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'Tin Sir £ustnce; if it be

Living Man, it-must be be!

Thus Hubert thought in his dismay,

And by a postcrn-gate he slunk away.

Long, and long was he unheard of:

To his Brother then he came,

Made confession, ask'tf forgiveness,

Ask'd it by a Brother's name,

And by all the Saints in heaven;

And of Eustace was forgiv'n:

Then in a Convent went to hide

His melancholy head, and there he died.

But Sir Eustace, whom good Angels
Had preserv'd from Murderers' hands,
And from Pagan chains had rescued,
Liv'd with honour on his lands.
Sons he had, saw Sons of theirs:
And through ages, Heirs of Heirs,
A long posterity renown'd,
Sounded the Horn which they alone could



Seven Daughters had Lord Archibald,
All Children of one Mother:
I could not say in one short day
What love they bore each other.
A Garland of seven Lilies wrought!
Seven Sisters that together dwell;
But he, bold Knight as ever fought,
Their Father, took of them no thought,
He loved the Wars so well.
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The Solitude of Binnorie!

Fresh blows the wind, a western wind,

And from the shores of Erin,

Across the wave, a Rover brave

To Binnorie is steering:

Right onward to the Scottish strand

The gallant ship is borne;

The Warriors leap upon the land,

And hark! the Leader of the Band

Hath blown in bugle-horn.

Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,

The Solitude of Binnorie.

Beside a Grotto of their own,

With boughs above them closing,

The Seven arc laid, and in the shade

They lie like Fnwns reposing.

But now, upstarting with affright

At noise of Man and Steed,

Away they fly to left to right—

Of your fair household, Father Knight,

Melhinks you take small heed!

Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully.

The Solitude of Binnorie.

Away the seven fair Campbells fly.
And, mil hill and hollow.

With menace proud, and insult loud.

The youthful Rovers follow.

Cried they: Your Father loves to roam:

Enough for him to find

The empty House when he comes home;

For us your yellow ringlets comb,

For us be fnir and kind!—

Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully.

The Solitude of Binnorie.

Some close behind, some side by side.

Like clouds in stormy weather,

They run, and cry:' Nay let us die,

And let us die together.

A Lake was near; the shore was steep;

There never foot had been;

They ran, and with a desperate leap

Together plung'd into the deep.

Nor ever more were seen.

Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,

The Solitude of Binnorie.

The Stream that flows out of the Lake,
As through the glen it rambles,
Repeats a moan o'er moss and stone.
For those seven lovely Campbells.
Seven little Islands, green and bare.
Have risen from out the deep:
The Fishers say, those Sisters fair
By Faeries are all buried there,
And there together sleep.
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully.
The Solitude of Binnorie.



(Published in 1793 )


No sad vacuities his heart annoy ;— Blows not a Zephyr but it whispers joy; For him lost flowers their idle sweets exhale; He tastes the meanest note that swells the

gale; For him sod-seats the cottage-door adorn. And peeps the far-off spirc,his evening bourn! Dear is the forest frowning o'er his head. And dear the green-sward to his velvet tread; Moves there a cloud o'er mid-day's flamine;

eye? Upward he looks—and calls it luxury; Kind Nature's charities his steps attend. In every babbling brook he finds a friend. While chast'ning thoughts of sweetest usr.

bestowed By Wisdom, moralize his pensive road. Host of his welcome inn, the noon-tide bower. To his spare meal he calls the passing poor; He views the Sun uplift his golden fire. Or sink, with heart alive like Memnon's lyre; Blesses the Moon that comes with kindest ray To light him shaken by his viewless way. With bashful fear no cottage-children steal From him, a brother at the cottage-meal; His humble looks no shy restraint impart, Around him plays at will the virgin heart. While nnsuspended wheels the Tillage-dance, The maidens eye him with inquiring glance, Much wondering what sad stroke of crazing

Care Or desperate Love could lead a wanderer there.

I sigh at hoary Chartreuse' doom.

Where now is fled that Power whose frown

■eaere Tamed sober Reason till she crouched in fear? That breathed a death-like peace these woods


The cloister startles at tjgatjjgleam of arms, And Blasphemy the shuawring fane alarms; Nod the cloud-piercing pines their troubled

heads. Spires, rocks, and lawns, a browner night 'o'erspreads. ,

Strong terror checks the female peasant's

sighs. And start the astonished shades at femaleeyes. The thundering tube the aged angler hears, And swells the groaning torrent with his

tears. From Bruno's forest screams the affrighted

jay, And slow the insulted eagle wheels away. The cross with hideous laughter Demons

mock, By Angels planted on the aereal rock. The parting Genius sighs with hollow breath Along the mystic streams of Life and Death. Swelling the outcry dull, that long resounds Portentous, through her old woods' trackless

bounds, Vallombre, 'mid her falling fanes deplores, For ever broke, the sabbath of her bowers.

More pleased, my foot the hidden margin

roves Of Como bosomed deep in chesnut-groves. No meadows thrown between, the giddy

steeps Tower, bare or sylvan, from the narrow

deeps. 10 towns, whose shades of no rude sound

_ complain,

To ringing team unknown and grating wain, To flat-roofed towns, that touch the water's

bound, Or lurk in woody sunless glens profound. Or from the bending rocks obtrusive cling, And o'er the whitened wave their shadows

"ild round the steeps the little pathway

twines, And Silence loves its purple roof of vines. I he viewless lingerer hence, at evening, sees From rock-hewn steps the sail between the

trees; |

Or marks, 'mid opening cliffs, fair dark-eyed

maids Tend the small harvest of their garden glades, Or stops the solemn mountain-shades to view Stretch, o'er the pictured mirror, broad and

blue, Tracking the yellow sun from steep to steep, As up the opposing hills, with tortoise-foot,

they creep. ,

Here half a village shines, in gold arrayed,
Bright as the moon; half hides itself in shade.
I'^Wp'tlie dark sylvan roofs the restless spire
InKn'nKtnnt glancing mounts like springing fire.
There, nil unshaded, blazing forests throw
Rich golden verdure on the waves below.
Slow glides the sail along th' illumined shore,
And steals into the shade the lazy oar.
Soft bosoms breathe around contagious sighs,
And amorous music on the water dies.

How bless'd, delicious scene! the eye that
Thy open beauties, or thy lone retreats;
Th' unwearied sweep of wood thy cliffs that

scales; The never-ending waters of thy vales; The cots, those dim religious groves embower, Or,^ under rocks that from the water tower Insinuated, sprinkling all the shore, Each with his household-boat beside the door, Whose flaccid sails informs fantastic droop, Bright'ning the gloom where thick the forests

stoop; —Thy torrents shooting from the clear-blue

Thy towns, like swallows' nests that cleave

on high; That glimmer hoar in eve's last light,

descry'd Dim from the twilight water's shaggy side. Whence lutes and voices down the enchanted

woods Steal, and compose the oar-forgotten floods, While Evening's solemn bird melodious

weeps, Heard, by star-spotted bays, beneath the

steeps; —Thy lake, 'mid smoking woods, that blue

and gray Gleams, streaked or dappled, hid from morning's ray Slow travelling down the western hills, to

fold Its green-tinged margin in a blaze of gold; From thickly-glittering spires the matin-bell Calling the woodman from his desert cell, A summons to the sound of oars, that pass. Spotting the steaming deeps, to early mass; Slow swells the service o'er the water borne. While fill each pause the ringing woods of morn.

Now, passing Urseren's open vale serene, Her quiet streams, and hills of downy green,

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Plunge with the Russ embrowned by Terror's breath, Where danger roofs the narrow walks of

death; By floods, that, thundering from their dizzy

height, Swell more gigantic on the stedfast sight; Black drizzling crags, that beaten by the din, Vibrate, as if a voice complained within; Bare steeps, where Desolation stalks afraid, Unstedfast, by a blasted yew npstayej" By cells whose image, trembling as he Awe-struck, the kneeling peasant sORCe

surveys; Loose hanging rocks the Day's bless'd eye

that hide, And crosses reared to Death on every side, Which with cold kiss Devotion planted near, And bending water'd with the human tear; That faded silent from her upward eye, Unmoved with each rude form of Danger

nigh, Fixed on the anchor left by Him who saves Alike in whelming snows and roaring waves.

On as we move a softer prospect opes, Calm huts, and lawns between, and sylvan

slopes, While mists, suspended on the expiring gale, Moveless o'er-hang the deep secluded vale, The beams of evening, slipping soft between, Light up of tranquil joy a sober scene. Winding its dark-green wood and emerald

glade, The still vale lengthens underneath the

shade; While in soft gloom the scattering bowers

recede, Green dewy lights adorn the freshened mead, On the low brown wood-huts delighted sleep Along the brightened gloom reposing deep. While pastoral pipes and streams the landscape lull. And bells of passing mules tlint tinkle dull, In solemn shapes before the admiring eye Dilated hang the misty pines on high, Huge convent - domes with pinnacles and

towers, And antique castles seen through drizzling


From such romantic dreams my soul awake, Lo! Fear looks silent down on Uri's lake; Where by the unpathwayed margin still

and dread Was never heard the plodding peasant's tread: Tower like a wall the naked rocks, or reach Far o'er the secret water dark with beach; More high, to where creation seems to end, Shade above shade the desert pines ascend. Yet, with his infanta, man undaunted creeps, And hangshis small wood-hut upon the steeps, "Where'er, below, amid the savage scene Peeps out a little speck of smiling green.

A garden-plot the mountain-air perfumes. 'Mid the dark pines a little orchard bloonu; A zig-zag path from the domestic skill". Threading the painful crag, surmounts the

cliff. —Before those hermit-doors,that never know The face of traveller passing to and fro, No peasant leans upon his pole to tell For whom at morning tolled the funeral

bell; Their watch-dog ne'er his angry bark foregoes, Touched by the beggar's moan of human

woes; The grassy seat beneath their casement shade The pilgrim's wistful eye hath never stayed. —There, did the iron Genius not disdain The gentle powxr that haunts the mvrtle

There might thelovc-sick Maiden sit, and

chide Th' insuperable rocks and severing tide. There watch at eve her Lover's sun - gilt

sail Approaching, and upbraid the tardy gale. There list at midnight, till is heard no more. Below, the echo of his parting oar, There hang in fear, when growls the frozen

stream, To guide his dangerous tread, the taper's


'Mid stormy vapours ever driving by. Where ospreys, cormorants, and herons cry; Where hardly given the hopeless waste to

cheer. Denied the bread of life the foodful ear. Dwindles the pear on autumn's latest spray. And apple sickens pale in summer's ray; Ev'n here content has fixed her smiling reign With Independence, child of high Disdain. Exulting 'mid the winter of the skies. Shy as the jealous chamois, freedom flies. And often grasps her sword, and often eyes: Her cresta bough of Winter's bleakest pine. Strange weeds and alpine plants her helm

entwine. And wildly pausing oft she hangs aghast. While thrills the Spartan fife between the


'Tis storm, and hid in mist from hour ts

hour. All day the floods a deepening murmur pour; The sky is veiled, and every cheerful right: Dark is the region as with coming night; But what a sudden burst of overpowering

light! Triumphant on the bosom of the storm. Glances the fire-clad eagle's wheeling form; Eastward, in long perspective glittering,

shine The wood-crowned cliff's that oe'r the lake


Wide o'er the AlpR a hundred streams nnfold,
Atonce to pillars turned that flame with gold;
Behind hit Mil the peasant strive* to shun
The west that hums like one dilated sun,
Where in a mighty crucible expire
The mountains.glowing hot,like coals of Are.

And sure there is a secret Power that reigns Here, where no trace of man the spot profanes, Nought but the herds that pasturing upward

creep Hung dim-discover'd from the dangerous

steep, Orsummcr-hamlct, flat and bare, on high Suspended, 'mid the quiet of the sky. How still! no irreligious sound or sight Rouses the soul from her severe delight. An idle voice the sabbath-region fills Of Deep that calls to Deep across the hills, Broke only by the melancholy sound. Of drowsy bells for ever tinkling round; Faint wail of eagle melting into blue Beneath the cliffs, and pine-woods steady

sugh; The solitary heifer's deepen'd low; Or rumbling heard remote of falling snow; Save that, the stranger seen below, the boy ShouU from the echoing hills with savage joy

When warm from myrtle-bays and tranquil

seas Comes on, to whisper hope,the vernal breexe; Vt hen hums the mountain-bee in May's glad

ear. And emerald isles to spot the heights appear; When shouts and lowing herds the valley fill, And louder torrents stun the noon-tide hill; W hen fragrant scents beneath th'encliuntcd

tread Spring up, his choicest wealth around him

spread, The pastoral Swiss begins the cliffs to scale, To silence leaving the deserted vale, Mounts, where the verdure leads, from stage

to stage, And pastures on, as in the Patriarch's age: O'er lofty heights serene and still they go, And hear the rattling thunder far below. They cross the chasmy torrent's foam-lit bed, Rocked on the dizzy larch's narrow tread; Or steal beneath loose mountains, half de

terr'd, That sigh and shudder to the lowing herd. —I see him, up the midway cliff he creeps To where a scanty knot of verdure peeps, Thenre down the steep a pile of grass he

throws, The fodder of his herds in winter-snows. '»r different life to what tradition hoar Transmits of days more blest in times of


ThenSummer lengthened out his season bland. And with rock-honey flowed the happy land. Continual fountains welling cheered the

waste, And plants were wholesome, now of deadly

taste. Nor Winter yet his frozen stores had piled Usurping where the fairest herbage smiled; Nor Hunger forced the herds from pasturea

bare For scanty food the treacherous cliffs to dare. Then the milk - thistle bade those herds

demand Three times a day the pail and welcome hand. But human vices have provoked the rod Of angry Nature to avenge her God. Thus does the father to his sons relate. On the lone mountain - top, their changed

estate. Still, Nature, ever just, to him imparts Joys only given to uncorrupted hearts. When downward to his winter-hut he goes, Dear and more dear the lessening circlegrows. That hut which from the hills his eyes

employs So oft, the central point of all his joys. Where safely guarded by the woods behind He hears the chiding of the baffled wind; Hears Winter, calling all his Terrors round, Rush down the living rocks with whirlwind

. sound. Through Nature's vale his homely pleasures

glide: Unstained by envy, discontent, and pride; The bound of all his vanity to deck With one bright bell a favourite heifer's

neck: Content, upon some simple annual feast, (Remembered half the year, and hoped the

rest,) If dairy-produce, from his inner hoard, Of thrice ten summers consecrate the board.

Gay lark of hope thy silent song resume! Fair smiling lights the purpled hills illume! Soft gales and dews of life's delicious morn. And thou, lost fragrance of the heart, return! Soon flies the little joy to man allowed, And grief before him travels like a cloud: For come Diseases on, and Penury's rage, Labour and Care, and Pain, and dismal Age, 'Till, hope-deserted, long in vain his breath Implores the dreadful untried sleep of Death. —'Mid savage rocks, and seas of snow that

shine Between interminable tracts of pine, A Temple stands;which holds nn awful shrine, By an uncertain light revealed, that falls On the mute Image and the troubled walls: Pale, dreadful faces round the shrine appear, Abortive Joy, and Hope, that works in fear; While strives n secret Power to hush the

crowd, Pain's wild rebellious burst proclaims her

rights aloud.

Oh! give not ine that eye of hard disdain That views undiinmed Einsiedlen'a wretched

fane. 'Mid muttering prayers all soundB of torment

meet, Dire clap of hands, distracted chafe of feet; While loud and dull ascends the weeping cry, Surely in other thoughts contempt may die. If the sad grave of human ignorance bear One flower of hope—Oh, pass and leave it




Fair Ellen Irwin, when she sate
Upon the Brars of Kirtle,
Was lovely ns a Grecian Maid
Adorned with wreaths of myrtle.
Young Adam Bruce beside her lay;
And there did they beguile the day
With love and gentle speeches,
Beneath the budding beeches.

From many Knight* and many Squires
The Bruce had been selected;
And Gordon, fairest of them all,
By Ellen was rejected.
Sad tidings to that noble Youth!
For it may be proclaimed with truth,
If Bruce hath loved sincerely,
That Gordon loves as dearly.

But what is Gordon's beauteous face?

And what are Gordon's crosses

To them who sit by Kirtlc's Braes

Upon the verdant mosses?

Alas that ever he was born!

The Gordon, couched behind a thorn,

Sees them and their caressing.

Beholds them blest and blessing.

Proud Gordon cannot bear the thoughts
That through his brain arc travelling,—
And, starting up, to Bruce'* heart
He launched a deadly javelin!
Fair Ellen saw it when it came,
And, stepping forth to meet the same,
Did with her body cover
The Youth, her chosen lover.

And falling into Brucc's arms,
Thus died the beauteous Ellen,
Thus from the heart of her True-love
The mortal spear repelling.
And Bruce, asrsoon as he had slain
The Gordon, sailed away to Spain;
And fought with rage incessant
Against the Moorish Crescent.

But many days, and many months.

And many years ensuing.

This wretched Knight did vainly seek

The death that he was wooing:

And coming bark across the wave,

Without a groan on Ellens grave

His body he extended,

And there his sorrow ended.

Now ye, who willingly have heard
The title I have been telling,
May in Kirkonnel-churchyard view,
The grave of lovely Ellen:
By Ellen's side the Bruce is laid;
And, for the stone upon his head,
May no rude hand deface it.
And its forlorn Hie jacet!


I Met Louisa in the shade;

And, having seen that lovely Maid,

Why should 1 fear to say

That she is ruddy, fleet, and strong;

And down the rocks can leap along.

Like rivulets in May?

And she hath smiles to earth unknown;
Smiles, that with motion of their own
Do spread, and sink, and rise;
That come and go with endless play,
And ever, ns they pass away,
Are hidden in her eyes.

She loves her fire, her cottage-home;
Yet o'er the moorland will she roam
In weather rough and bleak;
And when against the wind she strains.
Oh! might I kiss the mountain-rain*
That sparkle on her cheek.

Take all that's mine beneath the mofl

If I with her but half a noon

May sit beneath the walls

Of some old rave, or mossy nook.

When up she winds along the brook,

To hunt the waterfalls.


'Tts said, that some have died for lore: And here and there a church-yard-grave is

found In the cold North's unhallowed ground.— Because the wretched man himself had slain. His love was such a grievous pain. And there is one, whom I five years h»»f

known; He dwell* alone

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