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Her matchless Rants, and Lilts and Reels
So dear to Highland hearts and heels,——
From Ruidhle Thulachain's delights,
And Gille Callum's airy flights,
To Tullochgorum's whirls and flings,
And famous Neil's immortal springs !

Yet most of all, bewitching elf!
Whene'er I think of thee,

Loves, long since laid on memory's shelf,

Again revive in me; Maidens as lovely as thyself

In laughing groups I see.—

Now, at "the milking o' the fauld,"
Now, "when the kye come hame,”
Now, by "the Birks of Invercauld,"
Add now by Aray's stream,
Fond fancy, roaming free as wind,
One after one, the long-lost find,
And with a loving, ready will,

Paints each dear charmer, charming still.

Well might a bard be proud to please
And sing of maidens such as these;
Small wonder Scotia's bards always

Sing best whene'er they sing their praise,—
Those darling girls whose graces rare

Might make the coldest lover there

Less lover than idolator!

Long may old Scotia's sons rejoice
In lays so worthy of her choice;
Long may such minstrels as thy sire
Be hers to honour and admire ;
And aye may Scotia's daughters be
What with such joy and pride I see

The bright epitome in thee!

SONNETS DESCRIPTIVE OF THE SCENERY OF LOCH-AWE, ARGYLESHIRE.

I.

LOCH-AWE-SEEN FROM CROIS-AN-T-SLEUCHDAIDH.

No time nor tide can dim a genuine joy:

In thought I wander to that far-off day
When first upon my sight burst grand Glenstrae,
And from me brought Loch-Awe a sudden cry
Of ecstacy, as proudly to mine eye

It spreads its glories. O! but now to be
Standing where, cross-crowned Innisfail to see,
The Celt, of old, his knee bent reverently.

*

*Crois-an-t-sleuchdaidh (a term suggestive of Catholic times) is the name of that moorland ridge where the road from Inveraray to Dalmally reaches its highest elevation, and from which the tourist travelling northward, obtains his first view of Loch-Awe-its bosom adorned with many islands of great beauty. Chief among those more immediately in view are Innisfail, famed for its sepulchral crosses; Innis-Druidhnich, with its Druidical circle, and Fraoch-Eilean, no less dissinguished by its stern, old, dilapidated "keep," telling its own tale of times of feud and foray.

Here, kingly Cruachan, twin-topped, cleft the sky ; There, tower'd Ben-doran's head above the cloud,— While on the lake's calm breast lay, lovingly,

Islets of which Elysium might be proud. When fades that landscape from my memory, Some friendly hand may quick prepare my shroud.

II.

THE BRANDER PASS.

Lo, where the Awe sweeps with resistless force
Through yonder Pass where once, in days of old,
Lorn's haughty chief would thwart his monarch's course,
And traitor dirks struck well for English gold!
It is enough to make one's blood run cold

To think what Scotland would have lost that day,
If, when through yonder gorge war's tide was roll'd
And chief met chief in battle's stern array,
The Bruce's sword cleared not a ready way

Resistless through the thickest of the foe,Leaving Macdougall baffled of his prey!—

How few the pilgrims wandering by the flow Of Awe, impetuous, think, as there they stray, How classic is the ground o'er which they go !

III.

INNIS-DRUIDHNICH.

Fair Innis-drui'nich! though, in this our age,
Few, save the fisher, haunt thy sylvan shore,
Well worthy art thou of a pilgrimage

To him who would, in thought the Past explore,

By nature sole instructed, here of yore
The Druid taught his votaries to see
In day's bright orb the great creative power
To which he oft, adoring, bent the knee
Beneath the branches of some old oak tree

Tow'ring above yon circle of grey stones:
Grateful to God that better light have we,
Let us tread reverent o'er the Druid's bones,
And own, whate'er his faults, he reasoned well
In choosing in this paradise to dwell!

IV.

KILCHURN CASTLE.

Lo! yonder veteran Pile by Urchay's flow-
Kilchurn! proud home of many a warlike chief,
Seem'st thou there brooding o'er the long ago,
Like some old warrior musing in his grief
On years that shall return not: Time, the thief,
Has robbed thee of thy ancient pomp and pride-
Leaving thee there, all hopeless of relief,

Nodding to thy own spectre in the tide.

Thy sole friend seems the ivy spreading wide
Its dark-green mantle round thy aged form;
The owl loves well within thee to abide,

A lonely tenant, safe from all alarm ;

While through thy halls, where beauty once enjoyed

The minstrel's song, oft howls the midnight storm.

V.

FRAOCH-EILEAN.

Fraoch's lonely isle! if of a hermit life

I were enamoured, 'tis on thee I'd dwell, Where all around, afar or near, seems rife

With grace and grandeur more than tongue can tell.
Yon time-worn Keep would yield a ready cell ;
My drink would be the lake's pure crystal tide;
My rod and gun with fish and fowl would well
An ample feast at any time provide.
If ever nature's face to bard supplied

True inspiration, 'twould, methinks, be here,—
Loch-Awe in beauty slumbering him beside,
The sound of distant torrents in his ear,
And every feature of the landscape wide
Speaking of God in language loudly-clear.

VI.

GLENORCHY.

Talk not to me of Tempe's flowery vale,

With fair Glenorchy stretched before my view!
If of its charms he sung, I could right well
Believe the Grecian poet's picture true.
What were his boasted groves in scent or hue
To lady-birches and the stately pine,

The crimsoned heather and the hare-bell blue ?

Be his the laurel-the red heath be mine!

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