- in the heart than in the head . H uman heartedness i s the soil from which all i ts other gifts originally

Th e e grow, and are continually fed . tru poet is not an eccentric creature , not a mere artist living only for art, not a dreamer or a dilettante , sipping the nectar o f existence while h e keeps aloof from it s deeper

i s hi s interests . H e , above all things, a man among

- fellow men , with a heart that beats in sympathy with

S e theirs , only larger, more open , more ensitiv , more

” : e intense . And again Whenev r the soul comes vividly in contact with any fact, truth , or existence , whenever it realis e s and takes them hom e to itself

o u t h with more than common intensity, of t at meeting of the soul and its object there arises a thrill of joy ,

o f n o f l ow a glow emotio and the expression that g ,

” n e i r i l l . that , i s po try

I n a similar train of thought , putting always the natural expression of the heart as h is first and last PREFAC E xxi

Sh ai r e requirement, p lsewhere draws a decided line ,

— - a e b e line which I venture to think too decid d ,

“ ” tween what he speaks o f as th e pure and the

” — e ornate styles in Poetry, epith ts which , indeed , in

e accordance with the passages just quoted , r veal the style that he loved and practised , but by which th e

e knot of the question is rather cut than loosen d .

Sh ai r H ence it may , I think , be said of p that his bias rendered him in some degree unwilling o r unable to recognize , with all its due force , that Poetry , in

’ Fl oriz el s phrase ,

I s an art

W o es e n u e — e he hich d m d Nat r , chang it rat r but

The art itself i s nature .

I t was doubtless due in some degree to this deep

’ seated mode o f regarding poetry that in Sh ai rp s work we may at times find an apparent carelessness

in the choice of words , a want of finish in style , an absence of that evenness in metrical flow which

e ar the demands . Truly might he have said of

o n o f himself, with D ante , while still the M ount Probation

I o so n un ch e u o mi , q and

A o e s o o ed e m r pira , n t , a qu l modo

’ c i e e o v o si ni fi can do Ch d tta d ntr , g .

- These little lapses , these proofs of natural freshness xxii PREFACE

e — and freedom , we might also b tter say, are perhaps

se e n most in hi s e arli e r v e rs e in re gard to the late r we must re collect that the chords o f t h e harp were

e th e e e . broken , befor minstr l could complete his m lody

ui i u no ri vedrenn / al tr v Q mai p ma e o e . C O N T E N T S

LYRI C S OF H IGH LAND LI FE AN D LAN D S CAPE

LE N . D E SSE RAY O R TH E E UE O F U O EN G ; , S Q L C LL D — P A G E Canto First Th e Chi ef R estored 3 — C o eco Bo th ai n -Ai ridh o r Th e S e s 2 2 ant S nd ; , h aling — Canto Third O u th e T rack o fth e Princ e 36 — Cant o F o urth Th e H o m e by L o cho u rn 4 5 — Canto Fifth The War Summon s 53 — ’ Canto S ixth The Soldi er s Return 68

TH E M O U N TA I N WA LK 88

A D REAM O F GLEN -SALLACH 98

TH E MOOR O F RAN NOCH 100

TH E LA S S O F LOCH LI N N E

’ TH E FOREST O F S LI - G AO I L

RETU RN TO NATU RE

CAI LLEAC H BE rN -v -V R E I CH

DES OLATION

A C R Y F ROM C R AI G -E LLACH I E

BEN CRUACHAN xxiv CONTENTS

O N V I S I T I NG D R U I M-A LIAT H

SCH I HALLI O N

TO R R I D O N GLEN

LOCH TO R R I D O N

P R O G N O STI c

TH E WI LDERN E S S

TH E H I GH LAN D RIVER

LOST ON SCH I H ALLI O N

WILD FLOW ERS I N J U NE

ALT CU CH I N DOU N

’ TH E S H EP HERD S H OUSE

AU T UM N I N T HE H IGHLANDS

Octob er

G arth Castl e

CLATTO

AU CH MO R E

D R U MU AC H D A R

LOWLAN D LYRIC S

TH E B U S H A BOON TRAQ UAI R

TH RI EV E CASTLE

D E V O RG U I LLA OR THE ABBEY TH E SW EET H EART

THEN AND N o w xxvi CON TENTS

PA G E M EMOR I ES

H I DDEN LI FE . I HAVE A LI FE

’ TW I XT GLEAM S OF

ILLU STRATI VE NOTES

I NDEX OF FI RST LI N ES LYR I C S O F H I G H LA N D L I F E

A N D LA N D S C A P E

G LE N D E S S E R AY

O R

THE S E QU E L O F CU LLO D E N 1

CAN TO FI RS T

THE CHI EF RESTORED

E I GHTY years have come and gone

o n S ince the dark D ecember night ,

East and west Glen D es seray shone With fires illumining holm and height A sudden and a marvellous sight N ever Since dread Culloden days 2 The B e ns had seen such beacons blaze

B ut those were lurid , boding bale

e o n t And veng ance the prostra e Gael ,

o n e These the tranquil night b nign ,

1 th e d e e s e e see e end . For ch m and i a of this Po m , Not at 2 B en s e th e e , us d of lofti r mountains . DE SSE RAY GLEN , O R

AS e with a f stal gladness , Shine . One from the knoll that Shuts the glen

Flings down the loc h a b e ard of fire 1 o n t h e brae sides o f Up , homes men

Answer each other, high and higher, Across the valley with a voice

S e Of light that houts , R j oice , Rej oice .

- N or less , within, the red torch pine

And peat - fi re s piled on hearth combine

To brighten rafters glossy-cl e ar

With lustre strange for many a year .

And blithe sounds since the Forty -fi v e

e Unh ard within these homes revive ,

N ow with the pibroch , now with song

In o Driving the night j y along . What means it all ? how can it be

Such sights and sounds o f revelry From a secluded silent race

Break o n the solitary place ?

That music sounds , these beacons burn

’ I n honour of a Chief s return .

11

Long had o u r people sat in gloom

o wn D es s era Within their Glen y,

’ O er- shadowed by the cloud o fdoom

1 B r a esi des e . , hillsid s TH E S EQU E L O F C U LLOD EN

That gathered on that doleful day ,

When ruin from Cullod e n moor

’ o f The hills Albyn darkened o er ,

e S . From east to w st , from shore to hore

N o loyal hom e in gl e n o r strath

’ But felt th e red - coats v e ngeful wrath

o n e o u r Yet most thes glens it fell ,

They that had s e rv e d the Prince so well

Who first the friendless Prince had hailed ,

Mo idart When his foot touched the strand , e And last had Sh ltered , ere he sailed

’

Forever from his Father s land .

I I I

N 0 home in all this glen but mourned S ome loved one laid in battle low

Who from the headlong rout r e turned

e e w o e Reserv d for h avier ,

From their o wn hills with helpless gaze

B eh eld their flocks by spoilers driven

Their roofs with ruthless fires ablaze ,

e t h e Redd ning dark night heaven .

Some o n the mountains hunted down

With their blood stained the heather brown , And many more were driven forth Lorn exiles from their native earth

th e e e While he , g ntl and the brave D E SSE RAY O R GLEN ,

l e d e Lochiel , who th m , doomed to bide

- A life long exile , found a grave

hi s o wn Arkai Far from Loch g side .

And when at last war guns were hushed ,

e And back to wasted farms they far d ,

e With bitt r memories , spirits crushed ,

fe w The , whom sword and famine spared ,

o ld saw Saw the order banished ,

o ld - The clan ties asunder torn ,

’ ’ Fo r their chief s care a factor s scorn ,

e o f And iron rul Saxon law . i One rent to him constra ned to bring ,

” The German lairdie , called a king ;

’ They o er the s ea in secret sent

To their o wn Chi e f another rent

hi s I n far place of banishment .

I V

When forty years had come and gone ,

At length on lone Glen D e sse ray shone

A day like sudden spring new-born

th e From womb of winter dark and lorn , Theday for which all hearts had yearned f With tidings o their Chief returned .

- Yea , spring like on that wintry time ,

The tidings came from southron clime ,

That he their l e al long- exiled lord

N D ESSERAY GLE , OR

The mountains piled benorth Lochiel .

Glen - Mallie and Glen - Camgari e

Resounded to the j oyful cry ,

Westward with the sunset fleeing,

I t roused the homes of green G lenp ean — Glen Kinzie tossed it o n unbarred

’ o er - - I t swept rugged Mam Clach Ard , Start at these sounds the rugged bounds

Mo idart Kn o dart Of Arisaig, , M orar, and y D own to the ocean ’ s misty bourn

i h L h rn By dark Loch N e v s and o c o u .

VI

Many a heart that news made glad ,

b ad H earts that for years scant gladness ,

e But him it gladden d more than all ,

o f D essera The Patriarch Glen y,

D welling where sunny Sh enev al

From the green braeside fronts noon -day

l randsi re My g , Ewen Cameron , then

N umbering three score years and ten .

all o ur Of clansmen still alive ,

N one in the gallant Forty-fi ve H d a borne a larger, nobler part , H ad seen or suffered! more

Thenceforward o n no living heart

Was graven richer store TH E S EQU EL O F CU LLO DEN

Of mournful memories and sublime ,

Gleaned from that wild adventurous time .

V I I

’ t h e For when Prince s summons called, Answered to that brave appeal

e N o nobler h art than Archibald ,

o f e Brother worthy Lochi l .

H im following fain , my grandsire flew To the gathering by Loch Shiel

Thence a foster - brother tru e

Followed him through woe and weal .

e N othing could th se two divide, S Marching forward side by ide ,

o f Two friends , each the other sure ,

lki rk Through Prestonpans and F a M uir . But when on dark Culloden day

e A wounded man Gillespi lay , My grandsire bore him to the shore

And helped him over seas away . S even years went by less fiercely burned

’ ’ The conqueror s vengeanc e gainst the Gael

Gille sp i c Cameron fain returned

s ee hi s To native vale .

Waylaid and captured on hi s road

By the basest souls alive , f H is blood upon the scaf old flowed , I O D ESSE RAY G LEN , O R

r - fi v e Last victim o f th e F o ty .

Thenceforth wrapt in speechl e ss gloom Ewen mourned that lovely head

H is heart becom e a living tomb

e Haunted by m mory of the dead .

N ever more from h i s lips fell

so N ame of him he loved well ,

h hi s But the less e spake , the more heart

’ sad Mid these memories dwelt apart .

VI I I

But when o n lone Glen D esseray broke

o f The first flash that joyous cry,

From hi s long dream o ld Ewen woke w hi I o t s heart leapt high .

n e o n N o ews like that had fall n him ,

Within hi s cabin smoky dim

For forty summers long and more .

Straightway beyond hi s cottage door

’ H e sprang and gazed , the white hair o er

Hi s S houlders streaming , and the last

Wild sunset gleam on h i s worn cheek cast

H e looked and saw hi s Marion turn

H ome from the well beside the burn , “ And cried, Good tidings Thou and I

” Will s ee o ur Chief before we die .

That night they talked , how many a year TH E S EQU EL O F C U LLO DEN u

e H ad gon , since the last Lochiel was here ,

H ow gentle h e arts and brave had be e n

The old Lo c hi el s their youth had seen

e Aye as they spake , mor hotly burned — The fi re within them back returned

Old days s e e med ready to revive

e - fi That p rished in the Forty v e .

That night ere Ewen laid his h e ad

h is h e On pillow, to wife said “ - i s Yule time near, for many a year

- M irth making through the glens hath ceased ,

as But the clan once more , in days of yore

h ‘ Y ” Shall hold t i s ul e with game and feast .

I X

’ 0 N ext morning, long ere screech day , Old Ewen roused hath ta ’ en the brae

With gun on shoulder, and the boy,

o f Companion his toils and j oy,

The dark-haired Angus by his Side

’ ’ 0 O er the black braes Glen Kinzie , on Am ong the mists with slinging stride

They fare , nor stayed till they had won

- - C orrie na Gaul , the cauldron deep

Which the Lo chi el s were used to keep

e A sanctuary where the deer might hid ,

An d undisturbed all year abide . I Z D E SSERAY GLEN , O R

N o t a cranny, rock , or stone

I n that corrie but was known

’ To my grand sire s w e ird grey eye All the lairs where large stags lie

Well he knew, but passed them by ,

- For stags were lean ere yule time grown .

saw Crawling on , he appear

’ O er withered fern o n e twinkling ear — Hi s gun is up the crags resound

Startled , a hundred antlers bound Up the passes fast away

Lifeless stretched along the ground , l o n e o d . Large and sleek, hind lay

o n Straight they laid her their backs ,

’ o e r e And the hills between th em bor ,

e Up and down by rugg d tracks ,

- Sore wearied , ere beside their door

They laid her down A bonny b e ast

” To crown our coming yule - tim e fe ast 1 A S e o n e night cam down scour and gl n ,

- - h l n From rough S cour hoshi brac ca e .

X night they slept the slumber sound

waits o n labour long and sore

day he s e nt the message round

1 k S cou r e . , high proj cting roc TH E S EQU EL O F C U LLOD EN 13

Th e glen from door to door — On to the n e ighbouring glens G lenp ean

The summons hears , and all that be in

’ Kin z i s — Arkai Glen e bounds Loch g , stirred

From shore to Shore the call h as heard u To Clunes it passed , from toun to to n , 2 That all th e people mak e them boun

’ - e - Against the coming N ew Y ar s D ay ,

3 T o gather fo r a shinty fray

D e sse ra Within the long Glen y, And meet at night round Ewen ’ s board

o f e I n honour Lochiel restor d .

X I

Blue , frosty, bright , the morning rose

’ That N ew Year s day above the snows ,

e o f V iling the range S cour and Ben ,

That either Side wall in the glen . But down on the Strath the night frost keen

th e Had only crisped long grass green ,

Arkai o ar When the men of Loch g , boat and

At Kinloch leaving, sprang to shore .

. Crisp was the sward beneath their tread

e As they w stward marched , and at their head

The Piper o fAchnacarry blew

1 u n w To . , farm , or to nship

‘ 2 3 ‘ B onn e S /z i n t r a see N o te at end . , r ady. y f y , I D ESSE RAY O R 4 GLEN ,

The thrilling pibroch of D onald Dhu .

That challenge the Piper o fthe Glen

As proudly sounde d back again

hi s e From biggest pip , till far off rang

The tingling crags to the wild war-clang

Of t he pibroch that loud to battle blown

The Cameron clan had for age s known .

- as e To day, other, yet the sam , I t summons to the peaceful game From the braeside homes down trooping come

o f D e ssera The champions Glen y, some I n tartan philabegs arrayed

The garb which tyrant laws forbade ,

But still they clung to, unafraid

- Some in home woven artan trews , a Rough spun, and dyed with v rious hues

’ ’ o r By mother s hands maiden s wrought ,

I n hues by n ative fancy taught 1 But all with hazel c amags slung

e ’ Their Should rs o er, men old and young ,

’ With mountaineer s long slinging pace ,

- M ove cheerily down to the trysting place .

X I I

Yonder a level space o fground

Two miles and more from west to east ,

1 Ca mo the G e — S C . . g , a lic for a club . J

I 6 D E SSE RAY GLEN , OR

e e And many a f arless driv r bold ,

To e e win r nown , was sudd n rolled H eadlong in bid quagmire And many a stroke of stinging pain

’ I n th e close press was given and ta en

o r o r Without guile ire .

So all the day the clansmen played, 1 t ul z ie An d to and fro their swayed ,

Untired , along the hollow vale , And neither Side could win the hail

But high the clamour, upward flung

Along the precipices rung,

And smote the snowy peaks , and went

fi rm am ent Far up the azure .

All day, too , watching from the knowes ,

Stood maidens fair, with snooded brows , And bonny blithe wee bairns

sa Those watching whom I need na y,

e These yeing now their daddies play , 3 th e N ow jinking round cairns .

X I V

e The loud game f ll with sunset still , And echo died on strath and hill

’ As l oami n g deepened , each side the glen ,

1 2 Tu l z i e fl e H a i l , scuf . , goal . 3 i nki n e e e . l g , turning and darting to scap b ing caught TH E S EQU EL O F C U LLOD EN 17

e t h e e o f H igh abov hom s men ,

o f e e Blinks kindling fires wer se n ,

’ Such as shin e out upon Hallowe en

Single fires o n rocky sh elf

Each s everal farm - house for its elf — H as light e d th e re in w av e ring line

Eith e r Side the vale th ey Shin e

n e From dusk to daw , to blaz and burn

’ I n w e lcom e o f their Chief s re turn .

e But broader , brighter than the r st ,

e e - Ark ai - D own b sid Loch g head , From a knoll ’ s commanding crest

e r e d One gr at beacon flaring , As with a wedge of splendour clove

Th e e o f e blackn ss the vault abov .

And far down the quivering w at e rs flung O Forward its steady pillar f light ,

T o e tell , more cl ar than trumpet tongue ,

D s s ra h r - Glen e e y hails e Chief to night .

XV

e e The whil the bonfir s blazed without,

With logs and p e ats by keen hands fe d — Children and men a merry rout

e e r e I n v y hom the board was Spread .

’ e e e On ev ry h arth the fir s burned cl ar, And round and round abundant cheer D E SSER AY G LEN , OR

Passed freely for the m e n who came

From distant glens to j oin the game . — Freely that fe ast fl o wed most o f all

I n th e o ld hom e at Sh en e v al

There Ewen Cameron , seated high ,

Welcomed a various company .

— m e n h i s Flower of the glens old , peers ,

White with th e snows of seventy years

e a e And clansmen , strong in middl g ,

’ And sprightly youths in life s first stage

hi s - D own to own bright dark haired boy ,

Who , seated in a chimney nook , To his inmost bosom took

e o f o f The impr ss that night j oy .

XV I

H e fe asted them with the venison fine

e e - - H ims lf had brought from Corri na Gaul ,

e And sent around the ruddy win ,

H igh spiced , in antique bowl

e Rare wine , which to the West rn I sles

o f Ships France in secret bore ,

’ e e o e r th e e Th nc through Skye and Kyl s ,

Brought to the mainland shore .

Far back that night th e ir converse ran

T o the o ld glories o f the clan

e The battles , where in mortal f ud TH E S EQ UEL O F CU LLOD EN 19

’ Clan Cam e ron gainst Clan Ch at t an stood ;

e e o f e And gr at S ir Ew n , huge fram ,

’ th e e e M id loyal hearts for most nam ,

H o w h e , yet a boy, gave his heart

’ To th e King s cause and gre at M ontros e

den H ow hand to hand , in tangled

’ H e closed with Cromwe ll s staunch e st m e n

And conqueror from the d e ath - grips ros e

H ow the war- summons o f D unde e

I n hoary age h e sprang to m e e t

Dash e d with his clan in h e adlong charge

’ D own Killi e c ranki e s clove n gorge

e e To victory d adlier than def at .

At th e se o ld histori e s inly burned — The heart o f Ewen back return e d

o f - e The vigour long vanished y ars ,

’ A youth he stood mid hoary peers .

Even as in autumn you hav e s e en

S ome anci e nt pine alon e look gre en

’ ’ M id all th e wast e d wood s decay

e S ome pin , that having summer long

it s e e Repaired v rdur , fresh and strong

th e e Waits bl ak wint e r day .

XVI I

’ As Ewen s spirit caught the glow

th e o f a o Cast from heights long g , 2 0 D E SSE RAY GLEN , OR

H is own o ld memories b e cam e

Within hi s heart a living flam e

th e And , bursting reserve that long

e e e Had k pt th m down , brok forth in song .

What an August morn that was

’ 1 Think na ye o ur h e arts w e re fain

n Cu ernan Branki g down the Pass ,

’ To G l en fi nnan s trysting- plain ;

2

e t h e e — e Wh re gl n lies open , wher

Spre ad the blue wav e s o f Loch Shiel

e e e Leal st hearts alon were ther ,

e Mo idar t e K ppoch , , brave Lochi l ;

3

Th e re wa s young Cl anran ald tru e Crowding all round S cotland ’ s H eir

Him t h e , Lad with bonnet blue

h e And t long bright yellow hair.

4

Kingly look that morn h e wore

o u r I n H ighland garb arrayed ,

e C By his sid the broad laymore ,

’ O er his brow th e whit e cockad e

1 F a i n ea e , g r. T H E SEQ U E L O F CU LLODEN 2 I

5

e e e h e e W ll I w n , looked with prid On that gathering by Loch Shiel

e th e e e o l d e As whil v t ran , and tri d ,

T u lliba rdi n e e e e , tru as st l ,

6

On th e winds with dauntl e ss hand

e Flung the crimson flag unfurl d ,

Pl e dge that w e t o death would stand

’ F o r h e h e t Stuarts gainst t world .

7

e e j eani Cam ron gazed apart ,

e e o ur e e Wh r peopl crowned the bra ,

Proudly beat her gallant h e art

At the sight Of that brav e day .

8 “ t h e e th e e h Loud shouting shak s art ,

th e Far away mountains boom ,

A S th e Chi e fs and Clansm e n forth

March to victory and to doom .

e e The whil he sang , in f rvent dream

’ Th e old man s e ye b eh eld th e gleam

Of yet another Forty -fi v e

e Along those w stern shores revive ,

And Mo ida rt mountains re - illum e

The glory , but no more the gloom . 2 2 D ESSE RAY O R GLEN ,

CA N TO SE CON D

1 BO THAI N -AI R I D H O R TH E SH ALI G S ; , E N

WH EN from copse, and craig, and summit Comes the cuckoo ’ s lonely cry D own the glen from morn to midnight

are . S ounding, warm June days nigh

At that cry , the heart of Allan

t h e S e Turns towards healings gr en , Wh ere for ages every summer

Me n h ani bh al of S e e have been . 2 S e e Bonny healings , green and bi ld d ,

e Where there meet two corri burns ,

- - -a -bh e ala i ch Ault na noo and Ault ,

Pouring from high mountain urns .

Small gre en knolls o fpasture fringing

- - Skirts of darksome Mam clach ard ,

Scour-na - naat and S cour-na- c i e ch a

Westward ke eping aw eful guard .

e o ne Allan th n , grave glance round him

e East and w st the long glen cast ,

1 S nea l i n s e z th e s e g , summ r gra ing high on hills ; also , h p ’ ’

e e B i el dea e e e . h rd s huts , chal ts . , sh lt r d

D E SSE RAY GLEN , O R

Calls aloud with cheery crow .

Yonder Alpine har e b e fore them

Canters lazily away,

With her coat snow-white in winter

N ow returned to dark -blue grey ;

o n Then aloof, hind legs rising,

Perking ears in curious mood , “ e e Li stens , whenc have these intrud rs Come to scare my solitude ? ”

-b D ownward the hen arrier Stooping, To and fro doth flit and wheel

e Stealthily along the h ather ,

H unting for his morning meal .

I I I

th e su n Westward sloped , ere reaching

th e H illocks by meeting burns , Men begin last summer ’ s bothies

Thatching , with dry heath and ferns .

e e Wiv s the while , small ingles kindl ,

Spread fresh heather beds o n floor

Fo r the milk and cheese make ready

- 1 Roomy sconce in ben most bore .

Angus and h i s kilted comrades

- I n the hill burn plash and shout ,

All about the granite boulde rs

1 S con ce e e : B en -m ost bor e e e , sh lt r , inn rmost corn r. TH E S EQU E L O F CU LLODEN

1 Guddling for t h e speckl e d trout .

Well - a -day but life was bonny With our folk in those Old days m Children barefoot , orn and even ,

Wand e ring high o n b rack e ny braes

Lips and faces purpl e d over

With th e rich abundant fill

e e - e Of bla , wortl , and crow b rries , Gathered wide from craig and hill Nature ’ s own free gladness Sharing

o f Through the sweetest the year ,

With the red grouse crowing round them ,

And far-heard the b e lling d e er

e From b hind , the mountain quiet Blending with the lilting cry

Of the women hom e ward calling

‘2 D own their goats and dauted kye .

I V

I t b e fell o n e tim e o f shealings

e Allan with his young st boy ,

e Angus , high abov the bothies

Wandered on some hill - employ ;

When from top o f Ault - a - bh e ala i c h

e Looking , they beh ld the bowl ,

1 Gu ddl i n r g , g oping .

D a zi ted k e e e -o n e y , favourit , doat d cattl . 2 6 D E SSE RAY G LEN , O R

- Caldron shaped and dark in Shadow ,

i - - Far beneath , of Corr e na Gaul .

” - e Was not that the hiding place , cri d

th e Angus , starting at name ,

e e e Wher ye r fuged , when Prince Charli

Guiding , through these hills ye came

” Many a place we had for hiding, “ e Answ red Allan , first and last

m e th e e Tell all way y travelled ,

e e e . Whence the Princ came, whith r pass d S Well , dear laddie ith ye will it ,

I will t e ach thee what b e fell

After that the Prince bade Flora , l And the shores of Skye farewe l .

V

As N ev i sh he steered up dark Loch ,

s et And foot on mainland shore ,

e e Deadly foes w re clos behind him ,

D eadly, keeping watch before .

S eaward , every frith and islet , Girt an d swept by hostile sail

o n e o f e Landward , long line sentri s ,

o n e . Post post , kept hill and dal

l o w o n H igh and , glen and summit ,

l en fi n n an Lo ch o urn From G to ,

All the day saw guards patrolling , TH E SEQU EL O F C U LLO DEN

-fi re s All th e night re d watch burn .

Fast across t h e hills o f M orar

Sp e d the Princ e to B o rro dal e

e e That leal H ouse , wh n first he land d ,

’ We lcomed him with glad all hail .

There b e fore his e y e s the bonny — H omest e ad lay a blacke ned heap

’ t h e o e rh an in M id craigs and woods g g ,

Th e o ld Laird in hiding d e ep

e With his sons kept . Thither guid d ,

Lay the Prince in safety th e re

e For three days , till fo men prowling

e Close and closer girt th ir lair .

Then thes e leal M acdonalds longe r

e e Could not th ir lov d Prince conceal ,

’ H e must l e ave Cl an ran ald s country

F o r th e o f e mountains Lochi l .

S oon to Cam e ron o f Gl enp ean

Cam e th e word that he must wait

e o n e For the Princ , on lone hill , and

Guid e him through that desperate strait .

o u r To toun , came D onald crying ,

’ Up and help the Prince with me ,

Fo r h e kn e w o fth e se hill -passes

e I had b tter skill than he . 2 8 D ESS E R AY O R G LEN ,

V I

“ th e Long we kept cairn of trysting ,

But non e living came that way

Then to s e e k them through th e mountains

Far we wande re d summer day

I nto midnight deep w as darkeni ng

e l o w Wh n down faint forms appear, 1 Through a slack between the mountain s

e Moving dim lik straggling deer .

e Who th y might be , all unknowing,

D own w e hurri e d to th e val e

Forward one th e n st ept to m e e t u s

Who but brave Gl e naladal e P

wa s Glad he to find no stranger,

Gl e n ean e But p , whom he kn w ;

Glad th e Princ e to greet a Cameron

e Long since prov e n leal and tru .

e Two days after dark Cullod n ,

’ ’ A night neath D onald s roof he lay ,

“ Wh e n in haste for Mo idart making

rk i Came he by Loch A a g way .

V I I

‘ e a re Come , thric welcome fain

e o u r Plac lives within thy hand ,

1 l a ck w tw S e e ee o . , op ning b t n hills TH E SEQU E L O F C U LLODEN

’ e e e e Through th s fires , wh re r you lead us ,

’ W e will follow thy command ,

Lo w t h e e Princ to D onald whispered ,

Fo r - fi re s e e the watch blaz d an ar,

And the s e ntry- voic e s answe ring

e e Each to oth r , smot our ear .

u s 1 o u r Trust , Prince best endeavour

\V e e o u will giv to bring y through ,

th e ar e But paths rough and rocky ,

’ t h e o f And hours darkness few .

e Th n , as leaders , I and D onald

’ O n thro darkness groped and crawled , 1 -b D own black moss ags gashed and miry ,

e e - e Up gr at corri s , torrent scrawl d

e Till all faint with toil and trav l ,

As around t h e watch -fi re s wan e

I n the first grey o fthe dawning

w e Yonder summit attain ,

D e s sera S outhern wall of long Glen y, — Mam nyn - Callum that round hill

e - There , like har s far hunted , squatting

Clos e w e kept all day and still ;

e r e d- Ey ing the coats beneath us , H ow like wasps they swarm and spread w m w From their camp ithin the eado ,

e -Ark ai - e Pitch d beside Loch g h ad .

1 - YVI oss lz a s e g , pits or gash s in a boggy moor . D E SE RAY GLEN S , O R

s o Gle n ean th e Though near, p bade

Prince take rest, and nothing dread ,

For yestreen all Mam nyn - Callum

Th e y had searched from base to head .

V I I I

- - c i e ch a Sundown over S cour na ,

e e o ut Forth we cr p from our lair,

Just as the watch - fi res rekindling

’ h e l o a mi n Leap up through t g air.

- n a - S arden On the face of M eal p ,

’ e e N eath the s ntries clos , we keep

Westward , down yon cliff descending

- - e e To Glen Lochan Anach d p .

t h e o f the w e At darkest night ,

o wn - e Crossed our Glen h ad , and heard E erie voices of the howlets

- - H ooting from dim Mam clach ard .

e -a -bh eal ai ch Crawling th n , up Ault , Just at this spot—waning dim

’ O er the mountains of Gl e ngarry

’ - e Ghost like hung the cr scent s rim .

1 When we turned the bealach , downward

By yon rocky rough burn - head

With this right hand , through the darkness

e H im , our darling Princ , I led .

1 B ea l a c/z w , narro pass .

2 D E SS ERAY O R 3 G LEN ,

N ot o ne murmur or complaint ; m Though for any days , the choicest Fare he had his want to fill

Wa s scant oatmeal , cold spring water ,

And wild berries from the hill .

S o in Search o f food I ventured

e D own to wher some shealings were ,

all But I found them abandoned ,

And the bothies empty and bare .

Baffled , I returned and brought them

Forth from o ur dark cavern -bed

And , though full the daylight , led them

Warily to a mountain head ,

’ ’ That o erlo ok e d Glen - qu o i ch s dark waters

sa w e w There , what we clos belo

- But a camp with red coats swarming, And a troop in haste to go

Up the very hill we lodged in i

All e about th y searched that day ,

s o Close we cowered , and heaven guided

n ot That they came where we lay.

Then the Prince said, N ot another

Sun shall ris e ere we shall make Trial to pass the chain of sentries

’ e Life upon that hazard stak . TH E SEQ U E L O F C U LLODEN 33

X

’ l oam i n e G f ll , we rose and started

From our lair, a stealthy race

’ O e r e LOn - that str am and flat meadow ,

e U p yon wrinkl d mountain face ,

D ru im -a- — chosi , from that summit

e - fi re S e n , a watch wildly burned

o u r I n the glen , across pathway

Westward to the Side w e turned

s o And close we passed it , voices

Of the sentinels reached o ur ear

Lo w e we crouch d , and round the hillocks

o f Crawled , like stalkers the deer .

— - Up a hill fl ank ( D ru im -a chosi Will not let us now discern)

’ S crambling up a torrent s bed , we

- - W on the ridge o f Leach na fearn .

o u r There , in descending pathway

e V D own b fore us , full in iew

-fi re s Watch twain in grey dawn flickered ,

w a That y we must venture through . ‘ ! Then I said , Prince ere you venture , Let me first the passage prove

And , with that , few steps to westward

’ Crept adown a torrent s groove . There I watched till warders pacing

e Passed ach other, back to back D D ESSE RAY 34 GLEN , OR

e e e e e Swift , but mut , I pass d b twe n th m ,

e e t h e e - e S afe r turn d s lf sam track .

e e e And we all k pt clos in Sh lter,

Till again they fac e to face

Me t e e e and pass d ach other , l aving,

e Back to back, an mpty space .

e w Quick I dart d for ard , whispering,

’ o u r e e N ow s tim , Princ follow me

Fe w bri e f breathless mom e nts crawling 1 —w e e D own the corrie w re free .

e t h e o f e e O ut b yond chain s ntri s ,

- e - D own by Lochan doir dhu ,

’ 2 t h e e o f N eath bi ld birks and alders ,

e - Past the mouth of Corri hoo ,

Up t h e rock of I nnis - c ra iki e

Just a s the last star gr e w pale

o f - a - v o rra r On the brow S cour ,

e - s c o rridal e Reached we Corri .

X I

e - There in rocky den saf Sheltered ,

O th e w e lcome bl e st repose

e Tim at last for food and slumber ,

Respite from relentl e ss fo e s .

e e Wh n a day and night wer over ,

W e o n e arose and wander d ,

' 2 1 i l d S e e Cor r i e see e . . B e . , not , p 7 , h lt r TH E SEQU E L O F CU LLODEN 3 5

o rth w a rd th e N to Seaforth country ,

T rr i o n “e st from long Gl e n m o st .

e e w e Th n , I kn my work was end d ,

r o m e e e F o thos e hills t w r strange ,

’ And a clansman o f Glengarry s

Br e d amid that mountain range

’ O n e who had shar d Cullod e n battle

i e b e Was at hand a gu d to .

e t h e e e Th n Princ turn d round , and gazing

ce e w m e O n my fa , spak ords to

‘ Allan I what can I repay th e e

For thy service don e s o w e ll ?

Naught but thanks are min e t o r e nder

’ - e e e e e . H art d p thanks , and long far w ll

h i s o wn e I n he grasp d this right hand , — Th e Princ e grasp e d i t nev e r since

N e v e r while I bre athe shall mortal

1 e Grasp this hand which touch d the Princ e .

’ e th e e e Think na y t ars cam fa ing ,

Think na ye my heart was sair,

e Watching him d part , and knowing

” s ee I should his face nae mair .

1 S ee e end Not at . D E SSE RAY G LEN , OR

CAN TO TH I RD

O N TH E TRACK OF TH E PRINCE

I

D OWN N ev i sh to Loch went the day , And all that night young Angus lay ’ — Tween dre am and waking h e art on fi re With inextinguishable desire

To trace each step the Prince had gone

—o n From M orar to Glengarry, ,

’ O er rifted peak , and cove profound ,

e o f Exploring ev ry inch ground ,

Until he reached th e famed ravine Through which he passed the guards between

Fo r every spot the Prince had trode

To him with sacred radiance glowed .

I I When the first streaks of morning broke

b m e A ove Glengarry ountains , wok

hi s Young Angus from heather bed ,

Stole through the bothy door, and said N 0 word to any of the way

H im listed take that summer day . T HE S EQU EL O F C U LLODEN 37

Up by t h e Ault - a -bh eala i ch burn

h e e Lightly w nt , and at the turn

- - Of waters , plunged down C orrie na Gaul ,

- That dark cavernous cauldron bowl ,

’ - e e v e O er canopi d , morn and , with mist,

Th e r e in h e sought the cave h e wist

H i s father point e d out y e str e en

e h e Where h e er while with t Prince had been .

e - h e e Thenc down the corrie burn bor ,

An d ti p o n preci pice d S cour-a - vh o r

S ought where they refuge d . Then in haste

’ o er H e hurried the low wide waste ,

LOn O The , er which the wanderers ran

That night , when their last march began To pass the sentries then he hied

’ U p D ru im ah o sh i s rugged side

But o n hi s spirit solemn awe

t h e saw Fell when , summit won , he

Kn o dart u - To westward y peaks p crowd ,

’ a d - c o rri ed— S carred , j gg , black some in cloud ,

- S ome by slant sunbursts glory kissed , — Beyond through fl e eces broad of mist

e e Like splint r d spears weird peaks of Skye ,

e e And many an isl he could not nam ,

That looming into vision cam e

’ From ocean s outer mystery . D E SSE R AY G LEN , O R

I I I

e Long Angus stood and gaz d, and when

e e e D ownward , he s arched the farth r gl n ,

The west e ring su n toward oc e an b ending

From t h e hill edge slant rays was s e nding

’ o e r - a - c hli v e Backward gnarled S cour ,

e e o f - - e And gre n r flanks Leach na f rn .

We ll Angus knew the Prince had passed

e The guards up th re , and keenly cast

Hi s eye s all over them to discern Some crevice in their mountain wall

’ Up which the wanderer s feet could crawl .

I V

e are e Three burns th re , as I hav seen ,

- — Poured from that hill Sid e o n e between

-a -chli v e e - - e S cour and L ach na f rn ,

o f - Called the people the M arch burn ,

Because i t s ch annel doth divide

Rough Kn o ydart from Glengarry side

o ne - S c o ua i c h And , Ault p , that doth leap , — The B e som burn down the middle ste ep Westmost of all a stream that drains

- a - chliv e The severed peaks of S cour , O Called from ld time the Burn of brains ,

Through the rough hill -fl ank down doth drive

D E SSE RAY G LEN , O R

This d e sert sa w what h e re befell

o r S B ut hath no voice ign to tell ,

e And the rocks ke p their secret well .

As thoughts like th e s e athwart him s wept

sat e Fain had he him down and w pt .

V I

w as But day westering, and the cloud

D own o n the glooming summits bowed

’ Brought o er h i s heart a sudden fear

e e Of night in that lon place aust re .

Then he arose in haste , and clomb

The steep in panting hop e to win

On the other side some human home ,

e e O r even some cave to sh lt r in .

a s e S oon he crossed the highest cop ,

saw S H e , cleaving the northern lope ,

A birchen corrie with i t s burn “ N o w . bare , now hidden Thou my turn

” “ Wilt serve, h e cried with thee for guide ,

’ ’ ” I ll go where e r thy waters glide .

S oon as hi s eage r footstep trode

o n th e s o d Beside it , grassy ,

The pleasant murmur in hi s e a r

W a s like a voice of human cheer, And seemed to lift away the load

That all day long had ove rawed TH E S EQU E L O F C U LLO DEN 4 1

And weigh e d h i s spirit down with stre ss Of too prevailing loneliness

e Co rri eb ei h Lightly he trod down g ,

Th e o f burn companion his way ,

N ow by the greensward winding, gliding ,

t h e e e N ow in birch n coppic hiding ,

Th e n plunging forward and chafing far

e e Und rneath som crumbling scaur,

Anon in daylight r e - appearing

e To greet him with a sound of che ring, Till it reached far down in a glimmering pass

1 A little lochan , marged with grass

H e watched the small burn st e al therein

it s And rest for wandering water win ,

And the thought arose within his breast ,

” Haply I too may here find re st .

V I I

Then turning round , small space aloof,

Under a bield of the birchen wood ,

H e sa w a bothy o f wicker woof

e With bracken and h ather for its roof,

o f Like lair wild beast, rough and rude .

’ e e e A moment s spac , he paus d b fore The opening dark that seemed a door — And gazed around , indistinct and dim

1 /z n k Loc o e . , small la 2 D E SE RAY 4 GLEN S , OR

The black crags vagu e in vapour swim

N aught cl e ar in all t h e glimmering pass

- e m o f But the lochan gl am with its arge grass ,

And the flash o f th e gre at Whit e wat e rfall

e n D own thund ring from the orthern wall ,

’ And filling with o e rawe i ng roar

e e The sol mn pass forevermor .

0 e o r N tim to look listen long,

E re forth there st e pt from th e bothy door

o ld e e An man , tall , r ct , and strong

e e h e e Thr escore y ars had se n or more ,

o f - fi ve Survivor the Forty ,

o f o ld e One the Gl ngarry clan , Who wont not from his lair to drive

Any wand e ring man

e H e kindly w lcomed Angus in ,

h i o r U nquestioning of s home kin .

V I I I

t h e But when lad , with bashful face ,

Told how he came to that lone place ,

That he had wand e red since break of day

o f D es s e ra From the shealings Glen y,

’ — One o f Lo chie l s own people s o n Of veteran Ewen Cameron

At hearing of that well - known name

’ Murdoch Ma c don n ell s cheek like flam e T H E SEQU E L O F C U LLOD EN 4 3

e e h e Bright n d , and in hi s hand took

’ Th e t h e e - lad s , and to ingl nook

th e l e d Of bothy him , saying aloud “ o f e Son my battle fri nd , how proud

Am I to bid th e e welcom e h e re F o r e e m an . him thy S ir , tru sincere

e e w e Years hav gone by, sinc two met ,

e m e h e be eld Lik , must touched with ,

B ut till th e Gael th e ir Princ e forget

e I n honour will his nam be held .

l X

’ t h e e o e r U pon settl seated ,

e e e e That ancient tal th y w nt once mor , And M urdoch told th e very place

Th e burn that grooves the southern face

- — Of L e ach - na fe rn wh e re Angus led

e e The Princ across the wat rshed ,

e e e wa Thenc through the s ntinels cr pt their y,

h C o rri eb i h D own t e cl e fts of this same e g .

Anon hi s board th e Old man piled

With th e best increase o f the wild

- e m Red spott d trout , fresh from the strea

- e e H ill b rries , stor d in autumn hours ,

- e e e And goat milk ch s , and yellow cream

Ri ch w ith t h e j uic e o f mountain flowers

e e And oatmeal cake and barl y scon , D E SSERAY O R GLEN ,

Sweet viands for a hungry guest

h i s - n To break day lo g fast upon ,

hi s o f B efore he sought couch rest .

’ That couch o l d Murdoch s hands had Spread

With the fresh crop o f heather green — Turned upward never prince , I ween , w h i On easier pillo laid s head .

Though soft the bed, and the rough way

la H ad wearied him , yet Angus y m Far into night , through the still gloo

n Listeni g the sleepless cataract boom ,

In busy thought back - wandering through

The lonely places , strange and new,

hi s That day had to sight revealed ,

E re Slumber soft hi s eyelids sealed . TH E SEQU E L O F C U LLOD EN 4 5

CAN TO F O UR TH

TH E H OM E BY LO CHO U R N

E A R LY young Angus rose to me e t

The morning . Glimmering at his feet

There lay the lochan , clear as glass ,

The margin green with reeds and grass ,

o f Within the lap the awesome pass ,

’ That from Glengarry s westmost bourne

o n L h u Breaks headlong down lone oc o rn .

Over the shoulder o f the world

Th e su n looked , and the pale mists curled

- O n black crag faces , smit to gold ,

e And rose and lingered , cr pt and rolled

e Up the ravines and splintered h ights , w All beautiful ith the dawning lights .

o f e A pleasant morn it was Jun ,

Th e time of y e ar that most awakes The mountain melodists to tune

Their swe e test songs from heaths and brakes

’ The mavis voice rang from the copse ,

Upon hi s knoll the blackcock crowed ,

An d up toward the bare hill -tops D E SSE R AY O R GLEN ,

Th e e cuckoo shout d loud .

th e e e e e Across d p gorg , und r all

o n th e e Kept sounding torr nt fall ,

That thunde ring down with sl e e pl e ss wav e

- e - G rai v e We Gae l call E ssan corri .

I I

’ o e r Soon as the early meal was ,

e th e Murdoch look d from bothy door,

’ Lo ch o u rn s And said , I go to lone Side ,

Wh e re my bairns in o u r wint e r hom e d e lay

e m e e Wilt thith r go with , and bid

B e neath my roof o n e oth e r day ?

- b e e To morrow, my Ronald shall thy guid

e D e s se ra Over the hills to Gl n y .

e Westward th y went with morning j oy ,

That o l d man and light -h e art e d boy

Ah b e autiful th e mountain road

As ever foot of mortal trode,

‘ Winding W est through th e cloven defil e

a o n e Of crags fant stic , pile pil ,

e Tow ring rock , huge boulder stone ,

e e - e e - o H ath r crown d and lich n gr wn ,

e And crumpled mountain walls , ravin d

e - - e e With birch n corries , sunlight sh ned ,

Where th e torre nt plunge d and flashed in spray

’ D own to the little l o chan s th at lay

D ESSE RAY O R GLEN ,

IV

Then round a rock a sudde n turn

Showed far below deep - walled Lo ch o u rn Blue inlet from the distant seas Piercing far up the mountain world

“ I n the calm noon no breath o r breeze

e Along the azure waters curl d .

At Sight thereof their sense was smote

With fresh s ea- savour ; though remote From the main ocean many a mile

Infl o o de d e 1 past cap , creek , and kyle ,

s e a- The loch , flanked by precipice walls ,

e - With ver lessening murmur crawls , Till ’ neath the Pass he lies subdued

’ By the o e raw eing solitude

o And yet s me vigour doth retain ,

S ome freshness of the parent main .

V S o have I seen it many a day

Is gone since last I passed that way , Yet still in memory lives impressed

o fit s e The image aw ful rest . The winds there wont to work their will

—all was That day were quiet still ,

2 K l e o s . y , s und or trait TH E S EQU EL O F C U LLOD EN 49

Save that one headlong cataract hoar

’ From steep Glen elg s opposing shore

’ S ent o er the loch a lulling sound ,

That mad e the hush but more profound . There in clear mirror imaged lay

Th e e - lichen d cliffs tall , silver grey,

Their ledges interlaced with gre en

The cataract o f white - sheete d spray

D own flashing through the dark ravine , The birches clambering up midway

The s ea-marge and hill -tops between

fl ow eret - Each herb , each , tiny leaved ,

I nto that lucid depth received ,

Therein repeated , hue an d line ,

With more than their own beauty shine ,

sk Embedded in a nether y,

More fairy- fl e e c e d than that on high

e A scene it s emed of beauty and peace ,

S o deep it could not change or cease .

V I

Through such a scene , on such a day ,

e e They wand r d down that lovely noon ,

’ N ow n e ath high headlands making way

Am ong huge blocks at random strewn ;

N ow round some gentle bay they wind ,

Green nook , with golden shingle lined , E D E SSERAY O R GLEN ,

Whither th e we ary fish e r oars

H is boat for mooring th e n by doors

- They went , of kindly crofter folk ,

Whence many a gladsome greeting broke

o wa s And Murd ch told them , now time

To the high shealings th e y shoul d climb

H imself there with hi s goats had been

And seen the pastures growing green .

To -morrow he and hi s would drive

Their ponies and Sheep , and bonny kine ,

o f -a -chl aiv e Up to the back S cour ,

Where the Springs ran clear and the gras s

was fine And there the clansmen would forgather

All in the pl e asant bright June weather ;

Lo ch side S o he warned the , toun by toun ,

T o e mak them for the shealings boune .

V I I

o n Th e day had westered far, and

The yellow pines the sunset shone ,

Lu r ve in Streamed back from , kindling them

To redder lustre , branch and stem ,

Ere they reached the pine - tree o n the crown

- S ole standing of the promontory,

Whence they beheld far- gazing down

The loch inlaid with sunset glory . TH E SEQU E L O F C U LLODEN

Long time beside that sole pine -tree

They stood and gazed in ecstasy,

F o r the face of heav e n was all a -glow

With molt e n spl e ndour backward streamed

s un From the sunken , and th e loch below,

Flushed with an answering glory , gleamed . Each purple cloud aloft that burned

e I n the depth below was back r turned .

’ o erl a in There headlands, each pp g each ,

’ Proj ecting down the long loch s reach ,

o f o f With point rock and plume pine ,

All glorious in the sunset Shine :

And far down on t h e verge o f sight

- li e Rock islets interlacing , That lapt in floor of molten light S S eemed natives less of earth than ky . From height of heaven to ocean bed

One living splendour penetrated ,

And made that moment s e em t o be

o f s ea Bridal earth and sky and .

V I I I

A S died away the wondrous glow, They wandered down to a home below

A little home , where the mountain burn ,

- Thrown from the pine crags, touched the shore N D ESSERAY O R GLE ,

There waiting for their Sire ’ s return

Hi s family meet him at the door 1 Hi s own f wi e , Marion , hail and leal ,

Just risen from h er humming wheel — , e e — Th ir ldest D onald , nearing now

The verge of manhood , hunter keen

And Ronald , with the open brow

e e - S And bright y glance of blithe ixteen .

hi s so And one daughter, loved well ,

- - The dark haired , blue eyed M uriel .

all These were waiting, fain to know H ow soon they might to the shealing go

- And while much wondering whence the boy ,

To whom their Sire had been convoy, They made him welcome with their best

e Beneath th ir roof that night to rest .

There in that b e autiful retreat Companions young and converse sweet Woke Angus to another mood

h e Than had nursed in solitude .

N o more by cave and mountain - Slack

’ ’ H e dre amed o e r th e lorn Prince s track Those weary wanderings all forgot

e o f Were chang d for fields happier thought ,

V e de w And fairer isions , fr sh with

- Of a dream land not old but new.

1 H a i l a d l ea l d n e an . , h althy faithful THE S EQU EL O F C U LLODEN 53

CAN TO FI F TH

THE WAR SU MM ONS

I

S O O N as the kindling dawn had tipt

’ -v o rrar s With gold S cour lonely head ,

Before a single ray had dipt

’ - D own to the loch s deep shadowed bed ,

o ld was Betimes Marion astir,

o f Thinking that young wanderer , 1 And eident fi tly to prepare

For all the household morning fare .

That over, Murdoch rose and went

Up through the pines , the steep ascent ,

Hi s two lads with him , to convoy

H omeward the wandering Cameron boy . m S Fro the high peaks soon they howed a track, That followed on would lead him back

’ hi s To where people s shealings lay,

O n heights above Glen D e sse ray ; — Then bad e fare well but ere they part

The three lads vowed with e ager heart

That they, ere long , with willing feet ,

’ Would hasten o er the hills to meet .

1 E i den t e , dilig nt . D E SE RAY GLEN S , O R

Many a going and return

u Lo ch o u rn D own to lone , bea tiful , That pathway witnessed—many a time i These young lads crossed it , fa n to climb

’ Each to the other s shealings , there

The pastimes o f the hills to share

fi sh To together the high mere ,

Track to hi s lair the straggling deer

From refuge i n the cairn o frocks

Unearth the lamb -destroying fox

O r creep, with balanced footing nice,

’ o er Where some awful chasm hung,

o f On ledge dripping precipice ,

The brooding eagle rears her young .

S o from that wild , free nurture grew

’ Tween these three lads firm friendship true .

B ut m ost the soul o f Ronald clave

To hi s o wn o Angus , ch sen friend To Angus m ore than brother gave

Tender affe ction without end

Such as young hearts give in their prime

A o f weight love , no lesser than

o ld The love wherewith , in that time,

was e D avid lov d by Jonathan .

D E SSE RAY O R GLEN ,

IV

Then every morning Ach nacarry Saw clansmen mustering in hot hurry

s Saw every glen that own Lochiel ,

- m Lochaber Braes , and all Mam ore,

Glenlu e y, west to fair Loch Shi l ,

h e Their bravest to t trysting pour .

m as Westward the sum ons passed , flame

By shepherds lit , some dry M arch day , — Sweeps over heathery braes s o came

The tidings to Glen D esseray ;

And found the men o f Sh enebh al w D own in the meado , busy all

o f s et Their stacks barley to bind , Against the winter’ s rain and wind

All the flower o f the Glen

o r Grown , nearly grown to men

all H eard that summons , between

Thirty years and bright eighteen ,

o r S o r Loth willing , low fleet , Rose their Chieftain ’ s call to meet

Angus , youngest , eager most

To join the quickly mustering host .

sad hi s Though sire , he could but feel Hi s boy must follow young Lochiel ,

’ ’ An d his mother s heart , tho wae , TH E S EQU EL O F C U LLO DEN 57

D id not dare to say him nay .

When the following morn appeared ,

D own t h e loch their boat they steered

Ach n ac arr e e To y, th r to enrol

e - Th ir names upon the muster scroll ,

’ e And receive th ir Chief s command ,

To gather when a month was gone ,

And follow to a for e ign land

o f The young heir Clan Cameron .

V

Lo ch ourn What were th ey doing by ,

R ou n i e v al At the Farm of ,

When there cam e that sudden turn

’ u ? To Ang s fortunes , changing all

a t The tidings found , close of day,

Ronald and Muriel o n their way

H omeward , by the winding shore ,

D riving the cattle on before .

At hearing o f that startling word

The heart of Ronald , deeply stirred , Wrought to and fro—M ust I then part

o f From him , the brother my heart

Let him go forth , on some far shore ,

? To perish , seen of me n o more

s o I t must not be , Shall not be , w Where Angus goeth , I ill go . 8 D E SSE RAY O R 5 GLEN ,

’ Soon to h i s sist e r s ear h e brought

Th e secret thing that in him wrought — I go with Angus side by side

’ e e We ll meet , whatev r fat betide .

VI

e e th e Who , that hath v r known power

’ e Of home, but to life s lat st hour

e t he Will b ar in mind deathly knell ,

h i s S That on infant pirit fell ,

e - When first some voic , low whispering said “ One lamb in the hom e -fold lies dead

O r that drear hour, scarce less forlorn ,

h i s w a s When tidings to ear borne , That the first brother needs must part

e - From the hom circle, heart to heart

- - Fast bound , must leave the well loved place ,

’ e o Alone the world s bl ak road t face .

a s Then their hearts strain after him ,

!

With many a prayer and yearning dim ,

e e e s o The old home , th y f l , erst serene ,

a s e e N o more can be it has b n .

Just s o that sudden summons fe ll

e Upon th e heart of Muri l ,

Even like a sudden fun e ral bell

An iron knell o f d e athly doom

’ To wither all her young life s bloom . TH E SEQU E L O F CU LLODEN 59

V I I

Few words of dool that night they spake ,

e e Though their two hearts w r nigh to break ,

’ But with th e morrow s purpling dawn

Ronald and Muriel they are gon e

- e U p through the pine tre s , till they clomb

The highest ridge upon t h e way

’ That strikes o er Kn oydart mountains from

Lo ch ourn -side to Glen D e s s eray ;

e And ther they parted . N ot , I ween ,

Was that th e ir latest parting morn

Yet seldom have those mountains se e n

Two sadder creatures , more forlorn ,

in Than these two mov g, each apart ,

T o commune with their own lon e heart

Achnacarr o n e e To y, to shar

o fth e The muster clansmen there ,

And one , all lonely , to return

e Lo ch ourn Back to the desolat , dark . And yet n o wild and wayward wail

R o un i eval Went up from bonny ,

But Muri e l s e t h e r to pre pare

Against the final parting day,

’ A tartan plaid for Ronald s wear ,

When he was far away . 60 D E SE RAY GLEN S , OR

1 h as- She took the wool , lock by lock,

sh e The choice wool, in summers old,

hi s What time her father sheared flock ,

H ad gathered by the mountain fold . w She ashed and carded it clean and fine, 2 Then , sitting by the birling wheel ,

a She span it out, slender twine ,

And hanked it on the larger reel ,

sad Singing a low, chaunt the while,

That might her heavy heart beguile .

V I I I

The hanks sh e steeped in divers e grain s

Rich grains , last autumn time distilled

By her own hands , with curious pains , f Learnt rom old folk in colours Skilled .

o f sh e D eep dyes orange , which drew

2 o n From crotal dark mountain top , And purples of the finest hue

Pressed from fresh heather crop . Black hues which She had brewed from bark

Of the alders , green and dark,

Which overshadow streams that go ,

After they have won the vale ,

1 H as -w ool s ee e en d , Not at . 2 B i r l i n w . g , hirring , rattling 3 Cr ot a l e o es now e Cu doea r . , a lich n (Omphal d ) call d TH E S EQU E L O F C U LLOD EN 6 1

Seaward winding still and slow,

D own by gloomy Barrisdale .

sh e Thereto added diverse juices ,

Taken for their colouring uses , From the lily flowers that float H igh on mountain lochs remote

And yellow tints the tanzy yields ,

Growing in forsaken fi elds All these various hues she found

On her native H ighland ground .

I X

But besides sh e fused and wrought I n her chalice tinctures brought

- — o f From far off countries blue I nd,

From plants that by th e Ganges grew,

And brilliant scarlets , well refined ,

From cochineal , the cactus rind

Yields on warm hills of M exico . When in these tinctures long had lain

The several hanks , and drank the grain ,

o n She sunned them the homeside grass ,

e B fore the door, above the burn ,

’ Then to the weaver s h ome did pass ,

Lo ch ourn Who lived to westward, down .

She watched the webster while h e tri e d

H er hanks , and put the dyes to proof, 62 N D E SSE RAY GLE , OR

Then to the loom her fingers tied ,

h e Just as bade her , warp and woof,

’ The thr e ads of bonny haslock woo

’ w o o e H er haslock w ll dyed and fine ,

sh e hue And matched the colours , hue with ,

o n Laid them together, line line .

And as the treddles rattling went , And the swift shuttle whistled through

I t seemed a s though her heart - strings blent

v S With e ery thread that huttle drew .

X

When two moons had waxed and waned ,

was And the third past the full ,

And the weary cup was all but drained

Of long suspense , and naught remained ,

o ne o f But the day parting dool ,

From Ach nacarry Ronald pas sed

Lo ch o u rn D own to , to bid farewell

e To fath r, mother , broth er dear,

And his sole sister M uriel .

For word had come the n ew- raised band

e Ere two days pass must leav—e th ir land , To march on foreign service where ,

e e t NOt even their chi f could y declare .

Far had the autumn waned that morn ,

hi s When Ronald left home forlorn ,

D E SE RAY O R GLEN S ,

X I

As they passed from the Mam and it s cloudy cowl

N ev i sh B eneath lay Loch with grim, black scowl

The blackest , sullenest loch that fills

The ocean -rents of these gnarled hills

w e Those flanking hills , here evermor

-fl o o ds Dank vapours swim , wild rain pour.

Where ends the loch the way i s barred

o f - - By the awesome pass Mam clach ard ,

By some great throes o f N ature re nt Between two mountains imminent

- - S cour na naat with sharp wedge soaring,

- - S cour na ciche , cataracts pouring

m e Fro precipic to precipice ,

H eadlong down many a blind abyss .

’ was A place it , e en at noon or morn,

Of dim, weird sights , and sounds forlorn ,

But after nightfall , lad nor lass

all e e I n Lochi l would fac that pass .

e N ow as these trav llers climb the Mam,

They were aware of a stern , grim calm

The calm of the autumn afternoon ,

When night and storm will be roaring soon .

e But little time, I ween , had th y

S e To watch strange hapes, w ird sounds to hear,

Fo r they must hasten on their way TH E SEQU EL O F C U LLODEN

e o f e N ot f ed on phantasies f ar,

Lest night Should fall o n th e m b e fore

’ e k i s Th y re ached Loch Ar a g distant Shore .

X I I

e e D own to that trysting plac they far ,

Many people were gathered there

e e Fath r, mother, Sister, fri nd ,

th e e - e From all glens , de p heart d Gael ,

e Each for some parting brother , bl nd

’ ’ Manhood s tears with woman s wail .

’ e on Beneath th m the water s marge ,

th e - e Lay floating ready eight oar d barge ,

To Ach n ac arry soon to bear

H is clansmen to th e ir young Chief there .

th e Kn o dart e When y family r ached that crowd ,

And heard their lamentations loud ,

e o u t V B hind a green knoll , of iew , With their young warrior all withdrew

b - That knoll which sent , in y gone days ,

’ th e e D own the long loch b acon s blaze .

There Angu s and his peopl e all

e o f R o u n i e val Were waiting th m ,

e o l d And whil the folk , in sorrow peers ,

e e e M ingl th ir common gri f and tears ,

e And Angus , home and parents l aving ,

I S s et to bear with manly grieving, 6 6 D E S E RAY O R GLEN S ,

Yet one peculiar pang was there

Which only h e and Muri e l share

- e e e A pang deep hid in ith r br ast,

e ar e N or once to alien confess d .

X I I I Then M uriel suddenly unbound

e The plaid wher with herself was drest ,

’ Threw it h e r brother s shoulders round

’

And wrapt it o er his manly breast .

o wn e This plaid my hands dyed and wov ,

Memorial of o u r true home - love Let its fast colours symbol be

e Of thoughts and prayers that cling to th e . Then from her b reast his mother took A little Gaelic B ible book

’ o er For my sake read , and it pray,

’ e e We h re Shall meet wh n you re far away .

’ e wax d With that , impati nt cries loud

—o n e e Unmoor the barge swift mbrace ,

One clinging kiss to each dear face , n And rushing bli dly through the crowd ,

Angus and Ronald take their place

th e Th e Within boat . piper blew

The thrilling pibroch o f D onald Dh u ;

th e Kn o dart e e e But the sound on y we p rs f ll ,

e And on many mor , like a funeral knell TH E SEQU E L O F CU LLO DEN 6 7

th e e th e And farth r down loch they sail ,

e e e I n d eper sadn ss di d the wail ,

e e e And th ir yes gr w dimmer , and yet more

D own t h e wan wat e r following him

Watching s o fl e e tly disapp e ar

o n e All that arth they hold most dear ,

Till round t h e farthest j utting Rhu

e o ar - e e e The barg , driv n , sw pt from vi w .

e th e e Th n from knoll they turn d away,

e e And t ars no more they car d repress ,

’ s e t e l o am in But th ir face through g grey,

Back to the west ern wilderness . 68 D E SSE R AY O R GLEN ,

CAN TO SI X TH

TH E S O LDI ER ’ S RETU RN

S EV E N Summers long had fired t h e glens

With flush o f heath e r glow

S e ven Winters rob e d the sheet e d B e ns

From head to foot with snow,

And brought th e ir human d e niz e ns

Alternate joy and woe .

e e Wh n all those years were come and gon , One calm O ctober day

The dwell e rs of Gl en m o rr i st on

- e F orth looking from th ir huts at dawn ,

B eheld a traveller wandering o n

Th e long glen west away .

e e - Young he seem d , but trav l worn ,

M ore weak o f gait than youth should be

1 e A philab g, but soiled and t orn , — Was round him on his shoulder borne

A tartan plaid hung care l e ssly .

Whenc e come s yon stranger ? whither goes

They each to oth e r wond e ring cry

I s he some wande re r from Kintail

1 ’ P /z i l a oe H e k . g , ighland r s ilt TH E S EQU E L O F C ULLODEN 69

’ Macdonald s land o fArmadal e

’ e e ? Or Macl od s country , far in Sky

O r haply som e Clan ranald man From southern market makes his way

e e Back, wh r his home by hungry shore

H ears t h e Atlantic bre akers roar l ” O n Barra and B e nb ec u a .

I I

o n Unasked, unanswering , he passed ,

N e one spake to him , he spake to non

wh o But while they questioned whence , and ,

Among themselves , they little knew

That this was Angus Cameron .

h e S outhward turned , and noonday found

- H im high upon the mountain ground ,

’ e Whence he beheld Gl ngarry s strath , With its long winding river path Streaming beneath him and discerned

u o i ch Loch Q , amid dark S cours inurned .

e And all around it , ast and west ,

H is eye wide - wandering went in quest

o ld Of the homesteads that he knew , But the blue smoke from very few

C ould he discover ; yet he wist

Th e rest were lost in haz e and mist . S o west he turned through mountain doors 0 D E S SE RAY O R 7 GLEN ,

That Open downward o n t h e Shore s

h e e Of lone Lo c o u rn . I n that d p pass

th e e e - e Still lay little loch , r d fring d ,

e o f With upp r marge greenest grass ,

e - e And birks b yond it , autumn ting d .

— e H e looked the summer bothies bar ,

All ruinous sank in disre pair

From th e m th e voic e of milking song

And laughter had been absent long .

H e paused and listened, but no sound

S ave o f the many rills that come

D own corrie - beds through the de sert dumb And over all the voice profound

Of the great cataract, high aloof

- D own flashing from the rock wall roof.

I I I The solemn Pass he erst had known

as Seemed still lovely , but more lone ,

AS westward on with weary pace

H e travelled , and no human face

Looked on him , no sound met his ear

o f o r o r e That told man far n ar .

Lat e had wan e d the afternoon

’ E re h e Lo ch o urn s e reached rough shor ,

N o gleam by random bre e ze s strewn Flitted its dark face o ’ er

2 D E SSE RAY O R 7 GLEN ,

Even at their last leave -taking took

o ft The plaid , which Ronald had wound

’ N eath cold night - heavens h i s bre ast around

- D iscoloured , by the grape shot torn ,

’ I n Angus hands now hom e ward borne That book he oft with reverent heed

- fi res By flickering camp woke to read ,

That tattered plaid , that treasured book ,

’ S oiled with h i s latest life -blood s stains

’ O n these hi s loved ones eyes must look

o f e Their all him that now r mains .

Then rose hi s inward sight before — Those faces not as long ago But the mother ’ s high brow furrowed o ’ er

’ ch ara ct r D eep with the y of woe , Which suffering years must have graven there

’ And Muriel s cheek , though pale still fair ,

’ H er large blue eyes , thro weeping dim ,

o f Gazing on these last wrecks him .

V But when he reached that headland ’ s crown

- And stood beside the sole pine tree ,

’ e O er the sh er precipice gazing down ,

Ah what a sight wa s there to see 1

e Two roofless gabl s , gaping blank ,

’ s ea - -o er ro wn I n the damp winds moss g , THE SEQU EL O F C U LLODEN 73

And c h o ak e d with growth of nettles rank

- fl r - Th e o o . home , and once warm hearth stone — One look suffi c e d at once the whole Sad history flashed upon his soul

’ s w H e a that household s ruined fate,

H e kne w that all was d e solate .

e e With fac to arth h e cast him down ,

As in a stupor long he lay , And when he woke as from a swoon

o f And looked abroad , last gleams day

Even from the highest peaks were gone , And the lone Loch lay Shimmering wan From that waste desolated shore

H e turned away and looked no more .

V I

From that home , now no more a home Up through the dusky pines he clomb

o n Up and , without let or bound ,

O n - clambering to th e high lone ground

e Kn o d art d e fil e s Wh re y , cloven by sheer ,

- Yawns with torrent roaring chasms , 1 s c re etan - Huddled , and rent rock piles ,

’ N ature s work in her wild e st spasms

There , as the darkness deeper fell

And going grew impossible,

1 S cr eet o n se e 1 , p . 3 . D E SSER AY 74 GLEN , OR

Beneath a rock he laid his length ,

As e one bereft of hop and strength ,

And if no further step he passed ,

h i s Content that this should be last .

The hope , that had his heart sustained

o f Through years toil , to ruin hurled What shelter any more remained I n this forsaken world What but to share with this poor home

The desolation of i t s doom

e - But th y the true, the gentle hearted ,

To what strange bourne had they d e parted D well they in noisome city pent ?

Or are they tenants now , where rent

N ask o f one , in that drear place graves ,

? Which N evi sh - Loch at full -tide laves Or dwell they far o ’ er ocean—thrown ? Like s ea -waifs on some land unknown

V I I

All through that night , I heard him tell ,

hi s Strange sounds upon hearing fell,

W e i rdli er e sounds than shri k of owl ,

’ ’ - Wild cats scream , hill foxes howl ,

AS e though the anci nt mountains , rent

e To their deep foundations , s nt

On the midnight moan on moan ,

D E SSE R AY GLEN , OR

V I I I

s o N ever stood he aghast ,

Never through such night had passed ,

But the dawning came at la st :

And when earli e st streaks of light

The eastern p e aks had Silver-barred

Behold hi s tarrying place all night

e was - - N on other than Mam clach ard .

’ o f Forward then , mid the glimmer dawn ,

Through the rough Pass he wandered on ,

o ne o n And one by stars faded high , As the tide o f light washed u p the sky

But when he reached the eastern door , Where that high cloven Pass looks o ’ er

’ Lo chi el s broad mountains, grisly and hoar,

’ sun - m - The , new ris from the under world ,

H ad all the glens beneath outrolled ,

Up the braes the mists had furled , h And touc ed their snowy fleeces with gold . w There far belo , inlaid between

Steep mountain walls , lay calm and green

D e sse ra Glen y, bright in morning sheen .

As down the rough track Angus trod e

The path that led to hi s old abode ,

Calm as o f old the lone gre en glen

Lay stretch e d before him long miles ten TH E SEQU EL O F C U LLODEN 77

e H e looked , the bra s as erst were fair ,

B ut smoke none rose o n th e morning air ;

H e e - listened, cam no blithe cock crowing

e e - From wak ning farms , no cattl lowing

e o f N o voic of man , no cry child ,

Blent with t h e loneness o fthe wild

’ Only the wind thro th e b e nt and ferns

- Only the moan of the corrie burns .

I X

Can it be ? doth this silence t ell

? The same sad tale as yester - eve

My clansmen here who wont to dwell

’ H ave they t o o ta en their last long leave ?

e Adown this glen too , hath ther been

The besom o f destruction ke e n S weeping it of its people clean ?

That anxious t re m ou r in his breast

One half- hour onward s et at rest

h i s e e e Where once home had b n , now star

e e Two gables , roofl ss , gaunt , and bar

e e Two gabl s , and a brok n wall ,

o f Sh en i ebh al Are all now left .

Th e O - huts around of the ld farm toun ,

' W e e h rein the poorer tenants dw lt ,

- e - e M oss cover d stone h aps , crumbling down ,

I nto the wilderness Slowly melt . 8 D E SSE RAY R 7 GLEN , O

e e The slopes below , wher had gard ns been ,

e e Lay thick with rush s darkly gr en ,

Th e furrows o n the braes above

th e e e Where erst the flax and barl y throv ,

’ e e o e r With f rns and heather cover d ,

To N ature had gone back once more .

th e e And there beneath , m adow lay,

Th e long smooth reach o f meadowy ground

Where intertwining e ast away

I n loop o n loop the river wound

e e Ther , where he heard a form r day

The blithe , loud shouting , shinty play,

Was silence now as the grave profound .

e A few steps led to the M ound of the C av ,

e A hillock strewn with many a grav ,

Lone place , to which some far and faint

R e membrance of Columban Saint

1 e e Y Com , ages gon , from the I sle of

Gave immemorial sanctity . There children lost in life ’ s first day

Kilm alli e Whom to (that long way) ,

e e They did not bear, were laid to Sl p ,

’ o e r e That th m kindred watch might keep ,

e e And moth e rs thith e r steal to w p .

’ There h e hims elf in Childhood s morn

e - H ad seen two infants , young r born ,

1 I on a Y e . , corruptly call d

8 0 D ESSE RAY GLEN , O R

‘ Their homes stand roofl e ss on the brae

are And the hearts that loved them , where they

’ Ah me ! what days with them I ve se e n On the summer braes at the shealings green

What nights o fWinter dark and long

Made brief and bright by the joy o f song

e so The men in p ace gentle and mild ,

- I n battle onset lion wild, When the pibroch of Donald Dhu

o f e S ounded the summons , Lochi l ,

e From these hom s to his standard flew ,

By him stood through woe and weal ,

- Chatt an Against Clan , age by age

H e ld hi s ancient heritage And when the Stuart cause was down

And Lochiel rose for King and Crown ,

Wh o like these same Cameron men

Gave their gallant heart -blood pure

Inv e rl o ch e At y, Killiecranki ,

e - Pr ston pans , Culloden Muir

And when red vengeance on the Gael

e e Fell bloody , did th ir f alty fail

D id they not screen with live s o f men ? Their outlawe d Prince in desert and den

e e w And wh n th ir Chief fled far a ay , ? Who were his sol e support but th e y Alas for them those faithful men I TH E SEQU EL O F C U LLO DEN 8 1

And this i s all re ward th e y hav e

e e e e These unroof d hom s , this mpti d glen

”

e e e . A forlorn xil , th en the grav

X I 1 e e That night , as O ctob r winds wer tirling

’ e Lo chi el s The birch n woods down long Shore ,

The e e th e - wan , d ad l aves on rain blast whirling ,

e o u r e A low knock cam to cottag door .

“ ”

e e e e . Lift the latch , bid him w lcom , cri d my Sir

e e e e Straight a plaid d strang r ent r d in ,

w e s aw th e t h e r e d e fi re And by light of p at ,

e A long, lank form , and a visag thin .

— ’ W e childre n stare d as tho a ghost — H ad cross e d the door on that face unknown “ But my fath e r cri e d O lov e d and lost I

” e o wn That voice , my brother , is thin .

’ o n th e e e Then each oth er s neck th y f ll ,

e e e And long mbrac d , and w pt aloud — W e childre n stood I re m e mb e r well

e e w Our heads in wond ring sil nce bo ed .

o u r e e But when uncl raised his h ad ,

t h e e Gazing around hous , he said

’ e e D e s s e ra I ve travell d down Gl n y bare ,

e o n o u r e e e - Look d d solat hom to day ,

e e ? But those my h art most long d for, where

1 Ti r l i n g , slightly touching , thrilling . G 8 2 D E SS E RAY O R GLEN ,

e are e ? Father and moth r, where th y

For them has th e ir own country found

” N O e ? hom , save underneath the ground

Too truly has your heart divined , “ e e My father answ r d him , for they Came hither but not long to stay

’ 0 th e e With the fall year away they dwin d ,

N ot loth another home to find ,

e sa e Wh re none could y th m nay .

Above their h e ads t o - night t h e sward

’ Is Kilm llie s green in a old kirkyard .

X I I

th e e I n vain for him board we strew d , H e little cared for rest or food

O n — this alone intent to know,

“ e w e Wh nce had come the ruin and o .

“ ” m e O e e Tell , . t ll me wh nce , he cried ,

H ath spread this de solation wid e

What minist e rs o f dark d e spair

From n e ther pit o r upper air

o f e On the poor country the Ga l ,

H ave breathed this blasting blight and bale .

l e Lo c h o u rn e e By on , too , I hav be n ,

And R uni ev al in ruin s e e n

I know that home is de solate

’ e Tell m e th e dwell e rs earthly fat .

8 D ESSE RAY R 4 GLEN , O

h o n H is eart was the strain .

i e But wh le within our home he stay d ,

H e turned him every day ,

’ e - e . To where , in sombr beech tr es Shade

Hi s parents both are lowly laid,

’ fl a - N eath mountain g stone grey .

h e e e The last time that ling r d there ,

e fi o m th e e S ome moss he gather d grav ,

o ne e The memorial he could b ar,

’ hi s e e e Where er wand ring f t might fare ,

e B eyond the w stern wave .

’ e And then he left my fath r s door,

And bidding farewell ev e rmore

o n e To dwellers this mountain shor ,

s et h is H e face to that world afar ,

e On which descends the ev ning star .

W e never kn e w what th e re b e fe ll

Some said that h e found Muri el

O e e t With her ld par nts y alive ,

e e Wh re still Gl ngarry clansmen thrive ,

’ e o n And th re , great Ontario s side ,

e e . H e led her hom , his w dded bride

’ But others whispered twas not s o

re h e r e That e he came h ad was low,

e e e And nothing l ft him but to k p ,

e e e e Far in prim val for st d p,

’ ’ e e e Watch o er his lov d on s lonely sle p , THE S EQU EL O F C U LLO DEN 85

’ a e e And her poor parents g to t nd ,

Till they should to the grave d e scend .

’ Authentic voic e non e o e r the s ea

e e e Came , t lling how th s things might be

e H is fat in that far land was dumb ,

e And silent as the worl d to com .

W e only know such fe rvent thought

t h e Of all past within him wrought ,

e re e That, he sail d , he turned aside ,

’ Tli at dre ary moor to wander o e r Where the last gleam of Albyn ’ s pride

I n blood went down to rise no more ;

And while the bark on Moray Firth ,

e That bore him from his nativ earth ,

th e Waited breeze to fill her sail ,

This coronach , thi s woful wail ,

- H e breathed for the down trodden Gael . I

The moorland wide, and waste , and brown ,

e H aves far and near, and up and down

e Few trenches green the des rt crown ,

And these are the graves o f Culloden

2

What mournful thoughts to me they yield ,

e Gazing with sorrow yet unh aled ,

’ O n S cotland s last and saddest fi eld 0 l the desolate M oor of Culloden 8 6. D E SSE RAY O R GLEN ,

3

Ah me ! what carnage vain was there — What reckl e ss fury mad despair !

On this wid e moor such odds to dare

O th e e o f e , wast d lives Cullod n

4

e For them laid th re , the brave and young,

’ H o w many a moth e r s heart w a s wrung !

H o w s ad wa s many a coronach sung,

e O , the green , gre n graves of C ulloden

5

What boots it now to point and tell ,

e th e Cha tt an H er Clan bore them well ,

- e e e Shame madd n d , yonder K ppoch fell

o n Lavish of life Cullode n .

6

th e h H ere Camerons clove red line throug ,

e Th re Stuarts dared what men could do ,

e Charged lads of Athol , staunch and true ,

th e o n e To cannon mouths Cullod n .

— I n vain the wild onset in vain

Claymores cl e ft English skulls in twain

T H E M O U N TA I N WA LK 1

P A RT I

FR OM e beaten paths and common tasks r prieved ,

My face I s et towards th e lonely grounds

Mo idart e Where and Lochab r, northward heaved ,

e e Kn o dart M t with rough y bounds .

And with me went an aged man on whom

e Still lightly hung his thr escore years and ten ,

I ntent to s ee onc e more b e fore the tomb

Hi s - long unpeopled glen .

’ ” 2 ” ” O er Faeth , Maam , Gual , each shape of

- mountain pass,

From morn to eve , an autumn day we clomb

e e was A lone waste wildern ss wher no man ,

N or any human home ;

’ e o e r And look d mountain backs , misty or bared ,

e e Ridg d multitudinous to the north rn bourn ,

1 S ee e e n d Not at . 2 I n G e Fel t/z i n Mam a lic , sluggish pool marshy moorland , ’

e Gu a l a d e l e a s/zozcl aer . high round d hill , high ri g , it r lly TH E MO U NTAIN WALK 89

’ 1 Where high o er all t h e great scours watch and guard

Loch N e v i sh and Lo ch o urn ;

Saw far to west through yawning gaps upleap

’ c l o v n defiles Dark Mo idart mountains with th e ir ,

e e e l e t And h r and th re in the great blue deep ,

With th e far outer I sl e s

While clos e b e neath o u r fe et cl e ar streams were flowing D own long glens walled the steep dark hills between

With their long streaks o fgrassy margin glowing

e e e Bright with r splend nt she n .

’ And by the stream s grass - mounds and grey-mossed heaps

e th e m en e Lay , onc homes where thriving had b en , 2 e And far up corries, where the white burn l aps ,

2 a i ridh s e e Were pleasant gr n .

B ut no smoke ros e from any old abod e ;

From the green summer Shealings came no song,

e e w e N o face of man look d on us wh re trode ,

’ l o ami n From dawn to g long .

’ Only high up hoarse - barking raven s croak

’ ’ o r l ea d s Knelled on the iron crags , g wild screams ,

1 S cou r s e e e k w e . , h r us d for roc y fro ning h ights 2 3 Cor r i es w A i r i d/zs - e e e s . , hillsid hollo s . , sh aling pa tur s 9 0 TH E M OU NTAIN WALK

And d own the awful pr e cipi ces broke

The e ve rlasting stre ams

The whil e th e old man told how times remot e 1 H ad named t h e balloch from som e famous man

Slain in old battl e wh e n t h e Camerons smote

Their foes o f Chat tan clan

“ ” th e e h e Or on squally should r would pause,

e And , pointing to grey stones , would whisp r , H ere

’ Th e m e e e ourn rs builded Evan s cairn , b caus

Th e y re sted with his bier

“ e hi s On the long journ y from native glen ,

D own to his last hom e by the s e a-loch side

’ ’ e o e rt a en And , There by night and w ariness ,

‘ ” e Long since a shepherd di d .

’ 2 e e And th n more lightly , O er these v ry knowes 3 I ran the browse upon my wedding-day

’ With other lads to win my young bride s hous e

e N ow fifty y ars away .

Late in the afte rnoon my st e ps he staye d

e On a high mountain pass , and bad me look

e th e e Wher burn , plunging from the h ight , had made One small and sheltered nook

1 B a l l ocli w Kn ow es k . , narro pass . , nolls 3 B r owse e r e e es w e . , hors ac run som tim at country ddings

9 2 TH E MO U NTAIN WALK

P A RT I I

e 1 All night enfold d in the lap of Bens ,

Around our sle e p th e loud and lulling sound

Of many waters me e ting from th e glens

Made lullaby profound .

o ur Next day the westering morn guide we make ,

e o f Wh re a strong stream in j ambs granite pent ,

- k From pool to pool , down plunging to the la e ,

H ath grooved itself a vent .

’ That strait throat passed , back falls the mountain s

bound ,

e u s - Befor there out spread in silence , lay,

With loop on Ioop of river interwound ,

D e sse ra . Long, green Glen y

e o f A long, flat , m adowy, strath natural grass ,

e th e e Where calm , from sid to Side , riv r flows ,

o f o n e After the turmoil y splint red pass ,

Loitering in slow repose .

-fl ank s Each side steep mountain wall the green flat ,

e To west the long glen clos s , grimly barred

By the stern -precipiced sh e lves of S cour-na -naat

- - And by dark Maam clach ard .

1 B en - e e e the , mountain h ad by m taphor us d for mountain

e it s lf. TH E MO U NTAIN WALK 9 3

There as we stood on the mute glen to gaze

o ld The man pointed to the hillocks green ,

Where , either side the strath , in former days ,

’ The Clan s m e n s homes had been

o ld H omes that had reared the Camerons , who in

e e Centuries of c aseless battl , true and leal,

Against Clan Ch a tt an had be e n brave to hold

Hi s country for Lochiel ;

l Who, in the atest rising of the clans ,

For King and Chief, devoted hearts and pure ,

- Had led the crashing charge at Preston pans ,

D ied o n Culloden moor . For all those homesteads only her—e and there A gaunt , grey, weathered gable for the hum

e Of many human voic s , on the air

Blank, aweful silence dumb .

- Only the hill burns down the corries broke,

o ne - fen Only hern harsh screaming from the ,

’ An d but one shepherd s solitary smoke ,

e Far in the upp r glen .

o n e o n e sad Then , by , the old man , at heart , 1 o Pointed the stances , where in childh od time

- From four blithe farm towns , each a mile apart ,

e H e had s en the blue smoke climb .

1 S t a n ces e , sit s . 94 TH E MO UNTAI N WALK

th e nOrth e e Two on sid , dry on ferny know s ,

s un The noonday had welcomed with frank look ,

’ e - The south rn two , withdrawn neath high hill brows ,

’ 1 c o Wer d e Each in bi lded nook .

’ Th e n clos e r drawing neath rank we e ds he showed 2 l ara c h s o f e e The the hom s , wall , h arth and floor,

e e Wh re in ach town large brotherhoods abode ,

Twelve families and more .

a s h e th e And traced each home , names he told

e e Of men and women who th re once had be n ,

e o ld H ow lived and died th y in wild days of ,

s e What weirdly sight had s en .

m e h i s - And last he led to own farm town , ’ — Even t o hi s father s home there lay the hearth

e - Gr y lichened , walls around it crumbled down ,

e Till all but bl nt with earth .

th e th e e There yawned window to crag b hind ,

Through which my g randsire gallant burst away,

re d- When two coats , who had him in the wind , After Culloden day

e e e e o f The threshold cross d to s ize him ; fl t foot ,

H e th e — e e e took crag th y fir d and missed th ir aim ,

2 1 L a r a clzs B i el ded e e e ; s . , sh lt r d , foundation

96 TH E M O UNTAIN WALK

Th e e e e whil th y told how oft wh n no wind stirred , Unearthly sounds the mountain stillness rent

e e he At midnight , by belat d trav llers ard ,

As through the M aam th e y we nt

e fl e d And apparitions wh n the spirit ,

Crossing the gaze o fmelancholy se e rs

And t ryst ing s where the living m et the dead

By lonely m ountain m e res

e All the weird , visionary lore that liv s

o f e e s ea Still by the dim lochs the w st rn ,

And to that r egion and it s people gives

e e Strang eeri glamourie .

N ext morn we clomb the Maam with e astward foot

e o f t h e e And walk d the higher ranges gl n ,

Looked on green summer shealings , long left mute

ld - D e s se ra m en By o Glen y . — One last look back there lay the gl e n inlaid

i t s —a D eep in walling hills meadowy strath ,

o n Through which in loop loop the river strayed ,

- h A Slowly winding pat .

’ e a d And all the w st , j gg precipices riven

e - e With gorg and gully and ravine black gloom d , — Closed i n above them in th e twilight heaven

The great peaks ghostly loomed . T H E MO UNTAIN \VALK 9 7

All these days , as we wandered , morn to eve ,

e The old man , piec by piece , the tale unrolled

H o w onc e th e Cameron clansmen wont to liv e

o ld Within these glens f o .

Things too his grandsire and his sire had seen ,

After Culloden , till the ruthless time

That swept the glens of all their people clean ,

Things mute in prose or rhyme .

\V i r tten b efore 18 7 0. A D R E A M O F G L E N S A L LA C H 1

THAT summer glen i s far away ,

m e Who loved then , their graves are green ,

But still that dell and distant day,

’ Lie bright in memory s softest she en .

e Are these still th re , outspread in space ,

e - ? The grey moss d trees , the mountain stream

- e Or in some ante natal plac ,

That only com e th back in dream ?

There first upon my soul was cast

D im reverence , blent with glorious thrills ,

o ut From an old heroic past ,

o f Lapped in the older calm hills .

S till after thirty summers loom

r On dreaming hours the lichened t ees ,

’ The ivied walls , the warrior s tomb ,

’ ld e M id those o mountain sanctiti s .

H o w awed I stood ! where once had kneeled

The pilgrims by the holy well ,

1 n See Not e at e d .

T H E M O O R O F RA N N O C H

’ O E R the dreary moor o f Rannoch

Calm these hours of Sabbath shin e

But no kirk-bell here divideth

- di v m e Week day toil from rest .

e Ag s pass , but save the tempest ,

N othing here makes toil o r haste B usy weeks nor restful Sabbath

Visit this abandoned waste .

Long ere prow of earliest savage

’ S e Grated on blank Albyn s hor ,

o f Lay these drifts granite boulders ,

’ - Weather bleached and lichened o er .

’ B eu ch aille E tiv e s furrowed visage ,

S c hih allio n To looked sublime ,

’ e O er a wid and wasted desert ,

Old and unreclaimed a s time . TH E MOO R O F RAN N O C H I O I

Ye a a desert wide and wasted ,

' Washed by rain -flo o ds to the bones

o n e o f League l ague heather blasted ,

- - Storm gashed moss , grey boulder stones

And along these dreary levels ,

e As by som stern destiny placed ,

Yo n sa d lochs of black moss water

Grimly gl e aming o n th e waste

East and west , and northward sweeping , Limitless the mountain plain

e Like a vast low heaving oc an ,

Girdl e d by its mountain chain

’ o e r e Plain , which the kingliest eagl ,

Lo ch o we Ever screamed by dark ,

Fain would droop a laggard pinion ,

’ Ere he touched Ben -Au lde r s brow

- e — B en do ran M ountain girdl d , there

S chih alli o n To calls aloud ,

e h e B en - B ckons to lone Aulder ,

H e e v e to N is crown d with cloud .

C radled here old H ighland rivers ,

E t iv e e , Cona , r gal Tay ,

Like the shout of clans to battl e

th e D own gorges break away . 102 T HE MOOR O F RANNOCH

And the Atlantic sends his pipers

e - Up yon thund r throated glen ,

’ O e r th e moor at midnight sounding

m en Pibrochs never heard by .

Clouds , and mists, and rains before them

‘ Crowding to the wild wind tune ,

Here to wage their all - night battl e

Unbeheld by star and moon .

e hi s Loud the whil down all hollows ,

e Flashing with a hundred str ams ,

C orrie -bah from o ut the darkness

To the desert roars and gleams .

e e Sterner still , more dr arly driv n ,

’ e 0 Ther nights the north wind raves ,

Hi s long homeless lamentation m ’ As from Arcti c s ea en s graves .

Till hi s mighty snow - sieve shaken 1 D own hath blinded all the lift ,

th e H id mountains , plunged the moorland

- Fathom deep in mounded drift .

o f Such a time , while yells Slaughter

e B urst at midnight on Glenco ,

H ith e r flying babes and moth e rs ’ f w Perished mi d the waste o sno .

1 i k L t S . f , y

T H E LA S S O F LO C H L I N N E

THE spray may drive , the rain may pour,

- S ? Knee deep in brine, what careth he

’ ’ H er brother s boat she ll drag to shore , ’ S Aloud she ll ing her H ighland glee .

all H er feet and head alike bare ,

e A dr nched plaid swathed about her form ,

Around her floats the H ighland air,

Within the H ighland blood beats warm .

All night they ’ ve toiled and not in vain

To count and store the fi sh be thine

In Then drench thy clothes morning rain , And dry them in the noon sunshine

The gleam breaks through , the day will clear

Then to th e peats up yonder glen

0 there i s life and freedom here

’ That cannot breathe mid throngs of men . TH E LAS S O F LO C H LINN E 105

XV h at h a s thy life and history been ?

Brav e lass upon this wind -beat Shore

- at I may not guess distance seen ,

e e n o . A nam l ss image , and more

t h e s ea e Sweet chime b side thy home ,

Thy fire blink bright o n heartsom e meal

N 0 more o fdearth o r cl e aranc e come

To darken down thin e o wn Lochiel ! T H E FO R E S T O F S L I ’ GA O I L

1 I S T H E O F T HAT , H ILL LOVE

I N this bare treeless forest lone ,

By winds Atlantic overblown ,

I Sit and hear the w e ird wind pass

Drearily through the long bent -grass

And think how that low sighing h e ard

was By O ssian , when no wind stirred ,

Filled hi s old sightless eyes with tears

Hi s o f soul with thoughts other years ,

For the spirits o f the m e n he mourned

l o w e I n that eeri sound returned .

And doth not this bleak forest ground

Live i n old epi c song renowned ?

Of him the chief who came o fyore

o f To hunting the mighty boar ,

And left the deed , to float along

Th e e dat less stream of H ighland song,

’ ’ f - A maid s lorn love , a chie s death toil,

’ - ao il ! Still speaking in thy name , Sli g

1 end S ee Note at .

R ET U R N TO N AT U R E

1 O N the braes around Gl enfi nnan

Fast the human homes are thinning ,

And the wilderness i s winning

T o itself these graves again .

o r w Names dates here no man kno eth ,

’ O er grey headstones heather groweth ,

Up Loch - Shiel the sea- wind bloweth

Over sleep of nameless men u

Who were those forgotten sleepers ?

- H erdsmen strong, fleet forest keepers ,

o r Aged men , widowed weepers

For their foray- fallen ones

’ ’ o ff C Babes cut mid hildhood s prattle ,

e Men who lived with herds and cattl ,

Clansmen from Culloden battle ,

’ Cl an don ald s ? Camerons , or sons

e f ! Blow ye winds , and rains f acing

’ o f t rac in G ! Blur the words love s fond b

1 B r a es e . , hillsid s RET U RN TO NATU RE I o9

N ature to h e rs e lf embracing

All that human hearts would ke e p

What th ey knew o fgood o r evil

e Fad d , like the dim primeval

D ay that sa w the vast uph eaval b Of these ills that hold their Sleep . 1 CA I L L EA C H B E I N - Y V R E I CH

W E I RD wife of B ein - y-V rei ch horo horo

Aloft in the mis t She dwells

V re i ch horo V r e i ch horo V re i ch horo

All alone by the lofty wells .

e Weird , w ird wife with the long grey locks ,

fl e et - She follows her foot stags ,

Noisily moving through splintered rocks ,

And crashing the grisly crags .

Tall wife with the long grey hose , in haste The rough stony beach She walks 2 o r sh e e But dulse seaweed will not tast ,

N o r yet the green kail stalks .

And I will not let my herds of deer , My bonny red deer go down

e I will not let th m down to the Shore ,

- To fe e d on the s ea shells brown .

’ e O better they love in the corrie s r cess ,

Or o n mountain top to dwell

1 S ee e end D u l se sea - e e Not at . , c l ry .

D E S O L AT I O N

B Y e o f the wee birch n corries lie patches green ,

e b airn i es Where gardens and bar headed have been , 1 n o w a re - But the huts rickles of stones nettle grown ,

’ And the once human homes , e en their names are

unknown .

B ut the names that this side the Atlantic have perished

’ are M id far western forests still dearly cherished ,

There men talk of each spot , on the hills that surround

e Their long vanished dwellings , as paradis ground .

N t o a pass in these hills , not a cairn , nor a corrie ,

But lives by the log- fi re in legend and story

o n And darkly the cloud their countenance gathers ,

AS th e y think o n those desolate homes o f their

e fath rs .

e o f o ld e O h arts , to the hills memory tru

I n the land of your love there are mourners for you ,

1 R i ckl e s e . , h aps DESO LATION 113

AS e e l o ch s ide they wander by peopl l ss and glen ,

’ Where th e red deer are fe eding o er homesteads o f

m n e .

’ For th e stillness th ey fe el o e r th e wilderness spread

’ I S o w n e not nature s sil nce , but that of the dead ;

’ E e n e ve e the lon piping plo r, and small corri burn

e e S e m sighing for those that will never r turn . A CRY FRO M C RA I G E LLA CHI E

C O MP O SE D AFTER TRAVELLING TO I NVERNE S S FO R THE F IRST

TIME I N TH E NEW - O P ENE D H I H ND R I W 18 LY G LA A L AY , 64

I

A N D o fh en s L and glens and corries ,

e H eadlong rivers , oc an floods

H ave we lived to s ee this outrage

O n your haughty solitudes

Ye a ! th e re burst invaders stronger

- On the mountain barriered land,

th e Than I ronsides of Cromwell ,

h e Or t bloody Cumberland .

Spanning Tay, and curbing Tummel , H ewing with rude mattocks down

’ Killi ec rank i e s birchen chasm What reck they of old renown

Cherish e d names how disenchanted

H ark the railway porter roar,

116 A CRY FRO M C RAIG -E LLACH I E

H ear th e shri eking whistle louder

e Than th ir headlong cataracts .

o n—l e t On , still drear Culloden 1 For clan - slogans hear the scream

e e Shake , ye woods by B auly riv r,

- Dh ruim Start, thou beauty haunted .

N o rth ward still the iron horses

N aught may stay th e ir destined path

e Till th y snort by Pentland surges ,

ff o f Stun the cli s far Cape Wrath .

I I

e Must th n pass , quite disappearing ? e e From th ir glens , the anci nt Gael

I n and in must Saxon wriggle ,

e e ? S outhern , cockn y, more pr vail

Clans long gone , and pibrochs going,

Shall the patriarchal tongu e From the mountains fade for ever

With i t s names and memories hung

o u sa r e ck eth Ah y y , it little

Let the anci e nt manners go

1 - - Cl a n sl o a n . g , war cry A CRY FROM CRAIG - E LLACH I E 117

e H aven will work , through their destroying ,

Some end greater than you know .

s o e B e it , but will I nv ntion ,

h e r e With smooth m chanic arts ,

th e Bid arise old H ighland warriors , B eat again warm H ighland hearts

’ o f e Nay whate er good they h rald ,

’ VV h ere s o e e com s that hid ous roar,

Th e o ld charm is disenchanted ,

Th r e old H ighlands a e no more .

I I I

Yet , I know there lie all lonely ,

’ e e Still to f ed thought s lofti st mood ,

e Countless glens und secrated ,

Many an awful solitude .

Many a burn , in unknown corries

th e flin s D own dark rocks white foam g ,

e e Fring d with ruddy berri d rowans ,

Fed from everlasting springs .

Still th e re Sle e p unnumb e re d lochans

’ e Far away mid des rts dumb,

\V h e re no human roar yet travels ,

’ N ever tourist s foot hath come . 118 A CRY FROM CRAIG -E LLACH I E

1 sea- e M any a scour like bald eagl ,

S calped all white with boulder piles ,

e Stands against the sunset , ey ing

O cean and the outmost I sles .

’ ’ I f e en these should fail , I ll get me To some rock roared round by seas There to drink calm N ature ’ s freedom

e Till they bridge the H brides .

1 S cou r k e e . , roc y promin nt h ight

120 BEN C RUAC HAN

4

And yet beneath these splintered pinnacles , n Soaring in stre gth and majesty, D own that broad bosom what bright greenness dwells

’ The like o n S cotland s Bens o r English Fells

se e N o otherwhere you .

5 O I could lie and gaze—forever gaze

While , in the movement and the sway

’ Of su n and shadow o e r these broad green H our after hour the bright autumnal days Are dreaming themselves away

6

And thou dost seem a being self- enwrapt

o w n I n thine thought, great Cruachan

- Whether in storm enveloped and storm capt,

t o O r in pure light from base summit lapt ,

Taking no note of man .

7

Yet sure some buried histories thou hast Of Scotland ’ s old heroic men

H ave n ot their stalwart strid e s along thee

H ave not thy corries to their bugl e blast

? Startled , O Cruachan Ben BEN C RUACHAN 12 1

8

e e O for som anci nt bard this day to come ,

e e e Som gr y Gl norchy chronicler ,

e e And nam ach rock , pass , mountain track some

Of the mut e histori e s here lyi ng dumb

From long oblivion stir .

9

1 th e H ow when wild kerne came from Erin , borne

’ e At E dward s h st , the land to win ,

e his Wight Wallace l ft Stirling rock at morn ,

ere e o f And night f ll , at yonder pass Lorn h Had shut t e caitiff in .

I O

’ Th ere yawns the gap on B enav o uri e s Slope

e Through which S ir N il, with morning light

e e Appearing, clos d the flying chief from hop ,

And by yon track that grooves the mountain - slope

Still call e d the path o f flight

Down that dark pass through which the river raves

Drave him in rout and all his m en

’ e e Crai anu ni s B yond the str am , in g caves

e e They sought a Sh lter, and they found th ir graves

’ r do win B e n U nder the o e sh a g .

1 See e en d Not at . 12 2 BEN C RUAC HAN

’ e Anon he d tell how Bruc in war array ,

o f S ecure S cotland and her Crown ,

Marched to this same pass , thirsting to

The d e spit e Lorri had done him o n t h e When fortune held him down

I 3

1 And how Lorn met him in yon narrow halse,

th e And barred way with targe and spear, 2 n Co rrie l ass Till gude Sir James , roundi g the g ,

From yonder crag came thundering down the pass , k And smote him, flan and rear .

I 4

as th e Ah me through gorge the battle boiled , What wild shrieks there went up to heaven

As forward Bruce through rocks and brushwood toiled ,

And backward Lorn with all hi s host recoiled

To death and ruin driven .

15 About thee many a slogan more hath knelled

Thou sawe st how many a bloody crime

When up thy corri e s Campbell bloodhounds yelled ,

H unting Clan Alpine from th e gl e ns th ey held

From immemorial time .

1 2 Cor r i e l ass re w . H a l se e . , throat of a gl n g , g y hollo

O N V I S I T I N G D R U I M A L I AT H

T HE BIRTHP LACE O F D UNCAN BAN MACINTYRE 1

TH E homes long are gone , but enchantment still lingers

These green knolls around , where thy young life

began ,

o f Sweetest and last the old Celtic Singers ,

Mo nadh - D o na ch Bard of the dhu , blithe Ban

’ N ever mid scenes o f earth fairer o r grander

hi s Poet first lifted eyelids on light ,

’ Free through these glens , o er these mountains to

wander,

And m ake them hi s own by the true minstrel right .

Around thee the meeting and green interlacing

e -fl o win - Of cl ar g waters and far winding glens , Lovely inlaid in the mighty embracing

Of sombre pine forests and storm -riven Bens

1 d See Not e at en . ON VIS IT IN G D R U I M-A LIATH 12 5

e o f Behind thee, these crowding P aks , region mystery,

Fed thy young spirit with broodings sublime ;

e Gr y cairn and green hillock , each breathing some history

- - o r . Of the weird under world , the wild battle time

B en - Starrav - - - ruadh Thine were , Stop gyre , M eal na ,

e - o r e M antl d in storm gloom , bathed in sunshin

- Gla sh o w er e -fu adh Streams from Cor oran , g , and Gl n

e . Made musi c for the , where their waters combine

But over all others , thy darling B en D oran

H eld thee entranced with his beautiful form ,

e - With looks ev r changing thy young fancy storing,

i o f Gladness of sunsh ne, and terror storm ,

e e re Open d to thee his most s cret cesses ,

e th e o f r e d- Taught th e lore the deer and roe ,

e e e e o n e Show d the th m f ed the gre n mountain cresses ,

- ch ro D rink th e cold w ells above lone Doire .

e e th e - There thin eye watch d them go up hill passes ,

e e At sunris r joicing , a proud jaunty throng ;

’ e th e e e e fl o w rs L arnt h rbs that th y lov , the small

e and hill grass s ,

e To mak these for ever bloom green in thy song . 12 6 O N VIS ITI N G D R U I M-A LIATH

o f Yet, child of the wilderness nursling nature Would the hills e ’ er have taught thee the

minstrel art ,

e e H ad not a visag , more lovely of featur , The fountain unsealed of thy tenderer heart

’

th e s ide o f -h aari e The maiden that dwelt by Maam ,

- — S e e n from thy home door a vision o fj oy

- Morning and even , the young fair haired Mary

M oving about at her household employ .

o n B endo a and B en ch all ader H igh , stately ,

t h e e Leaving dun deer in saf ty to hide ,

o n Fondly thy doating eye dwelt her , followed her,

e Tend rly wooed her, and won her thy bride .

O well for the maiden wh o found such a lover !

And we ll for the Poet ; to whom Mary gave

’ e e e e H er fuln ss of h art , until , lif s j ourn y over,

e e She lay down beside him to r st in the grav .

- s ad From the bards of to day , and their songs that darken

The sunshine with doubt , wring the bosom with

pain ,

H o w e gladly we fly to the shealings , and h arken

Th e clear mountain gladness that sounds through thy strain

S CHI HA LLI O N

I WATCH ED the sun fall down with pron e descent

’ S chihalli o n s - e Sheer on spear lik pinnacle ,

h e Which , as touched it , cleaved his solid orb

’ As a gre at warrior s spear might split the rim

’ S e Of a broad foeman s hi ld A moment more ,

fi re e re th e e e The liquid , to c ntr cleft ,

re- e hi s e H ad assum d own supr macy ,

And fus e d th e granit e p e ak into t h e mass

hi s o wn e h e e Of molt n glory . Anon roll d

O ff th e e - e from sp ar like peak maj stically,

-e e e Along the sharp dg d should r north away,

Rolling , and sinking slow till he became

e e e e A bright b lt , then an y of light , th n dipped

- D own to the under world , and all was gone .

’ e e e Th n all the mountain s east rn precipic ,

e e o u t e Though dark in purpl Shadow, loom d larg

e e e As proud to hav absorb d one sunset mor ,

And conscious of its o wn stability .

e A solemn paus it was, an awful thrill SCH I HALLI O N 129

as Of silence audible , though the tide

Of time were m e eting with eternity

- Such is the awful hush , the prayer like pause, When some good life benign has passed in peace

e From earth , and mourners f el that all is well .

6 18 0 W e A . ritt n ugust , 7 T O R R I D O N G L E N 1

O H e To rrido n marv llous Glen of ,

With thy flanks of granite wall ,

And noon - silence more than midnight grim To overawe and appal

M any a year I have wand e red

e A thousand corri s and glens ,

o n e s o e a s But never a awesom thou ,

’ o f M id thy grimness and terror Bens .

B en ea y , magnificent Alp ,

e Blanched bar , and bald , and white,

’ Hi s s ea e forehead , like old agle s scalp , S een athwart the sunset light

Li a u ch S g , rising heer

- From river bed up to the Sky,

o f e Grey courses masonry , ti r on tier ,

And pinnacles splintere d o n high !

1 See e end Not at .

I 3 2 TO RRI D O N GLEN

T o h e ar the discours e th e s e Brethren hold

As e T o rrido n th y Shout over Glen .

Wh e n the great Atlantic winds

e h Com blowing wit rack and rain ,

From it s caves and crannies the glen unbinds The peal of how grand a refrain

’ e And then , wh n the storms are o er,

The relaps e to the sol e mn sleep The mountain sabbath that ever more A sanctuary here doth keep

With Silence , sound , light and mist ,

o r Labouring lying still ,

’ o r o r e e Painter Poet , what r thou list , S What, compared with thine , their kill

’ To lift o r o e rawe the heart ?

e The power that dwells in th e ,

a s h S imple , sublime, and strong t ou art ,

I o f s Eternity.

The world weak with Sin hath grown ,

Th e nations are smit with d e cay

The ord e r of things Earth long hath known

Must pass with a crash away . TO R R ID O N G LEN I 33

Only two things Shall stand

H ealthful an d undecay e d

G o d The will of , and this mountain land ,

H e e Which , not man , hath mad .

W e 8 2 1 1 2 8 . ritt n J uly , 9 , 7 L O C H TO R R I D O N 1

I

C H I LD of the far-off ocean flood What wayward mood hath made thee fain To leave thy wide Atlantic main

F o r this hill - girdled solitude ?

To wind away through kyles and creeks , ff Past island , cli , and promontory , And lose thyself ’ mid grisly peaks And precipices scarred and hoary Can it be thou w eariest

’ Of ocean s turbulence and unrest,

Of driving wind and weltering foam ,

And, longing for some peaceful home, D ost hither come in hope to reap

o f Thy portion the mountain sleep , That underneath all changes broods I n these eternal solitudes

And , far away from plash and roar

Of breaking billows , evermore

1 ee e end S Not at .

136 LO CH TO RRI D ON

And yet such s e lf- control doth keep

Though on the verge , it will not weep .

I V — But noon i s up bright morn benign

From s ea to summit glad sunshine This wilderness austere hath thrilled With grand and wonderous j oy—and filled These mountain faces scarred and riven

e o f e With the soft white appar l h aven .

These peaks , the giant brotherhood , 1 th e That round kinloch crowding brood ,

s o Last night grey and grim , soar white

An d dazzling through the infinite Blue dome —what clouds there come and go

fe w fl e e c a s Are and y white snow. O j oy in such an hour to be

Afloat upon this inland sea

s k e With shore , hills , y, ben ath us seen

To float along two h e avens between Joy too hath reached th e hungry shore

e m There now, th ir s all black huts before ,

i un e Old bodies s t and s th mselves .

Poor widows pale , with looks refined, Who through dark winter months have pined

e I n hunger, each with wast d form

1 Ki n l oc/z k e - e , la h ad . LOC H TO RR I D O N I 37

S Take , while they may, the unshine warm .

And o n e o r two o n rocky shelves

e o ut Cr ep , to wrench the mussels thence

se a - That to their washed moorings hold ,

N ot with a clinging more inte nse

e old Than they to these bare dw llings .

V

O region full o fpower and change O f aspect—boundless in thy range

e Of gloom and glory , lik the soul

Of poet , who takes in the whole ,

And r enders back what e arth hath given

o f I llumined with the hues heaven .

Thou hast no mean o r common moods

ee fie

w e ' e And , who feelingly have be n

o f Partakers this wondrous scene, B een rapt in its sublime delight Touched with its pathos infinite

‘ H ow o ft from heartless worldly din

’ I n thought we ll wander back , and win

o f Refreshment , strength , and calm tone

From the great vision w e hav e known On winter nights w—ill wond e r how e I t fares up yonder wheth r now , 138 LOCH TO RR ID ON

’ - M id rain and cloud drift , these great peaks

’ Are listening to the night wind s shrieks ,

all Or, alone , the blue heaven share

With bright Arcturus or the B ear .

18 1 Written J uly 7 .

T H E WI L D E R N E S S

1 U P s c reet an the long corrie , through the rents ,

- - Past the last cloud berry and stone crop flower,

With no companion save the elements ,

This peak o f crumbled rock my lone watch

tower,

- Bare ridges all around me, weather bleached ,

- Of hoary moss and lichen crusted stone ,

o r B eyond all sounds of gladness distress , All trace of human feeling—only reached From far below by the everlasting moan

- The corrie burns send up, I gaze alone

’ O er the wide O ssiani c wilderness .

’ B e There o er the abyss by long Loch richt clov n , — - - Ben Aulder, huge , broad breasted , the heavens bowed To meet him —hides great shoulders in dark woven

o f And solemn tabernacle moveless cloud ,

’ And th e re pavilions n e ath that solid roof

Hi s n deer and eagles , dwelling all alo e

1 S cr eeta n e -S e , stony ravin on mountain id . TH E WI LD ERNES S 14 1

e e I n corrie and cov , inviolat ly still While with streaks breaking from those skirts

o f woof

Hi s - lower flanks he dapples, half way down ,

o f o wn Strange visionary dreamings his ,

That come and go at his mysterious will .

for Whence borne we know not , all heaven is grey ,

e And passing hence to go we know not wher ,

Weary world - wanderers that have lost their way

On that illimitable moor and bare,

e s un O utcasts disowned by the b clouded ,

’ - - O er deer grass wastes , faint gleaming , on they

stray,

o n e s o Past that sunless loch weird and wan ,

To be absorbed in yonder de sert dun That heaves an d rolls endlessly north away

Corr arr i ck o f By y and the springs Spey , h The grand old country o f the C at tan clan .

Or southward turn—down yonder long defile

There the great moor o f Rannoch darkly looms

o u t o n From its clouds and shadows , mile mile

Wandering away to ever- deep e ning glooms

e - That alway girdle thos storm cradling walls ,

Co rriechabah hi s and huge brethren grim , 14 2 T H E WILDE RN ES S

While here and there the waste moor shoots some eye 1 e Lo don Of ghostly tarn , and th re Loch y

crawls , — A wounde d dragon n o w in vapours dim

e Enwrapt , and now such lights br ak over him ,

e sk H is waters seem a blink of op n y .

That life o f clouds and sungl eam s that doth wage

It s e e dusky war athwart this wild rn ss ,

a e M id human change unchanging , age on g ,

What po e t hath availed to quit e e xpress ? 2 D o n ach h i s N ot Ban , for all mountain lore .

N ot Walter S cott , though king of minstrel

might ,

’ N ot ev e n Wordsworth s inspiration strong ;

But he , the voice of Cona , blind and hoar,

e e Whose youth b held these mov ments , and when

night,

o n h i s D eep night closed him , by inward sight

Renewed and clothed them in immortal song .

i s h e O ssian here , and a B eing more than ,

Even that upholding Spirit , who contains

1 i th e t h e Ta r n . e . . , small loch on moor 2 “ D on a c/z B an D Mc I n t re th e R e B s , uncan y , ob rt urn ! — —S ee e end H C . S . . th e . ighlands . J Not at

T H E H I G H LA N D R I V E R

HA ! e e there he com s , the h adlong H ighland River

o f i s e Shout a king in his curr nt strong,

Exulting strength that shall endure for ever,

As i h i s e lash ng down rocks h e l aps along .

’ O er the great boulders , foaming, leaping , bounding

Thy tawny waters from their loch set fre e

o n e Thou callest the sombr hills surrounding,

To come and j oin in thine exulting glee ,

3

- Flooding the flats , the rock barred gorges cleaving ,

’ O er falls a plunging foaming cataract ,

- From every brae a tribute burn receiving ,

Brightening with foam the dusky moorland tract . TH E H I GH LAN D R IVE R 14 5

4

e o f e Throb on thou h art this wid wilderness ,

Th e sombre Silenc e with thy gladness fill

W e — th e pass , but Thou remainest , none less ,

Will throb thy pulses wild , when ours are still .

W e S e e e 18 ritt n pt mb r 7 4 . L O S T O N S CH I HA LL I O N

H EP H E RD O H e ? S wher fore cam ye here , Ailie

What h as brocht you here 1 e Late and lane on this bl ak muir and eerie ,

A wild plac e this to be

a s For a body frail ye,

’ Wi the nicht and yon storm -clouds s ae

near ye .

ILI E A Oh dinna drive me back ,

I canna leave my track, Though nicht and the tempest should close

’ r m e o e .

’ w arld I v e The left behind ,

’ And there s nocht I care to find

S av e S chihalli o n and high heaven that are

afore me .

’ H EP H ER D 0 S Oh speak nae word driving,

But wh e refore art thou striving

e ? For the thing that canna be , puir Aili

1 L a n e e . , lon

148 LOST O N SC HI H ALLI O N

’ w- s ae B e the sno drifts ne er deep ,

I hav e got a tryst to keep

’ Wi the ange ls that up yonder wait to mee

me .

y.

i s e The Shepherd home gon ,

And She w e nt o n alone

sh e B o h ali e Night cam , but cam not to They socht her west and east i N eist day, and then the ne st

’ Schihalli o n s On head they found puir Ailie .

ff Sti with ice her limbs and hair,

And her hands fast closed in prayer,

And h er white face to heaven meekly

turning ;

e h e r e D own th y bore to her grav ,

And they knew h e r soul was safe

I n the hom e for which sae lang She had

e been y arning.

W e 1 —A f w h e e e e o ritt n 8 7 4 . e ye ars ago t e incid nt h r allud d t

u e i ts e th e e H actually occ rr d , in all d tails , in cas of a poor igh

w w e k i n e f land oman , a h alth and of ailing mind .

1 fi e S o ast erisked when rst publish d . W I L D FL OWE R S I N J U N E

I

1 TH E are skiffi n showers over, the g showers

Come let u s ris e and go

e t h e Wh re happy mountain flowers ,

Children of the young June hours ,

e I n their sw et haunts blow .

e e Wher nor plough nor spad hath clomb ,

th e e e On nativ upland l as ,

Betwe en the heath e r and t h e broom

e e e They hav made th ir chosen hom ,

o r S ingle in families .

Wet with rain , gleam bell and cup

th e e e e N ow w st ring suns t lays ,

From the valley passing up ,

e o n e e Spl ndour th s grassy braes .

t o o o f e Musi c , and the b st ,

All about them now i s ringing , 2 For the lav e rock from h e r n e st

- e For even song is heav nward springing ,

1 2 b fl v k k S n a e oc . . L r ifi g , ying , light , lar 150 \VI LD FLO \V E R S IN J U N E

And raining m elody in showers

th e D own upon lowly flowers .

e And at silent int rvals ,

’ e While the suns t s round them glistening,

Cometh to their e age r listening

S ound o flat e st cuckoo - calls

o f - And far off waterfalls .

e Lo the lavish hand of Jun ,

Far and near, the pasture soil ,

e e Brae and hillock , hath b str wn

- e With a blaze of Bird tr foil .

’ And , whene er you miss its Shining,

See th e white and simple sheen Of the Silvery Gallium lining

All the int e rspac e betwe en

and e H igh low , the alternat gleam

Of their colours is supreme .

s ee Stoop and a lowlier kind ,

- Creeping Milk wort, pink, white , blue ,

- e With the hill b nt intertwined ,

e Shy, yet hardy , pe ping through

th e - While Eye bright twinkles nigh ,

e e With its modest happy y ,

Like o ne s et to bear a gay

Gladsome spirit, come what may .

152 WI LD FLOWERS I N J U NE

e To descend the dark d ll cleaving ,

S e e the light comes slanting in

On the heath above the fall ,

There along their favourite haunt ,

1 e - Y llow Lucken gowans tall ,

e N othing loth , thei r spl ndours flaunt .

All day long in light winds swaying,

B right e yes th ey hav e b e e n displaying

e o f N ow their glob s gold are furled ,

- Bidding good night to the world .

Pass we now across the stream ,

By th e margin of the wood

H idden lies th e tenderer gl e am

Of a purer sisterhood . — Wary g o th e ir heathy cover

Yo u e may pass , nor onc discover ,

th e Underneath , pure white sheen

- e O f the starry Winter gr en .

fl ow eret s H appy stoop and find them ,

They will thrill yo u with their smile

G o your way , and nothing mind them ,

o n e . They smile , and b ar no guile

e N ow latest lights from topmost h ights ,

O ne by o n e a re fl e e tly going ;

1 - - a éen ow a n G e fl ower o ne the R a n u ncu l a cea e. g , lob , of \VI LD FLO \V E R S I N J U N E

W e e descend , and hom ward wend

re d - Where white and wild roses blowing ,

And foxglove b ells light th e dells

e e e But we will pass and l av th m growing .

’ ’ WINTER - G R EEN

( TR I E N TA L IS E UR OP E /1)

’ e I v e Darling Flow rs at last found you ,

s o e e For many months uns n ,

- e e o u Through blae b rri s clustered round y ,

Twinkling whit e with starry sheen Flowers to which no equals be

e For sw et grace and purity .

A S fl o we ret e e I gaze , O sl nd r !

e e e be Whatso v r things th re ,

e Spiritual , pur , and tender, R ise to thought at sight of thee .

D weller on this dusky moor,

e M eek and humbl , bright and pure .

e Bright as folding star at ven ,

a s o n Pure lamb vernal lea, 154 WI LD FLOWE RS IN J U N E

e o f e S eming less earth than h aven , H ow the heart leaps forth to thee

s o d Springing from this heathy ,

- Like a thing new come from God .

e e With thy pure white p tals s ven ,

And thy graceful leafl e ts whorled

R e - ound thy slend r stem , brief living

Visitant of this rough world ,

Thou dost hint at , and foreshow,

What we long for, cannot know .

Though thy soul -like smiles se e m foreign

- e To our sorrow cloud d clime ,

n Yet rough wood , and moorland barre ,

e Keep the thy appointed time ,

e Through all weath r, brave to bear

o u r B uffets of northern air .

e Brav to bear, an d do thy duty

o f e Full cheer ; and th n depart ,

I mage o f a saint -like b e auty

Le aving with the pure in heart

e All lone places making d ar,

- Where thy sweet looks re appear .

156 WI LD FLOWERS IN JUN E

e e Yes , ey s of b auty bright are ye ,

On human life all soil e d and dim

Forth - looking from that central s ea

Of beauty , that abides with Him .

W e 18 ritt n 7 4 . A LT CU CHI N D O U N

TILL e S let me dive the gl ns among , 1 With birks and rowans overhung ;

And wand e ring up th e chann e l b e d

’ By the burn s wayward windings l e d

Exploring every cove , and cool

e R cess , each nook , and clear brown pool S With its pure mirror, clear to how

e The leaves abov , the stones below

’ To e note each fair f rn s various grace ,

’ fl o w e r s Each peeping hiding place ,

- Each lichen crusted stone—and rock, s o h e With dyes deftly laid , t y mock

All textures o f most delicate bloom

’ E er wrought on Oriental loom .

With such sweet musings l e t m e stray

e e e Till som st p cataract bars the way ,

e e l e t t h e Then clos my yes , and croon

Of falling wat e rs all attune

My thoughts , and lead to quiet moods

e Where no rud worldly thought intrudes ,

1 B i r k r ow a n - , birch ; , mountain ash . 158 A LT GU C H IN DO U N

And haply wake within som e s ong

th e e e That may calm sw t hour prolong,

’ Whate e r it hav e of pure and fine

e To gladden other hearts , as min .

W e Se e e 12 1 8 . ritt n pt mb r , 7 5

’ 160 TH E B S H EPH ERD S H OU S E , LOC H RIC HT

3

t h e - Across Burn its peat moss lies ,

e e w This sid , some plats for m ado hay

U n flagging th e re t h e Shepherd plies

Hi s labour all this autumn day,

h i s H e and dark Lochaber wife ,

e th e e e To stor hay and fu l rif ,

This fleeting passing autumn prim e ’ i Gainst snowdrift n this Alpine clime .

4

H ard by , bareheaded shout and leap Their lads and lasses at their play

Th e clamorous colli e s ye lp to keep

1 k e - The y from the kail yard at bay ,

e e But all thes cri s , thi s household din ,

Can scarce a faintest e cho win

From this vast hush , wherein they seem

‘ N o more than sounds far heard in dream .

5

O w e re this stillness lodge d within

h e The countless earts in citi s pent ,

To mitigate the feverish din

With this soul - soothing el e m e nt

1 - - R a i l a r d a e e . y , cabb g gard n ’ T B 16 1 H E SH EPH ERD S H O U SE , LOCH RI CHT

’ The v e xt soul s tumult to allay

e By thought and qui t having way,

’ And sooth e th e ir pulses anxious throes With cool of this profound repose

6

’ ’ Yet what is all earth s cities roar,

The agitation loud and fierce ,

e That vex her countl ss hearts , before

The still all - girdling univ e rse

N o m ore than i s the littl e noise

’ This household at e ach day s employs

Makes in th e pres e nce o f the vast

Absorbing silence round them cast .

W e Se e e 18 ritt n pt mb r 7 5. A UT U M N I N T H E H I G H LA N D S

OCTOBE R 1

(AFTER KEATS)

I

O CTOBER i s misty bright , the touch thine

That the full year to consummation brings ,

Wh e n noonday suns and nightly frosts combine To make a glory that outrivals spring ’ s

o The m untain bases swathed in russet fern ,

e - - Their middle girths with de r grass golden pale , And the high summits touched with earliest sno ws

From summer dreamings lift to thoughts more s tern

Then doth the harvest -moon in beauty sail

’ - e O er the far peaks and the mist st aming vale ,

s - S o ur While ilver heened household river flows .

I I Who hath not seen thee clambering up the

- On sunny days in many hued attire ,

- Making wild cherry leaves thy scarlet flag,

1 See Note at end .

164 A U TU M N I N TH E H IG H LAND S

While h e re and there som e lon e ewe - moth e r bleats

’ e Fitfully, for last summ r s lamb forlorn

’ - be e O er heather brown no wild murmurs float ,

e sh The p wits gone , y curlews haste to leave

The high moors where th e y scream e d th e summer

long ;

From slaughtering guns th e mountains win re priev e 1 But still far up o n mossy haggs remote

Th e e h e r e e plov r Sits and pipes plaintiv not ,

- And cackling grouse cock whirs on pinions strong.

GARTH C ASTLE 2

G A RTH C A STLE h e e , hath born the brunt

Of twic e thre e hundred years

Yet dauntl e ss still his time - rent front

A ruddy banner rears .

h e th e - Bethinks of blood red flag,

W a s e e waving th r of old ,

’ Wh e n B a deno ch s Wolf th at island crag

Chos e for hi s mountain hold ?

’ On e ith e r sid e a torre nt s roar A jagged dark ravine

A h e adlong pre cipice before

e e Behind , yon mountain scr n,

1 2 n d H a s ee . 2 See e e s . . gg , p 9 Not at AU T U MN IN T HE H IG H LANDS 165

e e - e th e e h e e e H re , ward r lik , gorg k ps ,

Firm foot and asp e ct grim

S chih alli o n from his mountain st e eps

Looks calmly down on him .

e e e e O w ll he chos this dark d fil ,

e Who harried far and n ar,

’ - E e Fire wasted lgin s holy pil ,

e e e e And filled th s gl ns with f ar . — And th e n his work of ravage sped

To this st e rn hold withdre w

’ - And Scotland s lion , bloody red ,

e From its proud foreh ad thre w .

Those robber chiefs are in their graves ,

And from this ruin e d brow

A ge ntl e r power th e r e d flag waves

N o t e man , but N atur now

e Calm N ature , who th se autumn eves

H e r S e il nt finger lays ,

And kindles those wild-ch e rry leaves

e To bright purpureal blaz .

D e ft worker ! who like h er can rich

e e And rar embroidery weav ,

To hid e the rents o fruin whi ch Time ’ s unseen wedges cleave 166 AUTU M N I N TH E H IGH LANDS

0 e w ll for thee that thou canst find ,

After thy stormy day,

A nurse s o beautiful and kind

To gladden thy decay,

And gi v e to passing hearts to fe el

H ow und e r wrong and ruin

e A d ep power lies , can gently heal

With beautiful renewing .

W e e 18 6 ritt n Octob r 7 .

CLATTO

And the temp e st blowing blended

s ea Sky , and , and earth , once more .

5

1 Drowning haugh and flooding river,

r t h e Drenching da k, storm wind blew — Weary days on days will e ver Sun and star again shine through ?

6

’ Ye s t i s what comfort to ponder,

Though th e se vapours dense and chill

—S ch ih alli o n Press us down yonder ,

h i s i s I n strength soaring still .

7

As in happy summers olden — There he stands z w e yet shall s e e

Spear-like cl e ave th e sunset golden

2 Hi s e peaked forehead , calm and fr e .

8

u S o in many a doubtf l season ,

’ When the soul s best vision fades ,

And no reach o fheart or reason

h e Can pierc e through t dull damp Shades ,

1 - w H a u li e e . g , wat r m ado 2 H i s ea ked or e/zea d see S c/z i /za l l i on 12 8 . p f , , p . C LATTO 169

9

Stre ngth th e re is and consolation

’ Whatso e e r obstructions hide

Knowing in their changel e ss station

’ e e H aven s et rnal truths abide .

I O

e M ek hearts , who with faith unbating

’ th e Through soul s dark days endure ,

Lights divin e for you are waiting ;

The gre at vision is s e cure

W e A 2 1 18 ritt n pril , 7 7 . A U CHMO R E

MOU NTA I N ! s o old e O stream , yet ver young

Thy voice so close beside this anci e nt home

o n o n Soothingly murmurs , for ever , Like some old nurse beside a cradled child Crooni ng a solemn lullaby for thou i Wast sounding here long ere this mans on rose ,

And wilt be sounding o n when it and all

That it inhabit have quite disappeared , I nto the invisible Far up among

The Open heathery braes thy springs are born , And there thou blendest thy first prattle with

’ The crowing muir- cock and the plover s cry ;

o n Then , thy j ourney down , these old pine woods

Receive and solemnize thy plunging roar,

Ere in the lake it is for ever still .

Unceasingly these waters come and go ,

e But thou , still voice ! for evermore the sam

i — o r Ab dest sound th at does not change fail ,

Eternity in time made audible .

And age by age , fond dwellers here have come ,

D R U MUA CH DA R 1

TRAN SLATION FROM THE GAELIC

O WAE on Loch Laggan ! That bonnie spring day

Lure d my lad and h i s herd

To the des e rt away

Then changed e re night fell

its To a demon form , And hugged him to death

t h e o ft h e I n arms storm .

’ D rumuachdar s dark moor I have wandered in pain

The herd I have found,

in S ought the herdsman vain .

B ut my gentle Macdonald

Lay stretched where he fell ,

o n th e H is head willow ,

H is feet in the well .

i 1 S ee e en d D r mn n ac/zda r i s o ou e as Not at . pr n nc d a s e tri yllabl . D R U MUAC H D AR I 73

The folk with their dirks

Cutting birches so nigh thee , O why did none chance I n that hour to pass by thee

H ad I but b e en th e re

E re the death chill had bound thee,

With a dry ampl e plaid To fold warmly around thee

1 And a quaich o f pure spirit 2 th e Thrice passed through reek ,

To bring warmth to thy heart ,

e And the glow to thy che k .

A bright fire o n the floor

Without smoke or ashes ,

I n a well woven bOthy

3 ’ Theeked o er with green rashes .

N o t thus , O not thus , But all lonely thy dying !

Yet t h e men came in crowds

Where in death thou wast lying .

There was w e eping and wail

th e e e I n the crags to w st of the ,

2 1 - k a i c/z k . R ee ke s , small drin ing cup , smo , 3 k e Tkee ed . , thatch d 174 D RU MUACHDAR

As the race of two grandsires

Came lorn and distressed for thee .

Thy kindred and clansmen

e Were mingling th ir grief, 1 I n the kiln a s they laid thee

e And waited the chi f.

l Til Cluny arrived,

Hi s e proud head b nding low,

V o uri ch Till Clan arrived,

h i s Each man with woe .

Till Clan -I an arrived

To swell the great wail , They three that were oldest f And best o the Gael .

With them came too Clan Tavish

Th e hardiest in fight .

h i s There too were brothers ,

H eart - Sick at the Sight

o ne And thy little sister , I n life ’ s early bloom

W as there too , her beauty

’ O e rsh ado wed with gloom .

1 Ki l n s ee o e end . , N t at

L O W L N D L Y R I C S

i 8o TH E BU S H ABOON TRAQUAI R

And what sa w ye there At the bush aboon Traquair ?

Or what did y e h e ar that was worth your heed ? 1 I heard the cushi e s croon 2 t he Through gowden afternoon ,

’ And the Quair burn singing doun to the Vale o Tweed .

sa w o r And birks I three four,

’ Wi e e grey moss beard d owr ,

’ 2 a re e 0 th e e The last that l ft birk n Shaw, Whar m ony a simmer 4 e ’ en

F e ond lovers did conven ,

5 ’ Thae bonny bonny gl o ami n s that are lang awa .

6 Frae mony a but and ben ,

m u i rl and By , holm , and glen ,

’ ’ They cam ane hour t o sp en o n the greenwood sward But lang hae lad an ’ lass

’ B een lying neth the grass ,

’ The green green grass 0 Traquair kirkyard .

They were blest beyond compare,

e e Wh n they held their trysting ther , Amang thae greenest hills shone on by the s un

1 - 2 a ski s Gow den e . C e w e . , ood dov s , gold n 3 B i r ken s/za w fl at e l e w w , ground at bas of hil , ov rgro n ith 4 5 l a m i n s w . S i mm er e . G o small birch . , summ r , t ilights 6 B a t a n d oen e k e . , cottag itch n and parlour TH E BU S H ABO ON TRAQUAI R 18 1

1 And then th e y wan a rest 2 l o wn e st The and the best , I ’ ’ Traquair kirkyard when a was dune .

ro t N ow the birks to dust may ,

’ 0 l u v e rs h e N ames forgot,

Nae lads and lasses there o ny mair convene But the blithe lilt o ’ yon air

Keeps the bush aboon Traquair,

l wa uv e s e . And th e that ance there , aye fresh and gr en

th e fi ve w e we e e 18 6 This and follo ing po ms r publish d in 4 .

1 Wa n . Low n est e , won , calm st . T H R I E V E C A S T L E 1

WH EN CE should ye o ’ er gentle spirits

’ Such o e rm a st ering power achieve ?

Workers o fhigh -hande d outrage

e M aking king and peopl grieve,

O the lawless Lords o f Galloway

O the bloody towers of Th ri ev e

IS it that this time - scarred visage

From behind five centuries dim ,

- e D oomed to death , yet death d fying,

th e Glares very look of him ,

Who first lai d these strong foundations , M ighty Archibald the Grim

o f i s I mpress those hands on them , That beat S outhron foemen down

I ron hands , that grasped a truncheon Weightier than the kingly crown

- - Stalwart Earls , broad browed , black bearded,

’ r r wn Pinnacled on power o e g o .

1 ee e en d S Not at .

184 TH R I EV E CASTLE

Outcast now from human uses , Both by war and peace disowned

All thy high ambitions broken ,

All thy dark deeds unatoned ,

’ wear st Still thou no meaner aspect ,

Than a despot King dethroned .

Frost and rain , and storm and thunder Time ’ s strong wedges—let them cleave h Breaches throug thy solid gables , Thou wilt neither blench nor grieve

’ av st ask Thou who g , wilt , no pity , Unrelenti ng Castle Tbrieve D E V O R G U I L LA 1

O R TH E ABBEY OF T HE S\V E ET H EART

’ I N grey Cr iffel s lap o f granite ! Lies the Abbey, saintly fair

Well the heart , that first did plan it , Finds her earthly resting there

o u t o f Who from an age wildness ,

Lawless force , unbridled crime, Reached forth wise hands in mildness

H elpful to the coming time .

’ Th e rud e Galloway chieftain s daught e r

o f M emory her N orman knight , And long widowed sorrow taught her

To make good deeds her delight .

Long e re now their names had p e rished 2 e sh e H ad not thos wise halls , reared

e By the southern I sis , ch rished

’ Them for Founders names revered .

1 2 S e w d B e e . e e e n . T/zose i se lza l l s C Not at , alliol oll g , Oxford 186 D EV O RG U I LLA

’ Whil e th e se arches o er N ith river

Thronged by daily passers , still

Witness h e re her pure endeavour

’ To complete her dear lord s will .

But for human u s e or learning

Good works done, could they appease H er long heartache ? that lone yearning

e e e Other m dicine asked than th s .

“ sh e S o spake , Rise , page, and ride in

Haste , this grief will not be calmed , Till thou from the land he died in

’ Bear my dead lord s heart embalmed .

Ivory casket closing round it ,

e With enamelled silv r, fair

b e As deft hands could frame , bound it ,

And with fl e et hoofs homeward bare

G e nerous h e art that once so truly

With young love for her had beat ,

h e r B ore he to home , and duly

’ Laid before the lady s feet .

One whole day her passionate sorrow

I nly brooded , dark and dumb ,

B ut in silence shaped , the morrow

Clear as light her words did come .

T H E N A N D N OW

TI ME wa s A there ,

- When this hill pass , 1 e With castle , ke p , and peel ,

- Stood iron teethed , Like warrior sheathed

I n mail from head to heel .

Friend or foe,

0 N man might go ,

Out to the English Border, N or any ride

To Forth or Clyde ,

Unchallenged of the Warder .

At the baron ’ s ’ hest

e The troop r spurred , And brought the traveller

e h i s B fore lord ,

b e - To dungeon mured , d Dark , amp , and lone ,

small square tower in th e Border counties . TH EN AND N O \V

Till d e ath had cure d

r H is wea y moan .

But time has pulled the t e e th

e From thos fierce fangs ,

Spread his sward o fh e ath

’ 1 O er t h e ri e ver gangs

H ushed their castles proud ,

- As grave yards still , And streamed life loud

Through mart and mill .

e Embowered among gr en ashes ,

Th e e S gr y towers igh , Alas

As the loud train crashes

- D own the rock ribbed pass . They come and go

Morn and eve ,

fo e B ear friend and ,

And ask no leave .

While the towers look forth

From th e ir gaunt decay

e e e On an alt r d arth ,

A strange new day ;

Wh e n mechani cs pale

1 ’ i o r e R e e . , robb r 190 TH EN AN D N OW

e Oust f udal lords ,

e e With wh l and rail ,

N ot blood -re d swords And the horny hands

e - That d lve iron ore ,

Grasp mighty lands ,

Chiefs ruled of yore .

19 2 TH E BLU E B ELLS

And afar on dusky moorlands ,

1 Where the sh e pherd wears hi s she e p

By the hoary h e adstone waving

’ ’ e O er the Covenant r s Sleep .

2 e re e Ye come laverocks c ase their s inging ,

sun And abide through and rain ,

- Till our harvest homes are ended ,

And th e barn -yards stored with grain

e Then ye pass , wh n flock the plover

To warm lands beyond the main .

” I n your old haunts , O happy blue bells

Ye e , when we are gon , shall wave

as And living we have loved you ,

e D ead , one service would we crav ,

Come , and in the west winds swinging ,

ur v Prank the sward that folds o gra e .

1 2 Wea r s e s t o S e e . L a ver ocks k . , l ads cautiou ly h lt r , lar s T H E H A I R S T R I G 1

2 O HOW my h e art lap to her Upon the blithe hairst rig Ilk 3 morning comin ’ owre the fur 4

’ rac e fu Sae g , tall , and trig .

C H O RU S—O the blithe hairst rig The blithe hairst rig Fair fa ’ the lads and lasses On th e blithe hairst rig

’ 5 sat At twal hours aft we aloof, 6 7 Aneth the bielding stook , 8 9 And t ently fra e h e r bonny loof

The thistle thorns I took .

When hairst was dune and n e eb o rs met

10 th e To haud canty kirn , Sae fain 11 we twa to steal awa’

And daunder up the burn .

1 - 2 i st R i r fi e e . H a r e e . L a e g , ha v st ld at r aping tim p , l apt 3 4 5 ’ lk F a r w w a . I e . T l , ach , furro . , noon 6 7 A t/z e B i el di n stook e e se t n e e . e e , b n ath g , sh lt ring sh av s 8 9 l e . e e Ten t . Loo e up against ach oth r y , d ftly f, op n hand 10 t ki r n k e e th e e H a n d t ke ca n e e e . y , p ch rful harv st hom 11 F a i n . , longing O 194 TH E HAI RST R I G

’ e - The lammies whit as new fa en drift ,

Lay quiet on the hills ,

’ th e e 1 The clouds aboon i de p blue lift ,

e e . Lay whit r, pur r still

A e t h e y , pearly whit , clouds that night 2 Shone marled to the moon ,

e o u But nought lik y , my bonny doo

e All earth or heav n aboon .

3 The burnie whimpering siller clear, I t made a pleasant tune

But O there murmured in my c ar

’ A sweeter holier soun .

4 we e Lang, lang crack d , and went and came , 5 e And daund red, laith to part

But the a e thing I daure d na name

W as e that lay n ist my heart .

’ F are we el cam owre and owre again ,

And yet we could na sever,

Till words were spake in that dear glen ,

u s ane That made forever .

1 2 3 S i l l er i k Ma r l ed e e e . S e . L t S . f , y , ch qu r d , ilv r 4 5 La i t/z Cr a cked e . . , chatt d , loath

196 MAN O R WATER

5 When from yon hill across the glen

The H arvest moon doth wander , She lingers o ’ er no strath or B en

With sweeter looks and fonder .

6

Then what hath Yarrow, that famed stream

By hundred Poets chaunted , To win the glory and the dream This dale hath wholly wanted ?

7

i s I t not beauty, nor rich store

Of braver deeds and old e r D own all thi s water Peel towers

e Of stern old warriors mould r .

8

O er these hills rod e b e neath the moon 1 With his Bride , Lord William flying ;

At this wan water they light e d down

e e The str am his life blood dy ing .

1 “ ! ’ Lor d Wi l l i a m s ee T he D e S , ouglas Trag dy , in cott s fldi nst r el s o t/ze S cot t i slz B or der y f . MANO R \VATER I 9 7

9

Wh e nc e then did Yarrow win her claim T o su ch poetic favour ?

She o l d kept the melodious name ,

e The old Celtic p ople gave h er .

And when upon her banks befell

e - o r Some lov pain , deep sorrow

Som e Bard wa s nigh to Sing it w ell

To the magi c chime o f Yarrow.

W e 18 6 ritt n about 7 . S O N G O F T H E S O UT H CO U NT R E E

O TH E Border H ills s a e green I ’ the S outh Countree

With th e h e ather streaked between

I n the South Countre e !

Sa e e h ae e e blyth as I b n ,

h ae Sic sights as I seen ,

’ Wid e wandering morn to e en I n the S outh Countree

’ And it s all e nchant e d ground

’ I the South Countre e ; Fairy knowe and moated mound h On hill , and olm , and lea 1 Grey stannin stan e and barrow Of old chiefs by Tweed and Yarrow

’ I the South Countree .

1 S t a n n i n . , standing

200 S ONG OF TH E S OUTH CO U NTREE

We nt smiling up the stair

t h e e e I n S outh Countr ,

’ When Mary, Yarrow s flower, Looked forth through Shine and Shower

’ From D ryh op e s lonely Tower

I n the South Countree .

6

Yet though the t owers down fa ’

’ t h e I S outh Countree ,

There are w insome flowers that

’ I the S outh Countre e

O s ae happy would I b e

’ With h e r that s d e ar to me

e h dee Th re to live , and t ere to

’ I the South Countree .

W e 18 6 ritt n 7 . T H R E E FR I E N D S 1 I N YA R ROW

E L . N ADD RESSED TO . L U SH I N GTO

’ MA NY O a year is gone , since in life s fresh dawn ,

The bonny forest over,

n M orn to eve I wa dered wide , as blithe as ever bride

To meet her faithful lover .

2

’ ’ D r h o e s From N ewark s birchen bower, to y p hoary

Tower, Peel and Keep I traced and numbered

’ And sought o er muir and brae , by cairn and crom

lech grey ,

o ld The graves where warriors slumbered .

3

’ Where er o n hope o r dale has lingered some trail

o r Of song minstrel glory ,

1 S e n e N o t e at e d . 202 TH RE E FR I ENDS I N YARROW

There I drank deep draughts at will , but could never

drink my fill ,

Of the ancient Border story .

4

O fond and foolish time , when to ballad and old rhyme

Every throb o f my pulse was beating !

AS if o ld world things like th e s e could minister

- heart ease , Or the soul ’ s deep want be meeting !

26 96

5 m N ow when gone is sum er prime , and the mellow

autumn tim e

e o f u s Of the y ar and life has found ,

o n e Thee, O gentle friend, how sweet hour to

e sp nd,

With the beauty o f Yarrow all around us

6

o f With him too for a guide, the Poet Tweedside ,

’ e th e e O ur st ps mong bra s to order,

Wh o th e e - still doth prolong fervour , torr nt strong ;

o l d o f The spirit the Border .

1 e ke MS So ast ris d in .

204 TH RE E FRIEN DS IN YARROW

1 w e stood by the stone where Piers C ockburn

e e r sts alon ,

With his Brid e in their dwe lling narrow

’ h ear d s t e th e o f thou th ir tale of dool , and wail

sorrow full ,

h e o n T e sadd st ever wailed Yarrow .

e e Thou didst listen , while thine y all lovingly did lie

On the green brae s spre ad around thee

t h e e e e But I knew by d ep rapt quiet thou didst k p , f That the pow e r o Yarrow had bound th e e .

O well that Yarrow should put o n her swe e test mood

To me e t thy ge ntl e b e ing

For o fboth th e nativ e mien and the fortunes ye have

seen ,

e Respond with a strange agr eing .

13

There was beauty here before sorrow swept t h e Forest

’ o e r ,

I ts beauty more meek to rende r

1 S ee e e nd Not at . TH REE FRI ENDS I N YARROW 2 9 5

th e Thou wert gentle from thy birth , and toils and

care s o f e arth

H ave but made th e e more wisely tender .

14

e e o n H igh souls hav com and gone , and these braes

hav e thrown

Th e o f e light their glorious fanci s ,

And left their words to dwe ll and mingle with th e

sp e ll

o l d Of a thousand romances .

15

And who more fit to find , ! than]thou , in soul and mind

t o e e All akin great bards d part d ,

e e The high thoughts h re they breath d , the boon they

hav e bequ e ath e d To all the tender hearted r

16

’

e . e And we who did partak , by still St Mary s Lak ,

e o f e e Thos hours r new d communion ,

e e e o ur Shall feel when far apart , the r m mbranc at heart

e o u r - Ke ps alive foregone soul union . 2 06 TH REE FRI ENDS I N YARROW

I 7

From this world o f e ye and ear soon we must dis

appear ;

But o u r aft e r-life may borrow

e e From these scenes som ton and hue , when all

things a re made n e w

I n a fairer land than Yarrow .

e e e 18 8 Written S pt mb r 7 .

B A L L I O L S C H O LA R S

18 4 0—18 4 3

A REM EMB RANC E

WITHI N e— the ancient Colleg gate I passed,

Looked round onc e more upon the well - known square

e saw Change had been busy sinc I it last,

R e placing crumbled walls by new and fair — The o ld chapel gon e a roof of stat e lier Show — S oared high I wondered if it sees b elow

- fi din e c on . As pur heart worship, as g prayer

e e But though walls , chap l , garden all are chang d ,

e e e And through thes courts quick g nerations fle t,

e a re s e e Th re whom still I round table ranged ,

I n chapel snowy- stol e d for matins meet

P 2 10 BALLIO L S C HO LARS

e e Though many fac s since have com and gone ,

e e o n Chang less in memory these still liv ,

- A S cholar brotherhood, high souled , complete .

3

From old foundations where the nation rears ,

’ H er darlings, came that flower of England s youth

o r And here in latest teens , riper years ,

Stood drinking in all nobleness and truth .

’ e By streams of I sis twas a f rvid time , When zeal and young devotion held their prime

n o t Whereof unreceptive these in sooth .

4

’ 1 The voice that weekly from S t . Mary s spake,

As from the unseen world oracular,

a s r e - Strong another Wesley , to wake

o f The sluggish heart England, near and far,

s o Voice intense to win men , or repel ,

o n e Piercing yet tender, these spirits f ll, h M aking them other , higher than t ey were .

5

2 o ne Foremost stood, with forehead high and broad ,

’ S culptor ne er moulded grander dome of thought ,

- Beneath it , eyes dark lustred rolled and glowed ,

1 2 H o . A . C H C ew . J . . ( ardinal) N man rthur l ugh

2 12 BALLI O L SCH OLARS

e And , y arning still to vast America ,

e e e n o t A simpler lif , mor fr edom , sought , found .

N o w th e world list e ns to his lone soul - songs

h e i t s But , for all miseries and wrongs

e l Sad no more , sle ps beneath I ta ian ground .

9

1 o n e B eside that elder scholar there stood ,

’ - On Sunday mornings mid the band white stoled ,

As e o f e de p thought , but chastened mor of mood ,

fe e e - e D evout , af ctionat , and humbl soul d .

e e a s h e e e e e e Th r , stood in chap l , w k by w k ,

Lines o f deep fe eling furrowing down his cheek

e e e L nt him, even then , an asp ct strang ly old .

n o f N ot from the great fou dations the land,

’ But from a w ise and learned fath e r s roof

e H is plac he won amid that scholar band ,

Where fin e st gifts of mind w e re put to proof ;

And if som e things he miss e d which gre at schools

e t ach ,

e h e e e e h M or precious traits k pt , beyond th ir r ac ,

e e Shy traits that rough r world had scar d aloof.

1 P R e v . e Constantin richard . BALLI O L S CH O LARS 2 13

I I

H im e arly prophet souls of Ori e l

- e e w A boy companion to th ir converse dr ,

e t h i s wa s e e And y thought fr e , and pondered w ll

e e e All sid s of truth , and gav to ach its due .

e e e e e O pur wis h art , and guil l ss as a child !

e e e e I n th , all jarring discords r concil d ,

e Knowledge and reverenc undivided grew .

Ah m e w e dre amed it had b e e n his to l e ad

' o f e - The world by power de ply pondered books ,

And lure a rash and hasty age to h e e d

Old truth s s e t forth with fre sh and winsom e looks

But he those h e ights forsook for th e low vale

e e e e e e And sob r Shad s , wh r dw lls misfortun pale,

e e e e And sorrow pin s in unr m mber d nooks .

I 3

’ e e o n e e Wh re r a lone lay and had no fri nd ,

A s o n o f consolation th e re was h e ;

e e e And all lif long ther was no pain to t nd,

O e e e e N gri f to solace, but his h art was fr

An d e e o f e e e th n , his y ars pastoral s rvic don ,

e e e h e And his long suffering m kly born , won

’ s e a A grave o fpeace by England s southern . 2 14 BALLIOL SCHO LARS

I 4

e More than all arguments in deep books stor d ,

’ Than any preacher s penetrative tone ,

M ore than all music by rapt poet poured ,

T o e e e e have s n thy life , thy conv rs to have known Was w itness for thy Lord—that thus to be

e H umble, and true , and loving, lik to thee

was fo r This worth living , and this alone .

15

- 1 Fair haired and tall , slim , but of stately mien ,

e I nheritor of a high poetic nam ,

e o f Anoth r , in the bright bloom nineteen

Fre sh from the pl e asant fi e lds o f Eton came

’ e e o f What r beautiful or poet sung ,

e e e h i s n Or stat sman utt r d, round memory clu g ;

B e fore him shone re splend e nt heights o ffame .

16

so With friends around the board , no wit fine

th e e To wing jest , the sparkling tale to t ll

’ e Yet ofttimes listening in St . M ary s shrin ,

Profounde r moods upon his spirit fell

h a s We heard him then , England heard him Since ,

1 D L C e e J . . ( ord) ol ridg .

2 16 BALLIO L S CH OLARS

To give the day to gladn e ss that was meet

w e — Forth to the fields fared , among the young

h i s Green leaves and grass , laugh the loudest rung

e hi s Beyond the r st bound flew far and fleet .

’ ’ All afternoon o er Sh ot o v e r s breezy heath

e We ranged , through bush and brak instinct with

spring,

’ The vernal dream -lights o e r t h e plains beneath

Trailed , overhead the skylarks carolling ;

e - e w e Then home through vening shadow d fields went ,

o u r e And filled College rooms with m rriment ,

Pure j oys, whose memory contains no sting .

1 And thou wast there that day , my earliest friend

I n Oxford Sharer o f that j oy the while

e e e Ah me , with what delightsom m mories bl nd

e - Thy pale calm face , thy strang ly soothing smile

What hours come back, when , pacing College walks ,

N e w w e e kno ledg dawn d on us , or friendly talks

- I nserted , long night labours would beguile .

1 B S e J . illingsly ymour. BALLIO L S CHOLARS 2 17

2 2

e w What strolls through m adows mo n of fragrant hay ,

e On summer venings by smooth Cherwell stream ,

’ ’ e o r e When H om r s song , chaunt from Sh lley s lay ,

Added new spl e ndour to the sunset gl e am

Or how , on calm of Sunday afternoon ,

’ Kebl e s l o w sweet voice to devout commune ,

l . And heavenward musings , wou d the hours redeem

2 3

’ But when on crimson cre eper o er the wall b Autumn his finger eautifully impressed,

’ And came, the third time at O ctober s call ,

Cheerily trooping to their rooms the rest ,

Filling them with glad greetings and young glee , — H is room alone wa s empty h e nceforth we

e e By his sweet f llowship n o more wer blest .

2 4

o ur Too soon , too quickly from longing sight,

e Fading he passed , and left us to deplor

From all o u r Oxford day a lovely light

Gone , which no after morning could restore .

e o n Through his own meadows Ch rwell still wound , And Thames by Eton fields as glorious shone

H e so who l oved them would come back no more . 2 18 BALLI O L S CHO LARS

2 5 Among that scholar band the youngest pair 1

e e e I n hall and chap l sid by side w re seen ,

o f Each high hopes and noble promise heir,

—a But far in thought apart world between .

’ The - one wide welcomed for a father s fame ,

Entered with free bold ste p that se emed to claim

on . Fame for himself, nor another lean

2 6

w et So full of po er, y blithe and debonair,

‘ hi s e e r Rallying fri nds with pl asant bante gay,

Or half a - dream chaunting with jaunty air

o f e e o f Great words Go th , catch B eranger .

s e e hi s We the banter sparkle in prose ,

e B ut knew not th n the undertone that flows ,

sad hi s S o calmly , through all stately lay .

2 7

The other of an ancient name , erst dear

To Border Hills , though thence too long exiled ,

o f e e I n lore H llas scholar without pe r,

Reared in gre y halls on banks o f S evern piled

h e wa s S Reserved , of few words and low speech ,

1 el Matth ew Arnold and J am es Ridd l .

2 20 BALLIO L SCHOLARS

Can me e t no longe r as of o l d they m et

e Yet , O pure souls ther are who still retain

D e ep in their h e arts th e high id e al strain

e e e e e Th y h ard with you , and n v r can forg t .

To have passed with them the threshold of young life ,

th e Where the man meets , not yet absorbs boy,

e e And, ere d scending to the dusty strif ,

e Gazed from cl ar heights of intellectual joy ,

That an undying image left enshrined ,

A s e nse of nobleness in human kind

Experience cannot dim , nor time destroy .

3 2

’ o f e Since then , through all the jars lif s routine ,

’ t - All tha down drags the Spirit s loftier mood ,

I have b e e n soothed by fe llowship sere ne

’ e o wn e Of singl souls with heaven s light ndued .

’ — e But look where er I may before , b hind

e e I have not found, nor now xp ct to find,

e - Anoth r such high hearted brotherhood .

e M 18 Publish d arch 7 3 . Y AT T W D EA N S TA N L E S . A N D R E S

EST e — e e GU but no strang r , many a tim b fore

e e f e O Thy fe t had turn d with ervour all thin wn ,

’ e e - To pac our lost Cath dral s grass grown floor ,

Through ske l e ton walls and altars ov e rthrown

e e m To trace dim graves wh r saint and artyr sleep ,

O r wand e r wh e re wild moor and s ea- wash e d ke e p

e e S aw mitr d h ads , by bloody hands struck down .

Long lay thes e memories blank to common eyes — , Waiting their Poet z thy voice ringing cl e ar — Peal e d through our halls t h e buri e d Shad e s arise

o f e r e - e The strifes former centuri s app ar ,

m e And ighty nam s historic , in long line ,

e e e o u r e Starting to lif , b for vision shin ,

e e e . Maj stic , as they moved in presenc h re

Passed soon that thrilling hour and w e t o o pass

But that fine strain o f wisdom shall not fl e e

e as e e Transi nt shadows ov r summ r grass ,

e w e m e b e But dw ll , trust , in any a h art , and

e e e A pow r benign , for good that shall ndur , T 2 2 2 DEAN STAN LEY AT S . AN DREWS

o f e A spring aspiration high and pur ,

e e Of larg forbearance and swe t courtesy .

Those stirring tones , their every rise and fall ,

V That ivid countenance , that winning mien , Some youth to listening ears shall yet recall

o n e I n far days , wh n we no more are seen

’ e Stanley s voic long ago , like trumpet call ,

’ I heard it thrill St . Andrews antique hall , N one other such have heard through all the years

” between .

’

t S C e e St . A ew 1 A 18 S . . alvator s oll g , ndr s , 9 th pril 7 5

2 24 TH E D EATH O F PRI NCE ALB ERT

s o Well may She mourn , humbly great

H e e un elat e stood b side her, ,

th e Lending might true wisdom lends ,

- e - Far r aching thought , truth tempered will

e t And upward aim , y calm and still

e To guide th e Stat to noble ends .

H ow lofty and benign his course

e - e From vain s lf s eking , harmful force,

And splendid idlesse , all removed

Pure in himself, and toward the pure

e Ser ne things , that alone endure ,

e Still labouring, stedfast , unr proved . — But that cold voice through palace gat e

I t passed, unchallenged, guards that wait

Around those portals night and day ;

e Pass d on , unheard , by page and groom ,

Pierced to that stately, Silent room , “ And coldly whispered , come away .

a s - We start , though noon day, that shone

e A moment since , were quench d and gone

Falls dim eclipse the land athwart ,

i s And , only now thy head low,

These islands in th e ir sorrow know

The all thou wert , O princely heart

A ew D e e e 18 6 1 ndr s , c mb r . MD . S I R A E S S S N . J M I M P O , BART

HATH - e then that life long combatant with d ath ,

so o ft e H e who the tyrant foil d ,

e Who stayed for many , a whil , their fleeting breath , Sunk of his might despoiled

Ah Yes that native strength o fnerve and brain Wrested from powers till then unknown

1 ’ The marve llous anodyne for others pain

o wn But found none for his .

Thousands in every land beneath the sun

e Will hear that word , and , hearing, griev , The head is low that for the sufferer won

S o gracious a reprieve .

Hath God then sat behind the clouds and h eard

Th e h elpless generations groan

Through all those ages , by no pity stirred ,

’ H ow much so e er they moan

1 Chloroform . Q 2 26 ON TH E DEATH O F SI R JAMES S IMPSON

o n e Hi s H e , Who by small fiat of will ,

o f Hi s One move Almighty hand ,

Could bid all human agony be still , And sorrow countermand

Is s o s o man pitiful, our God hard ,

D oth the weak labour to re lieve

- Weak fellow man , the strong have no regard,

’ H ow much so e er th e y grieve

I f I n the great ountain whence that pity came ,

The thought that filled that mortal mind ,

I S o f there not , unexhausted, the same Large residue behind ?

N ot coldly contemplating human pain

e I n highest H eav n H e sits aloof,

But stoops H imself to bear the stress and strain ,

Hi s And puts Love to proof.

For H e the winepress red with anguish trod , And let the Father ’ s heart Shine through

As n ot — f impassive but a suf ering God ,

With whom we have to do .

To combat with o ur spiritual foes

o f H e from the height heaven descends ,

S R N G 8 6 P I , I 7

0 N softer south than this did ever fall ,

’ e The calmed heavens no gentl r look e er cast ,

On wakening earth through any spring time , all

The generations past .

’ This i s the season that through Chaucer s ve ins

’ ’ M i d England s woods , a thrill of gladness sent The same with Wordsworth ’ s most ethereal strains

’ h i s M id own mountains blent .

3

Yet all spring-m e lodies o fbards have voiced

H o w o f th e s um small a moiety mighty ,

Wherewith , in past Springs , countless hearts rejoiced

I n gladness deep, though dumb . 18 6 2 2 SPRI NG , 7 9

4 — Season of hope th e y nam e d thee fondly dreamed

Thou wert the pl e dge o ffairer hours to b e

’ Hath any summ e r e er that pledge rede emed To poor humanity

5 And we whose hearts erewhile when Spring came round

With hearts o ffriends for joy were wont to leap

t o - Think how day Spring touches many a mound , ’ N eath whi ch those‘ loved ones sleep

6

1 ’ One rests , ah dearest by Tay s lucent wave ,

’ Under a great crag s overshadowing brow , To Christ unseen his pure strong life he gave

We trust he sees H im now .

7

2 And One , beneath roars factory , forge , and mart

’ —t h e e Above still green f ll , and boyhood s glen

’ w ri d Th e re rests o e r ea e that large human heart , f That brother man o men .

1 2 — H enry Alexander D ouglas Norman Macl eod See

e en d N o t at . 2 o N 18 6 3 SPRI G , 7

8

Can we , for whom the face of earth is filled

e S o full of graves , on Spring look any mor ,

And entertain t h e vernal hopes that thrilled Our hearts in springs of yore

9

Therefore we will not take these vernal moods For promise of sure earthly good to be We will not go to cull through budding woods

The frail anemone .

Rather to u s shall all this floral Sheen

s o s o - That breadth of wood fresh , lustrous leaved ,

H int of a beauty that no eye hath seen ,

N 0 human heart conceived .

2 32 H IGH LAN D STU DENTS

fe w e e I n a w ks for college . H e had been

1 e e An eid nt l arner in the village school ,

Much honoured by the teacher . To themselves

s o n w as Kind he , and alway dutiful

s o Sparing himself no labour , he might

e hi s se Lighten th ir burden . N ow heart was t

On finding better learning, they would do

h i s Their best to help him through student years .

sh e And then ceased , commending him to me .

a s S oon N ovember opened college doors ,

: Young D uncan entered tall and strong, like one

e Who had s en hardness, and was fit for more .

Hi s countenance and mien bespoke a heart

’ as True to the core sturdiest Lowlander s ,

Yet sweetened more than Lowland mann e rs are

o f e By the fine courtesy the ancient Ga l .

saw Each winter morn I him in his place ,

Between two students o f the sam e clan - name

o f One, scion a house renowned of old

As sat The other humbler . he and heard

o f hi s The lore Rome unrolled , listening mind

e a s Drank , and xpanded the daisied bank

su n - Spreads to the in M ay time . When spring brought

Once more the early swallows , home he hied

1 E i den t e . , dilig nt H IGH LAND STU D ENTS 2 33

e To his own mountains , b aring back withal

’ e A good r port , and a fair scholar s name .

That summer tide o n a bleak mountain edge

I found my student h e had doffe d the gown

’ F o r th e e rough mason s g ar , to labour there

A- h i s dyking with father . All day long

Th e y built those dry- stone walls that mil e s and miles

ee Cross ridgy backs of hills , to part sh p farms

e O r lands of n ighbouring lairds . I n that lone place

H ow cheery w a s his greeting ! while he told

e e th e H ow th r he wrought solid day , and saved

What margin might be won from morn or e v e

- For book work . Something of his history more

’ o wn — That time I learnt, mid his people how

w as I n a sequestered place , where no school ,

old h e e An clay cottage had mad hi s school ,

And taught the children o f the shepherds with

e S Thos of poor crofters . I f a hepherd lad

hi s e I n all that country wished to mend lor ,

e H e had recourse to D uncan . I hav talked

Upon th e autumn bra e s with youths whose thought

e For clearness made me marv l , and I found

e That they had been with him . I n very home,

- e From high Brae Lyon all down Tumm l , he

- For hi s well doing had an honoured name .

e Three following winters he returned, and gl aned

What lore our college yields , and from all hearts , 234 H IG H LAND STU DENTS

B oth those who taught and those who learned with

him ,

o n R nn h i Earned not less honour than a oc s de .

B ut neither learning n o r esteem of men

’ hi s Aught changed nature s strong simplicity.

’ ’ o ft 0 - sea H ow nights , when nor winds from the

o ur s at H owled round gables , hath he and cheered — Our hearth with legends from th e hills wild tales

D o iri e -v h o r Of ghostly voices heard up ,

And wandering people from their senses frayed , 1 By the weird lochan . Sometimes would he bring

o f n Snatches ancient so g, in summer gleaned From hoary men—wild Celtic melodies

o r Trei I n long Glen Lyon , by lone Loch g ,

For ages sung, but now , like morning mists ,

From the glens disappearing .

Wh e n t h e time H ad come that he must crown with a degree

’ was H is four years toil , the struggle severe ,

was . B ut the end honour, and a good reward And then the goal that he had looked to long — The Christian ministry seemed almost won .

But God had willed h e should not touch that goal .

S carce had he entere d o n the untried field

e or Of H ebrew learning, wh n toils foregone ,

1 Looka n e l ock . , diminutiv of

2 36 H IGH LAND STU D ENTS

- H igh over head , and the river roars beneath .

But what to him th e s e mountain pageantries

e e And what to th m , poor hearts that pin hard by , Whom spring or summer can make glad no more

e Yet , O ye mourners though y needs must go — Lorn for him all your days a little while

se e I n faith hold on , and ye Shall him , where

For them fo und faithful in a fe w things h e re

There yet remain the many things o f God

P e 18 6 ublish d 7 .

I I 1

The mighty shadow which S chih alli on fling s ’ f To nor ward , alls athwart a hillock green ,

- e A steep green knoll , with one sole elm tr e crowned , f And a forsaken place o burial .

— ’ Thither , before the turf on Duncan s grave ,

o f Yonder, the other side Tummel stream ,

—a - e Had knit itself with green , student fri nd

- e W a s carried to h i s last lone re sting plac .

s o s e e Climb we the knoll steep and green , to S The small kirkyard , along the smooth top pread ,

It s - roofless long abandoned chapelry,

And mossed wall crumbling round it . There they lie ,

e U nder rough mountain slabs , without a nam

1 E wan Cam eron . H I GH LAN D ST U D ENTS 2 3 7

o ld R By tall weeds overgrown , the annoch men ,

e o ne e Stewarts , Macgr gors , Camerons . O n sid ,

’ e th e o f - e e B neath spread that great elm tr s boughs , d A headstone gleams more than the rest adorne ,

That marks the grave of Ewan Cameron .

H ere sit we down upon th e lich e n e d w all

w sad The hile I tell thee all the brief tale ,

s a d e Brief, but not , of the young sleeper ther .

o f w e Natives this same strath these lads re born ,

- To the same college student friends they came .

e e Yonder their hom s lie , s carce a mile b tween ,

’ D uncan s within the clachan by the loch ,

’ ’ Ewan s , that farmstead neath the bielding hill ,

- I n trees half hid . N ow half a mile apart

Lie their two graves , the river flowing between .

hi s Poor was farm , not numerous the flock

’ o n That Ewan s father that mountain fed , And only with sore struggle he prevailed

’ Gainst pressure of hard tim e s to hold his o wn

e hi s e And r ar children , shelt ring from toil

The tender youth of Ewan , eldest born .

H is parents , grave and serious , held the faith

Of a small remnant o f religious men

Living in households sprinkled n e ar and far

. o f Among the glens I n dawn life from these,

e e Their strict home ways , their Sabbath pi ti s

Ewan had drunk a stern and fervid faith , 2 38 H IG H LAN D ST U DENTS

Yet tempered well by native gentleness .

e was For very g ntle he , with open heart

To kindly nature . I n the village school

’ e sat On the same bench by Duncan s sid he ,

’ Was taught by the same master . S chool hours o er,

They took the Braes together, ranged at will

o f B en ch ualac h The ample folds broad , 1 i Guddling for trouts far up the mounta n burns ,

And gathering, wortles and ripe blaeberries ,

o n t h e e - H igh heights wher the red gor cock crowed , Against the scarlet clouds by sunset flamed Back from Ben Aulder and the peaks that crowd

Far westward to B en N evis . That free life

’ H ad mellowed whatsoe er aust e rity

M ight else have been engendered . When he came

With D uncan to the old collegiate town ,

’ Beneath the college archway ne er had pass e d

Hi s A comelier lad . tall and shapely form

And easy carriage showed him strange to toil ,

But on hi s thoughtful brow and clear pale cheek

as o f e Rested a shadow, pain for gone .

’ Whene er you spoke to him , you were aware

Of a calm dignity and natural grace ,

wa s Brought whence you knew not, that finer far

h e Than any gathered in t polished world .

hi s When he conversed with men , manners wore

1 Gu ddl i n o g , gr ping.

2 49 H IGH LAND STU D ENTS

e e o f I n low, dull flats , b side the str ams Don

’ e M id Yorkshir factory folk to minister,

A stranger amid strange rs . But few we eks

e re th e Passed , warm thrill of a living faith ,

hi s e e Streamed through Celti c f rvour loquent ,

H ad touched th e tough but hon e st Yorkshire hearts

e And drawn th m all towards him . I t befell ,

One sultry day in the midsummer tide , When he had made a trysting to address

’ e sk The p ople gathered neath the open y,

e And speak of things divine , he miss d the train

And five miles ran afoot to keep his tryst .

’ o e r- Then a long hour , heated , on a mound

- e H e stood bare headed , pleading arnestly

— e S o very earnestly for ternal things ,

o f H e heeded not the accidents time .

i t s Next morn strong fever had him in grasp ,

e And a short spac sufficed to bring him low , “ S o low that they who watched said , We write

” ” To call your mother hither . N o , he said ,

A few days more and I shall gather strength ,

”

e e . Th n I am going hom And home he went ,

e But to another home than Rannoch Sid .

Then those kind factory people o f themselves

Chose certain men , who , at their charges , bore

hi s H is body back to this native glen ,

’ And placed it down within his father s door . H IG H LAN D STU DENTS

o f Upon the coffin was a lid glass ,

e e e e Plac d there by th s sam kind and careful hands ,

e e e That par nts , sist rs , broth rs , might once more

Look o n that fac e e re dust was strewn o n it

e e e — hi s F or e ver . Th n th y gather d all kin

e e e H is fri nds in youth , thos strang rs from afar ,

And bore him from that farm , and laid him down

e w H re in this s eet and solitary grave .

And over it th e same kind strange rs r e ared

e - e hi s e e fe w That h ad ston , with name and th s words

e e e e That t ll how f rv ntly he sought th ir good ,

e e H ow his sw et mann rs , gentle purity,

Won them , and that for their great love to him ,

They carried him that long road that he might r e st

’ — Amid his kindred s dust and he rests well .

But non e o fhis o wn kindred any more

S e e e e e Shall come to l ep b sid him . Th y are all gon

To find new homes and graves in virgin e arth

e B eyond M issouri River . N one the l ss

e e H ere he sl ps well , as D uncan over there,

- e o f Two student fri nds , the flower Rannoch youth ,

e l Each in his early grave , with Tumm stream

e h ih lli n S c a o . B etwe n them, and over all

e Their earthly lore th y took from us awhile ,

e But now they learn the heav nly , and have seen W The secret things that we still ait to know .

e 1 2 Publish d 8 7 . 24 2 H I GH LAN D STU D ENTS

I I I 1

r e th e B ut one more g ave, and that compl tes tale

Of Student lads from Rannoch . Twenty years

e e And more hav vanished , sinc from yonder farm

Th e other side the valley, passed two youths ,

Clad in grey hodden , from their own sheep spun , 2 e sea To the anci nt College by the Eastern .

Reared amid mountain lonelinesses , where ,

’ ’ sh o r l ead s S ave the y curlew s call , wild g scream ,

e N o living voices come , they had b held ,

’ chih alli on Winter by winter, o er S climb

e a s e The lat cold morn , they w nt forth to toil ,

e Besid their father, in his swampy fields ,

o f - a—ch o uala ch About the base B en ,

B en -a- ch o ual a ch Broad , that stands to guard

Th e north side o f the vale ov e r against

S chih allio n it s - , great brother sentinel .

’ e Ther , with all N ature s grandeurs round them shed ,

And blending with th e ir daily thoughts and toil

Their boyhood grew ; ye t from work o ut o f doors

L e isure of nights and stormy days Was saved

F o r learning and the village teacher l e nt

s aw H is kindly aid , till , ere the elder

e e e H is eight enth summer, they w re fit to ssay

1 d ew . M U e St . J ohn acgregor. niv rsity of An r s

2 44 H I GH LAN D STU DENTS

- e Over the rock p nt chasm and foaming flood ,

And th e lorn coronach by his widow wail e d

’ ’ fall n e o f R O ZO e O er Macgr gor . N one the l ss ,

e e e e B ut more for th se bri f C ltic int rludes ,

H e e e pli d the midnight hours , till four full y ars

th e e - e O f strenuous study, by long d for hop ,

e e e e A good D egr , wer crown d and by his aid

h e e e The younger brother t sam goal attain d .

e e A few more y ars of poor and pati nt toil ,

e o f Within another s at learning, gave

th e o f e To each full rank Physician . Th n

— — e e They took the brothers took th ir s parate ways .

’ Early the younge r o n the world s high road

—th e e wa s Fainted, battl too sore for him

e re e H e sank noon of day , and found a grav

hi s o wn ch ihallio n o f Far from S . Strong frame

Well proved in N etley wards , the elder sailed

e - Physician t o a regim nt Eastward bound .

e u There ben ath I ndian s ns plying his art ,

e Faithful and kindly , he from comrad s won

e e Liking and much r gard , and good r pute

s . With those et over him Step by step he climbed ,

e Till he attain d an office high in trust ,

o ld e I n B enares . Then the first to f el

The kind glow o fh i s bettered fortunes were

Hi s parents , whom he summoned to lay down

Their toiling days for comfortable ease , H IGH LAN D ST U DENTS 24 5

e e th e And the cold Rannoch bra sid for warm ,

e - e e e e W ll wood d Val of Tay . A hom ther in — H e had provid e d them a shelt e re d hom e

e e e o u t - With a gr n croft b hind , and bright look

’ t h e e t h e O er cl ar river to southern noon .

Whil e th e re th e y pass e d th e e vening of th e ir days

h e e e e I n quiet , month by month gladd n d th m

e e By l tt rs quaintly writ in Gaelic tongue .

English was but th e instrum e nt wh e re with

H e trafficked with the world the Gae li c was

e e The languag of his h art , the only key

e That could unlock its secr ts . When he met

o n e A Gael I ndian ground , he greet d him

e e I n the d ar language if he answered w ll ,

e That was at onc a bond of brotherhood .

e h e e And when at l ngth mad himself a home , To the young prattlers round hi s knee he told

Th e mountain l egends his own childhood loved

e With Gaelic intermingled . Th n he took

e And blew the big pipe , till the choes rang,

o ld e Through B nares by the Ganges stream ,

th e o f With wild pibrochs the H ighland hills .

e e e Whil all things s med with him to prosper most ,

Strangely and sudd e nly there fell o n him

e A deep , fond y arning for his native land ,

e e be e e Longing int ns to at hom once mor .

e h e d Just th n it chanced t at , sore by sickness pr sse , 2 46 H IGH LAND STU D ENTS

old The man , his father to the Rannoch farm

e Had wand red back, and laid him down to die .

s e t hi s This hearing, homeward I an face

e e e hi s I n hast , and r ach d native roof in tim e

’ Only to hear hi s father s blessing breathed

e e From lips already cold . A bl ak gr y noon

’ Of May twas wh e n th e y bore th e old man forth

Across the vale , and laid him in his rest

S ch ih alli o n Beneath , among kindred dead .

h i s s o n t h e There , while stood by open grave ,

e Bar headed , the chill east wind through and through

e e Smote him , enf ebled by the I ndian clim .

th e - e A few weeks more , and by self sam road

H im , too , the mourners bore across the vale ,

’ e e To lay him down close by his fath r s Sid ,

old - o n e I n that kirk yard the hillock gre n ,

Where I s the grave o f Ewan Cameron .

n e e Stra ge by what instinct led , th y two alik ,

s on h Father and , sought the old ome to die

so e i s m And th y rest , all that ortal rests ,

e Of those three Students , in their native val

o n o n e Two this sid e the Rannoch river, B eyond it and above them evermore

’ S chih alli o n s shadow lying, and his peak

Kindling aloft in t h e first light of dawn .

Written 18 8 1

T H E B ATT L E O F T H E A LM A

O NC E more t he peaceful years

e From their long slumber l ap ,

And B ritish guns and B ritish ch e ers

h e e Are thundering by t Pontic d ep .

e o f Th re the mighty the West ,

’ On H umanity s behest,

’ ’ France s bravest , England s best ,

Are marshalling on the far Sarmatian shore .

Through that chill dawning grey

o N bugle muster sung, All noiseless to their war array

From the damp earth the warriors sprung. Fair the autumn morning shines

e On the red and azure lin s ,

’ S weeping o er the long d e clines

B etween Crimean uplands and the main .

Lo wher e that mountain flank

e D own toward oc an runs ,

’ Legions of Russia, rank o er rank ,

Stand ready by their yawning guns . 2 59 TH E BATTLE O F TH E ALMA

e Yonder Franc to battle springs ,

o n Z flin s Cloud cloud, her ouaves g

o n Up the crags , as borne wings

are While great broadsides bellowing on the shore .

Full on o u r British front

The loud hill cannonades ,

As full against that awful brunt

hi s Yon Chieftain cheers brave Brigades . ! Forward , gallant Fusileers

e Forward , where your Chief app ars ,

Young in heart , though blanched with years

’ Who would not follow wh e re he leads the way 7

- B reast deep the stream they ford ,

- The thundering hill side scale,

While down their close ranks , like a sword ,

e h Shears the broad sh et of iron ail .

e Though the foremost fil s are low,

Clutch the colours, upward go ,

Breast to breast against the foe ,

- And silence those death breathing guns .

They are silenced—Fusileers

Stern work ye had to do , f M owed down in front o all your peers , To D uty and your Country true

2 52 TH E BATTLE O F T H E ALMA

fo r Say, thou canst witness y ield ,

e H ast thou looked on si ge or field ,

’ - E er by braver life blood sealed ,

’ Than that which c o nse c rat eth Alma s hills

’ Aye Britain s standard waves

’ ’ u O er Alma s plands bare ,

B ut all it s path lies strewn with graves Of them who died to plant it there Gently warrior hands have spread

’ ’ Green turf o er their brothers h e ad

Leave them there our noble dead , , — Their dust to that far land , their souls to

W e 18 ritt n 54 . G RA S M E R E

S I N CE o ur long summ e r in yon blissful nook

e e Six years , not chang l ss , intervene

e e e Those fri nds all s catt red , I r turn and look

o n e D own this peace ser ne .

O happy vision depth o f spirit - balm

For hearts that hav e too deeply y e arned This still lake holding hi s majestic calm

’ Mi d his green hills inurned .

e There dwell , repeat d th e clear depths among

e e o ffai ri er H ills more a rial , ski s cloud ,

e Hard by , yon homest ad , where th e summer long

e Our laughters once w re loud .

Still gleam the birch -trees down that pass as fair

N o r less melodious breaks

The Rotha murmuring down his rocky lair,

B etween his sister lakes .

W th e six w e s e 18 6 ith follo ing po ms , publi h d in 4 . PA RTI N G

O D O O MED to go to sunnier climes

’ ’ wa - th e With the gang o swallow ,

- Thee prayers , far borne from happier times

And earnest friendship, follow .

’ l eav st u s Thou , ere from moorlands wild

e -fl o ck s The plov r have flown ,

For lands that have their winters mild ,

As summer in thine own .

’ Sadly we watch that v e ssel s track

’ O e r the wan autumnal s ea For spring that brings the swallow back

W o f Will bring no ord thee .

“ ’ i s Thy wound deep , earth s balmiest breeze Can breathe no healing now

Those eyes must clos e o n lands and seas

To ! e e ? ope, ah wh r , and how

PO E T I C T RUT H

O FO R truth - breathed music soul - like lays

o f - e o f N ot vain glory born , nor lov praise ,

e - But welling purely from profound h art springs ,

e e e That lie d p down amid the lif of things ,

S e e e ear And inging on , h dl ss though mortal

Should n ever th e ir lon e murmur ov e rhear .

When through the world shall voice o fpoet shine

Alike true to th e human and divin e ?

o fth e e fe d Full heart of man , yet full r

’ o erfl o w e e - e At the of that divin w ll h ad,

a s From which , tiny drops , to earth i s brought

’ e Whate er is pure of love , and tru in thought ,

th e e h e To which all spirits , in fl sh that ,

s ea Are as scant rillets to the infinite . P RAYE R

YE tell us prayer i s vain—that the divine plan

a s i n - - D isowns it , and waves driven from mid seas

’ o n B reak the headlands , Nature s strong decrees

e o n e o f D ash back his weakn ss the h art man .

Against the univers e who can prevail ?

Will a voice cleav e the everlasting bars

’ ’ Th e heart s poor sigh o e r- soar th e loftiest stars And through all laws to a D ivine Will scale

T o o e oft will the perpl xed soul question thus ,

And yet these great laws that encompass u s

th e o n Of meanest things earth consult the weal ,

th e Are very pitiful to worms and weeds .

Turn they a d e af ear when the warm heart pleads

? H e who did plant that heart , will H e not feel R E L I EF

WH O seeketh finds what shall be hi s relief

Wh o hath no power to seek , no heart to pray ,

o f e a s N o sense God , but b ars best he may , A lonely incommunicable grief ?

What shall he do One only thing he knows ,

That h i s life flit s a frail uneasy spark

I n the great vast of universal dark ,

And that the grave may not be all repose .

sad c r B e still , soul lift thou no passionate y, But spread the desert of thy being bare

To the full searching o f th e All - s e eing eye — Wait and through dark misgiving, blank despair ,

God will come down in pity , and fill the dry

D ead place with light , and life , and vernal air .

2 60 M EMO RI ES

D eem not these are young earth ’ s hymeneal

’ e e r Chaunts , no after age can repeat ;

S om e thing all at varianc e with the real

u s World that meets in the field and street .

D oth not memory from the past recover

S ome who near u s onc e did move and breathe

a s N ames , that we read those high words over, Fitly might be written underneath ?

o f o ur Blessed gifts God , that poor weakness

s e e M ight not only hear, but soothly ,

o f What truth and love, what might of meekness ,

o ur e b e I n flesh in very d ed might .

While th e y here soj ourned their presence drew u s

o f e By the sweetness th ir human love ,

o f Day by day good thoughts them renew us ,

Like fre sh tidings from the world above

’ l oami n Coming, like th e stars at g glinting

t h e Through western clouds , when loud winds

cease ,

o f S ilently that calm country hinting,

Where they with the angels are at peace .

N o t e w as their own , ah not from arth flowing

That high strain to which their souls were tuned , M EMORIES 26 1

Year by year we s aw them inly growing

Liker H im with Whom their hearts communed .

e Then to H im th y passed but still unbroken ,

o n Age to age , lasts that goodly line ,

Whose pure lives are , more than all words spoken ,

’ e Earth s b st witness to the life divine .

l S ubtlest thought shall fail , and earning falter ,

e Churches change , forms p rish , systems go ,

o ur But human needs , they will not alter , ’ w Christ no after age shall e er outgro .

Yea, amen O changeless One , Thou only

’ Art life s guide and spiritual goal ,

Thou the Light across the dark vale lonely, Thou the eternal haven of the soul H I D D E N L I FE

AY it i s o ur e true dearest , best b loved ,

Of us unknowing, are by us unknown

our e m That from outward survey far r oved ,

e D eep down they dw ll , unfathomed and alone .

o n We gaze their loved faces , hear their speech ,

’ h eaft s e e e — The most arnest utt ranc , yet we feel

S omething beyond , nor they nor we can reach ,

e on Something th y never can earth reveal .

u s o ur D early they loved , we returned best

w e They passed from earth , and divined them not ,

AS though the c e ntre o f each human breast

Were a sealed chamber of unuttered thought .

H idden from oth e rs do we know ourselves Albeit the surface takes the common light

Who hath not fe lt that thi s o ur being shelves

? D own to abysses , dark and infinite

H AV E CH R I ST I a life with to live , w But , ere I live it , must I ait .

Till l e arning can clear answer give Of this and that book ’ s date ?

C H R I ST I have a life in to live , I have a death in C H R IST to die

e And must I wait , till scienc give

All doubts a full re ply ?

s e a o f N ay rather, while the doubt

I s raging wildly round about ,

o f sin Questioning life and death and , Let me but creep within

C H R I ST Thy fold , O , and at Thy feet

Take but the lowest seat , And hear Thin e awful voice repeat

e I n gentlest acc nts , heavenly sweet ,

C ome unto M e , and rest

e B elieve M e , and be bl st .

Written 18 68 . ’ TWI XT gleams of joy and clouds of doubt O ur feelings come and go

Our best e state is tossed about

I n ceaseless ebb and flow .

e e o f N o mood of f ling , form thought ,

I s constant for a day ;

L e But Thou , O ord Thou chang st not

The same Thou art alway .

e o wn I grasp Thy strength , mak it mine My heart with peace is blest

' an d th e n I lose my hold , comes down

e D arkness and cold unr st .

Let me no more my comfort draw

o f From my frail hold Thee ,

I n this alon e rejoic e with a we ;

o f Thy mighty grasp me . Out o fthat weak unqui e t drift

That comes but to depart , To that pure H eaven my spirit lift

e Wher Thou unchanging art .

o f Lay hold me with Thy strong grasp , Let Thy Almighty arm

i t s e I n embrace my w akness clasp , S And I hall fe ar no harm .

Thy purpose o f eternal good

Let me but surely know

’ e On this I ll l an , let changing mood

And feeling come o r go

Glad when Thy sunshine fills my soul

’ N ot lorn when clouds o erc a st Since Thou within Thy sure control

Of love dost hold me fast .

W 18 1 ritt en 7 .

I L L U S T RAT I V E N OT E S

Gl en D esser a e re Tli e Celti c Ma a z i n e Page 3 . y app a d in g , 18 e e e t he o e s e 77 , pr c d d by n t ubjoin d Th e o e e re o e c s e foll wing po m att mpts to pr duc fa t h ard , ess s re e e u th e e s o f se er and impr ion c iv d , d ring wand ring v al successive summ ers among t he sc en es which are h ere de e \V hatever V e o c e s k e o f s crib d . i w p liti al conomist may ta e e e e s b e e e th e o fh th s v nt , it can hardly d ni d that form uman so e th e se - o f s fer e e e e t o ci ty, and pha human uf ing , h r att mpt d h e e b e es r e ese e e s so e r e o r . t e d c ib d , d rv at l a t m c d If l ss r c e s the e a re e e th e in id nt of po m not all lit rally xact, of main o utlin es and l e ading ev ent s of th e simpl e story it may we ll ’ ’ b e s o e e e . aid , I t s an w r tru tal Th e s t ory i s supp o se d t o be to ld by a grandson o f the e C ero e e o fth e A us C e o o f th e Ew n am n , and a n ph w ng am r n e —o ne wh o as b o seen s e th e po m , a y, had and har d in hi ” rem o val o fthe p e opl e fro m s native gl en . Th e sc e n e i s laid in th e two great gl ens which op en t owards Loch Ark aig on th e nor th . ’ Thi s P o e m i s printed fro m a T ext which had th e Author s o wn co e o s e t o few o ss s e rr cti n attach d it , and a mi ion hav now e e e fo r th e se o f r ou t s es o e b n mad , purpo ca rying wi h m r than e him o n ce express d by .

k t — h e e 1 . S i n r a A e s s Pag 3 y f y . gam in w ich bat , om what

- ese n o s are se . e e a re o s e r mbli g g lf club , u d Th r two g al call d “ ” hail s ; th e o bj ect o f each party b e ing to d rive th e ball ’ ka i —a 7n i eson o n e o ne s l . b ey d th ir opp nt . j — L ! T o i s se a s e 1 . oo . he sh o o Pag 5 p Engli w rd I p u d , e h s t he es re ese th e ore e es e G e c p r ap , b t to pr nt far m xpr siv a li o f o l ni h c i s e t o n s o r e s o e s . w rd , w i h appli d wi ding b nd riv r

c . S J . . 2 70 I LLU STRATIVE NOTES

Page 3 5. N ever wki le I br ea tke ska ll mor t al Gr asp t/z i s ka nd w k i ck t ou cked tko P r i nce

s i s e e o f H s o ne the s en Thi lit rally tru ugh Chi holm , of ev m en wh o s e e e th e e o n hi s or i n th e h lt r d Princ , way n th , f r mbi n C s e Cave o Co o a . hi holm w nt afterwards t o r e side i n ur e e e c o s t o Edinb gh , wh r many call d on him out of uri ity , see o ne who h ad b een such a d e vo te d adhere nt o f Prince r C s re e e o e o r Cha lie . hi holm c iv d m n y fr m s e ve al of th ese e rs and e e k e he s admir , in r turn , whil than ing th m , alway ffe e e S k e his e n e s se fo r o r d th m a ha of l ft ha d , xcu ing him lf no t th e r s s e he had s k en giving ight , by aying that inc ha s th e e ce r h e reso e e hand with bonni Prin at pa ting , lv d n ver t o e hi s r to m an u h e saw the Pr ce giv ight hand any , ntil in again .

’ H -w — B r e 6 0 . as ool . Se e u ns s so o s e Pag ng , I c ft a tan 3 ’ “ H k u l k O s k w o o . s o r ha se o c i s th e ha loc a loc , wool so es es o fth e fl ee e i s s or ro th e o s ft t and fin t c , and h n f m thr at o fs ee i n s e h e t o e he k ee hem h p umm r at , giv t m air and p t ” — m — All a n u n n i n /2a . o C . . S c o l . g J C

Tke M u t a n lk — I n hi e 8 8 o n i Wa . s Pag . Mountain Walk Shairp w as ac co mpani e d by an inte llige nt old H e Kilm alli e w o se o e e s es e ighland r from , h f r fath r had r id d for many ge n erati o ns among th e gl en s at th e h ead o f Lo ch k i Th e o e erse s th e es er Ar a g . c untry which th y trav d form w t n - i s p ortion of th e mainland of Inverness shire . It of vast e e ro m th e e s e ess o f i ts S on the xt nt , and f inacc s ibl n ituati , ess i t s scene and th e s se ess i ts o u o wildn of ry , par n of p p lati n , i t i s e e e o o th e H s as mphatically d n—ominat d thr ugh ut ighland , - h ri h n i e. Tke B h o s . e Na Garbh c oc a . Rough und Among t o es c es o f s e o e e r ce r es c rri and av thi r m t r gion , P in Cha l Edward and som e o fhi s mo st distingui shed fo llowers so ught c once al h e th r e e o e . t e s e o e m nt aft r Cull d n In wand ring of y ung P inc , hai r a e re o ou hi s e h e t e S p w s d eply inte sted . Thr ugh t lif t ained a very vivid re c o ll e cti on o f th e sc en ery d escribe d in e thi s po m . W fe e s a o t o o ld n e s s en w . A riting a y ar g an St dr w tud t , who res e e L h Ark ai h e e n e es as id d n ar oc g, mad mi ut inquiri

2 72 I LLU STRATIVE NOTES sh ore and th ey said that wh en Sh e to ok th e form o f a grey

eer e k r s s ffe e . Sh e e es s i n h er s d , th ir ailya d u r d d ni thi ong ,

o e er . er saw th e C e h e k e e h w v If any hunt aill ach , n w w ll it was u se ess r h t e o res . O ne e l for him to oam f t that day tim , s e o fh er ee see Lo e in pit having b n n , a chab r hunter w e nt t o r th e hill in s ea ch of d eer. Wh e n h e had Sp e nt th e whol e e n ee he w a s day in wand ring, without comi g upon any d r, and e e fi re the e se ngag d lighting a , and singing v r s acc ompanyi ng ai r h h e se as h e e o n s e e an whic compo d w nt , udd nly , wh n h e k e u e th e e e w as o e e h e saw th e loo d p , aft r fifth v rs c mpl t d , C e o e th e ro h aill ach , who c ntinu d song f m t e fifth vers e t o h nd —S u l G m t e e . e or 111 e (p . ) app ars to b e a po etic nam e S eu l em Gor m —Th B e e e e e . , g , blu lu J w l

l — e 12 1. T o w i d ker n e r Pag n . I i sh tro o p s in the army o f

h - t e n 12 8 . S i r N ei l Th s Edward I in campaig of 9 . e plac e e e e e e are b e the ss Br e e h r r f rr d to to found in Pa of and r, n ar

. th e e e m s r c o nfli ct s Oban This was sc n of any anguina y . ’ Se e es S H z kl a n d dow Introduction and N ot to cott s g Wi . Th e following i s fro m Tke S ta ti sti ca l A ccou n t of S cot l a nd Mac Ph ai dan ser e e , an Irishman, who was vic abl to Edward I wh en engage d in hi s attempt t o subve rt th e i n e e e e o fS o r 12 d p nd nc cotland , and to whom that m na ch , in 9 7 , mad e a grant for hi s s ervice s o f th e lo rdship of Argyl e and L r k e Si r W W e e e e o n , was attac d by illiam allac , and d f at d A D 1 00 th e r - e f B en n t o . . e s o Cr e 3 , at no th a t sid uachan , ar r i hi l t he Pass of B a nder . Wallace on s way to Argy eshi re w a s m et Gl e ndo ch art Si r e C e k o f in by N il ampb ll , night L h aw 00 m en e n Ma Ph idan o c . c a s e , with 3 Th y fou d po t d B n T i e . he o n e s k at Cruachan s t Said to have bee n een . ’ Many hund re d s of Mac Phai dan s fo ll o wers were driven t o t h e k e ro e a nd o h e se ee la and d wn d th ugh him lf, with fift n m en fl ed n e o e th e e o f Cr -an , to a ighb uring cav in fac aig h i ” Araidh s re re w as o e e h e was e e s . , t at disc v r d and th r lain r hai r i e C e w a n e f . S S N il ampb ll s an a c stor o J . C p h h e k thro ug t Campbe ll s o f Auchinbre c .

e 12 D u n ca n B an Mac]n t r e —An e ce e sk e h Pag 4 . y . x ll nt tc hi s e o n o f hi s o e s e ens s of lif and acc u t p try, with p cim tran

e Sh ai r be foun i n hi s A s ects o P oetr c . lat d by p , will d p f y , hap : 18 8 1 x Oxford , . I LLU STRATIVE N OTES 2 73

T r r i don —I s e the o - e len o . t Page 13 0 . G is ituat d in n rth w st - e the e s e ee L C o of Ross shir , in p nin ula b tw n och arr n and n Loch To rri do .

k Tor r i do — Lock E r i c/i t 1 L oc n . e Page 3 4 . This po m and , ’ h r es e t e e s o . . I e e e e e e p 59 , app ar n v r to hav r c iv d w it r final t uch

e 16 2 October —The e o C -a -l ui nn Pag . . n ighb urhood of uil , ’ A e e th e Shai r s H e s e b rf ldy , on Tay , p ighland hom in umm r e e o o f th e and autumn , is d scrib d in this playful imitati n K d e lightful English Autumn sc e n e by e ats .

1 Ga r t /z Ca st le — e e S so n K e 6 . . A Pag 4 l xand r tuart , of ing

! k f r e a s th e W e . o Rob rt I I , commonly nown , his f rocity , olf B e th e e o of ad noch , burnt cath dral and t wn of Elgin , owing h H e i s s e G r to a qu arre l with t e bi shop . aid to hav built a th C s e e e th e th e S r G a tl , and to hav found d family of tua ts of arth , Hi o ses e re e e . s o o e who p s s d it till c nt tim s t mb , surm unt d e e s t o b e see th e e o f by a marbl ffigy , is till n in cath dral k — D e . . C . un ld J S .

e 1 2 D r u m u a ckda r —Thi s b all ad th e B e h Pag 7 . . from ad noc ’ c ou n t iy is giv e n as a sp e cim e n o f Sh ai rp s translati o n s from h h h e t e G e . T e e t e e e a lic incid nt upon which l gy is found d , o t o r e Tno Celti c Ma a z i n e 18 8 acc rding a w it r in g for May 7 , es th e r o s e e th e (who giv o iginal w rd ), must hav occurr d in s c en tu i Th e Bl a r i e e B e . e U la t y cattl , at g , in pp r ad e l e t o se e r e e noch , b ing l o on a sunny day in arly sp ing , b cam frantic with d e light o fthe ir nov e l and un exp e ct edly -acquire d e e e ok e e e th e ee e fr dom , and b to th ms lv s to hills , h dl ss of o e e e The e —a o e a c do nal d c ns qu nc s . h rd y ung man nam d M — o e e D rum uachda r e e foll w d th m as far as , which xt nds e ee D l na ar h \V hi le h e e e b tw n alwhinni e and D a c do c . trav rs d s e e the e e h e e that olitary and st ril tract , w ath r , t n prov rbially k e r e e . A s se t fic l , chang d t rribly blinding nowsto m in and ” the n hi Th unfortunat e lad e ver more found s way hom e . e ’ e l egy is said to have b ee n poured forth by Macdonald s

- r e o e e the e . T u l v , who join d in s arch for him The R ev he co . S o G e r es t T . int n of l ngar y stat that py of the G ae lic o riginal with which be suppli e d Shai rp w as e fragm ntary . 2 74 I LLU STRATIVE N OTES

e 1 Ii i l n -Mi S r e k Pag 74 . . . inton w it s A iln for hard ening co rn preparato ry to grinding was t o b e found in e e r t ow n The k was S e conn ction with ve y . actual iln ituat d ne e nd e at o of a hou se to which it gave its nam . It—was in this building that th e body o fthe d e ad h erd was laid much h e f e th e k re k e t o t e gri f o his fri nd s. For iln was c on d a G e e was th e e e o f the place of e vil om en . n rally it sc n all h t w e e re w as e u n ca n ny e ve nts of t e o n . Th r fo it that wh n C —th e e o f th e o r — e h e i m luny l ading man c unt y arriv d , ’ m ediat ely ord e re d Macdonald s bo dy to b e re m o ve d from h k t e iln . Until quite re ce ntly H ighland ge ntl em en atte nd ed th e h umbl es t fun erals in th e ir n e ighbourhood ; and th e p eopl e always e xpe cte d their p res e nce at th e sce ne of any u ntoward ” e ve nt such as that which fo rm s t he th em e of this ballad .

Tk r i eo e Ca stl e — i h e e e the e 1 2 . s s t Pag 8 . Thi anci nt s at of

D o u l ases i n K k o n th e D e e . g , ir cudbright , an island in W e D o s e e m e illiam , ighth Earl of ugla , who d fi d Ja s I I , r s e Thri ev e C s e 1 2 e imp i on d in a tl , in 4 5 , Macl llan , guardian Ki rk dbi i ht L r Bo mbi e th e e o o fth e r o f cu . of o d , anc st r Ea ls g Wh e n Jam es sent Si r Patrick G ray with a l ett er q u esting the i e le ase th e so e W e v e of pri n r, illiam insist d on his isit r d n e e s e s e e e be i ing b for bu in s , and m anwhil had Macl llan ’ l n h e e r e e h e re th e K he ad e d t castl cou t . Aft r dinn r ad ing s e e e es e e e e e hi s l tt r, and th n , in prof s d d f r nc to injunctions , fe e G r th e he ssesse e of r d ay body , saying that had po d hims lf s h a ct l ed o f t he h e ad som e tim e b e fore . Thi aughty to ’ d r a Douglas s own eath soon aft e w rd s .

D eo or u i ll a —N e w o r S e e e A e i s e 18 . . Pag 5 g , w th art bb y , was pl easantly situate d e ight mil es s o uth o f Dumfri es . It e r e 12 D evo r u ill a e o r o f h er hu s e ct d in 75 by g , in m m y h hi e r e e and b o B . S e s and , J hn aliol had had h a t mbalm d plac e d i n an ornam e nte d ivo ry case ; and wh en she di e d s w as h er o o e her thi laid on b s m , and buri d with , in accord n h er o wn s ru o s s o e th e o c a c e with in t cti n . Thu riginat d r manti f h e e nam e o t Abb y .

d n Ya r r w — L 1 Tkr ee F r i en s i o . Page 2 0 . Edmun—d ushing t o n so e e o esso o f G eek G e s , m tim Pr f r r in lasgow , Prof s or

2 76 I LLU STRATIVE NOTES

— z kla n d S t u den ts . 2 1 H . C e e . D A Pag 3 g uncan ampb ll , M . , 6 St . A e s e Br e o 11 e 18 ndr w di d at idg nd , Rann ch , th Jun 7 , R B e 2 e rs . ev . w C e o ag d 3 y a E an am r n , Pastor of aptist h C r ks Y k e : d e 6t 18 6 . hurch . Qua mby Oa , or shir i d July 7 John Macgre gor e nt ere d the Bengal Me dical Service di e d l 2 d 8 1 e s D ru m ass 2 e 1 8 e . at g , Rannoch , J un , ag d 3 9 y ar h i r e e s . C. a All w ere stud nts at St . Andr ws whil t J S p f H he ld the p ost of Pro fessor o umanity . I N D EX O F FI R S T L I N E S

A bowshot from th e loch aloof Again t h e bonny blue b ells AS t h e far s een p e ak s of Alp i n e range s A tim e there wa s

A e e e e - el e y , tru it is , our d ar st , b st b ov d

Be th e e th e e yond bay , b yond gl aming sands By th e wee birch en corri e s l i e patch e s of gre en

C hild of th e far -o ff ocean fl ood

’ D arling Flow ers at last I v e found you

D t he E w w ays on days , ast ind blo ing D oth Yarrow fl o w e nd eare d by dream D own to Loch N evi sh we nt th e day

E arly young Angus ros e to m ee t E ighty years have com e and gon e

From b e at en paths and common tasks re prieve d

G C e h e e t h e arth astl , hath born brunt

G e e — e e e u st but no strang r , many a tim b for

H a e e h e e th e e H R e th r com s , h adlong ighland iv r Hath the n that life -long combatant with d e ath 2 78 IN DEX OF FI RST LIN ES

I have a life with CHRI S T to live

’ In grey C riffel s lap of granit e In this bare treel ess forest lon e I watched th e su n fall down with prone desc ent

Land of h ens and gl ens and corries

No softer south than this did ever fall

e th e e Octob r misty bright , touch is thin O doom e d to go to sunnier clim es

’ O er th e dreary moor of Rannoch O for truth -bre athed music soul -lik e lays O h ow my h eart lap to h er

Oh w e e e e e e A e h r for cam y h r , ili

' e e S e e e O many a y ar is gon , inc in lif s fr sh O marvellous Gl e n of To rri d o n

e m so et e e O mountain str a old , y v r young

e re C e e Onc mo by mighty ruachan , and onc mor Once more th e p e aceful years O n t h e braes around Gl enfi nna n O th e Bord er Hills sae green O wae on Loch Laggan

S eve n S umm ers long had fired t he gle ns Since our long summ er in yon blissful nook Soon a s th e kindling dawn had tipt Still l et m e dive th e gl ens among

That summ er gl en i s far away

T he e are e e e e hom s long gon , but nchantm nt still ling rs

Th e we are e th e skiffi n S we sho rs ov r, g ho rs

T h e e th e spray may driv , rain may pour

e e e e we Th s hoary, dial d , b lfry To rs

' Twixt gleams of j o y and clouds of doubt