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Hail to the chief who in triumph advances,
Honoured and blessed by the ever-green pine ! Long may the tree in his banner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line !
Heaven send it happy dew,
Earth lend it sap anew,
While every highland glen
Sends our shout back agen, - Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe !"
Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain,
Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade; When the whirl-wind has stripped every leaf on the
mountain, The more shall Clan Alpine exult in her shade.
Moored in the rifted rock,
Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow:
Menteith and Bredalbane, then,
Echo his praise agen, “ Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe !"
Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin,
And Banochar's groans to our slogan replied, Glen Luss and Ross-dhu they are smoking in ruin, And the best of Loch-Lomond lie dead on her side.
Widow and Saxon maid
Long shall lament our raid,
Lennox and Leven-glen
Shake when they hear agen, 6 Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho ! ieroe!”
Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands !
Stretch to your oars, for the ever-green pine ! O! that the rose-bud that graces yon islands, Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine !
O that some seedling gem,
Worthy such noble stem, Honoured and blessed in their shadow might grow!
Loud should Clan-Alpine then
Ring from her deepest glen, “Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ko ! ieroe !"
THE CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.
The castle hight of indolence
And its false luxury ;
We liv'd right jollily.
I. O MORTAL MAN, who livest here by toil! Do not complain of this thy hard estate ; That like an emmet thou must ever moil, Is a sad sentence of an ancient date; And, certes, there is for it reason great; For, tho' sometimes it makes thee weep and wail, And curse thy star, and early drudge and late,
Withouten that would come an heavier bale, Loose life, unruly passions, and diseases pale.
II. In lowly dale, fast by a river's side, With woody hill o'er hill encompass'd round, A most enchanting wizard did abide, Than whom a fiend more fell is no where found.
It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground;
A listless climate made, where sooth to say,
III. Was naught around but images of rest : Sleep soothing groves, and quiet lawns between; And flowery beds that slumbrous influence kest, From poppies breath'd ; and beds of pleasant green, Where never yet was creeping creature seen. Meantime umumber'd glittering streamlets play'd, And hurled every where their waters sheen;
That, as they bicker'd through the sunny glade, Though restless still themselves, a lulling murmur made.
And still a coil the grasshopper did keep;
Where nought but shadowy forms were seen to move,
And where this valley winded out below,
But whate'er smack'd of noyance, or unrest,
Was plac'd; and to his lute, of cruel fate,