The Campbell may come, as his promises
bind him;
And haughty M⭑Nab, with his giants behind
him ;

This night I am bound to relinquish the fray,
And do what it freezes my vitals to say.
Forgive me,dear brother, this horror of mind ;
Thou knowest in the strife I was never behind,
Nor ever receded a foot from the van,
Or blenched at the ire or the prowess of man:
But I've sworn by the cross, by my God,
and my all,

An oath which I cannot, and dare not recall
Ere the shadows of midnight fall east from
the pile,
To meet with a spirit this night in Glen-
Gyle.

Last night, in my chamber, all thoughtful

and lone,

I called to remembrance some deeds I had done,

When entered a lady, with visage so wan, And looks, such as never were fastened on man. I knew her, oh brother! I knew her too well! Of that once fair dame such a tale I could tell As would thrill thy bold heart; but how long she remained,

So racked was my spirit, my bosom so pained, I knew not but ages seemed short to the

while.

Though proffer the Highlands, nay, all the green isle,

With length of existence no man can enjoy,
The same to endure, the dread proffer I'd fly!
The thrice-threatened pangs of last night to
forego,
Macgregor would dive to the mansion below.
Despairing and mad, to futurity blind,
The present to shun, and some respite to find,
I swore, ere the shadow fell east from the pile,
To meet her alone by the brook of Glen-Gyle.
She told me, and turned my chilled heart
to a stone,
The glory and name of Macgregor were gone:
That the pine, which for ages had shed a
bright halo

Come, buckle thy panoply - march to t field

See, brother, how hacked are thy he and shield!

Ay, that was M-Nab, in the height of pride, When the lions of Dochart stood firm his side.

This night the proud chief his presun shall rue;

Rise, brother, these chinks in his bec blood will gl: Thy fantasies frightful shall flit on the vi When loud with thy bugle Glen-Lyon ring.

Like glimpse of the moon through the

of the night It faded it darkened - he shudderedMacgregor's red eye shed one sparkle of sighedNo! not for the universe! low he rep Away went Macgregor, but went not as To watch the dread rendezvous, Ma has gone.

They oared the broad Lomond, so str

the stream where a lay

secm;

of the goss loom,

moon,

quhoun;

be common,

mast.

A parting embrace, in one moment, she gave: Her breath was a furnace, her bosom the

grave!

the waste Though rough was the river with t cascade.

sen.

oung g Malcolm beheld the pale lady approach, 'he chieftain salute her, and shrink from her touch.

We saw the Macgregor kneel down on the plain,

s begging for something he could not obtain; be raised him indignant, derided his stay, hen bore him on board, set her sail, and away.

hough fast the red bark down the river did glide, et faster ran Malcolm adown by its side; acgregor! Macgregor! he bitterly cried; acgregor! Macgregor! the echoes replied. he struck at the lady, but, strange though

it seem, is sword only fell on the rocks and the stream;

it the groans from the boat, that ascended amain,

ere groans from a bosom in horror and pain.

ey reached the dark lake, and bore lightly

rupt as glance of morning-sun, Fe bard of Lomond's lay is done. ves not the swain, from path of dew, morn the golden orb to view, se broad and yellow from the main, hile scarce a shadow lines the plain; 11 knows he then the gathering cloud ill all his noontide glories shroud,e smile of morn before the rain, Deared the minstrel's mounting strain. easy inexperienced hind, 40 sees not coming rains and wind,

beacon of the dawning hour,

- notes the blink before the shower, onished, 'mid his open grain, s round him pour the sudden rain— looked the still attentive throng, en closed at once Macfarlane's song.

ime was it-when he 'gan to tell spectre stern, and barge of hell; d. and more loud, the minstrel sung; d. and more loud, the chords he rung;

Wild grew his looks, for well he knew
The scene was dread, the tale was true;
And ere Loch-Ketturine's wave was won,
Faltered his voice, his breath was done.
He raised his brown hand to his brow,
To veil his eye's enraptured glow;
Flung back his locks of silver gray,
Lifted his crutch, and limped away.

The Bard of Clyde stepped next in view; Tall was his form, his harp was new ; Brightened his dark eye as he sung; A stammer fluttered on his tongue; A captain in the wars was he, And sprung of noble pedigree!

EARL WALTER.

THE TWELFTH BARD'S SONG.

What makes Earl Walter pace the wood
In the wan light of the moon?
Why altered is Earl Walter's mood
So strangely, and so soon?-

It is his lot to fight a knight

Whom man could never tame,
To-morrow, in his Sovereign's sight,
Or bear perpetual shame.-

Go warn the Clyde, go warn the Ayr,
Go warn them suddenly,

If none will fight for Earl Walter,
Some one may fight for me.—

Now hold your tongue, my daughter dear,
Now hold your tongue for shame!
For never shall my son Walter
Disgrace his father's name.

Shall ladies tell, and minstrels sing,
How lord of Scottish blood
By proxy fought before his King?
No, never! by the rood!—

Earl Walter rose ere it was day,

For battle made him boun'; Earl Walter mounted his bonny gray, And rode to Stirling town.

Old Hamilton from the tower came down :
Go saddle a steed for me,
And I'll away to Stirling town,
This deadly bout to see.

Mine eye is dim, my locks are gray,
My cheek is furred and wan;
Ah, me! but I have seen the day
I feared not single man!

Bring me my steed, said Hamilton;
Darcie his vaunts may rue;
Whoever slays my only son
Must fight the father too.

And quietly looked on:

Now Margaret was the fairest maid

On whom the daylight shone.

Adown the yielding wind;

Not faster bears the bolt away,

Leaving the storm behind;

What makes Lord Darcie shift and wear So fast around the plain?

Loud rattled on the clay; Down came Earl Walter, hand in hand, And head to head they lay.

- Lord Darcie's steed turned to his lord,
And trembling stood behind;
But off Earl Walter's dapple scoured
Far fleeter than the wind;
Nor stop, nor stay, nor gate, nor ford,
Could make her look behind.

O'er holt, o'er hill, o'er slope and slack,
She sought her native stall;
She liked not Darcie's doughty black,
Nor Darcie's spear at all.

Even go thy ways, Earl Walter cried:
Since better may not be;
I'll trust my life with weapon tried,
But never again with thee.

Rise up, Lord Darcie, sey thy brand,
And fling thy mail away;
For foot to foot, and hand to hand,
We'll now decide the day.-

So said, so done; their helms they flung,
Their doublets linked and sheen;
And hauberk, armlet, cuirass, rung
Promiscuous on the green..

All striped with crimson grain?—

The first blow that Earl Walter made, He clove his whiskered chin. Beshrew thy heart, Lord Darcie said, Ye sharply do begin!

The next blow that Earl Walter made,
Quite through the gare it ran.
Now, by my faith, Lord Darcie said,
That's stricken like a man.

The third blow that Earl Walter made,
It pierced his lordly side.
Now, by my troth, Lord Darcie said,
Thy marks are ill to bide.

Lord Darcie's sword he forced a-hight,
And tripped him on the plain.
O, ever alack, then cried the knight,
I ne'er shall rise again!

When good Earl Walter saw he grew
So pale, and lay so low,
Away his brace of swords he threw,
And raised his fainting foe.

Then rang the list with shouts of joy,
Loud and more loud they grew,

And many a bonnet to the sky
And many a coif they threw.

The tear stood in the father's eye,--
He wiped his aged brow,—
Give me thy hand, my gallant boy!
I knew thee not till now.

My liege, my King, this is my son
Whom I present to thee;
Nor would I change Wat Hamilton
For all the lads I see!

Welcome, my friend and warrior old!
This gallant son of thine

Is much too good for baron bold,
He must be son of mine!

For he shall wed my daughter dear,
The flower of fair Scotland;
The badge of honour he shall wear,
And sit at my right hand.

And he shall have the lands of Kyle,
And royal bounds of Clyde;
And he shall have all Arran's Isle
To dower his royal bride.

The princess smiled, and sore was flushed,
O, but her heart was fain!

And aye her cheek of beauty blushed'
Like rose-bud in the rain.

From this the Hamiltons of Clyde

Their royal lineage draw;

And thus was won the fairest bride That Scotland ever saw!

When ceased the lay, the plaudits rung,
Not for the bard, or song he sung;
But every eye with pleasure shone,
And cast its smiles on one alone-
That one was princely Hamilton!
And well the gallant chief approved
The bard who sung of sire beloved,
And pleased were all the court to see
The minstrel hailed so courteously.

Again is every courtier's gaze Speaking suspense, and deep amaze; The bard was stately, dark and stern."Twas Drummond from the moors of Ern. Tall was his frame, his forehead high, Still and mysterious was his eye; His look was like a winter-day, When storms and winds have sunk away. Well versed was he in holy lore; In cloistered dome the cowl he wore, But, wearied with the eternal strain Of formal breviats, cold and vain, He wooed, in depth of Highland dale, The silver spring and mountain-gale.

Its walls were bastioned, dark, and den
Dark was its roof of filmot-fern,
And dark the vista down the linn,
But all was love and peace within.
Religion, man's first friend and best.
Was in that home a constant guest;
There, sweetly, every morn and even
Warm orisons were poured to Heaven:
And every cliff Glen-Ample knew,
And green-wood on her banks that grew
In answer to his bounding string,
Had learned the hymns of Heaven to
With many a song of mystic lore,
Rude as when sung in days of yore.

His were the snowy flocks that straye
Adown Glen-Airtney's forest-glade;
And his the goat, and chesnut hind,
Where proud Ben-Vorlich cleaves the vis
There oft, when suns of summer shon,
The bard would sit, and muse alone,
Of innocence, expelled by man;
Of nature's fair and wondrous plan;
Of the eternal throne sublime;
Of visions seen in ancient time;
Till his rapt soul would leave her home.
In visionary worlds to roam.
Then would the mists that wandered by
Seem hovering spirits to his eye;
Then would the breeze's whistling sweep
Soft lulling in the cavern deep,
Seem to the enthusiast's dreaming ear
The words of spirits whispered near.

Loathed his firm soul the measured chir And florid films of modern rhyme; No other lays became his tongue But those his rude forefathers sung. And when, by wandering minstrel wan The mandate of his queen he learned, So much he prized the ancient strain, High hopes had he the prize to gain. With modest, yet majestic mien, He tuned his harp of solemn strain: O list the tale, ye fair and young, A lay so strange was never sung!

KILMEN Y.

THE THIRTEENTH BARD'S SONG.

Bonny Kilmeny gaed up the glen;
But it wasna to meet Duneira's men,
Nor the rosy monk of the isle to see.
For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be.
It was only to hear the Yorlin sing.
And pu' the cress-flower round the spring
The scarlet hypp and the hindberrye,
And the nut that hang frae the hazel-
For Kilmeny was pure as pure could be
But lang may her minny look o'er the
And lang may she seek i' the green-ww
shaw;

Lang the laird of Duneira blame.
And lang, lang greet or Kilmeny come har