All angel now-yet little less than all, Which hid its own, to soothe all other woe; GLENFINLAS; OR, LORD RONALD'S CORONACH. (This ballad first appeared in Lewis's Tales of Wonder.) THE simple tradition, upon which the following stanzas are founded, runs thus: While two Highland hunters were passing the night in a solitary bothy (a hut built for the purpose of hunting), and making merry over their venison and whisky, one of them expressed a wish that they had pretty lasses to complete their party. The words were scarcely uttered, when two beautiful young women, habited in green, entered the hut, dancing and singing. One of the hunters was seduced, by the siren who attached herself particularly to him, to leave the hut; the other remained, and, suspicious of the fair seducers, continued to play upon a trump, or Jew's-harp, some strain, consecrated to the Virgin Mary. Day at length came, and the temptress vanished. Searching in the forest, he found the bones of his unfortunate friend, who had been torn to pieces and devoured by the fiend, into whose toils he had fallen. The place was from thence called The Glen of the Green Women. Glenfinlas is a tract of forest-ground, lying in the Highlands of Perthshire, not far from Callender in Menteith. It was formerly a royal forest, and now belongs to the Earl of Moray. This country, as well as the adjacent district of Balquidder, was, in times of yore, chiefly inhabited by the Macgregors. To the west of the Forest of Glenfinlas lies Loch Katrine, and its romantic avenue, called the Trosachs. Benledi, Benmore, and Benvoirlich, are mountains in the same district, and at no great distance from Glenfinlas. The river Teith passes Callender and the Castle of Doune, and joins the Forth near Stirling. The Pass of Lenny is immediately above Callender, and is the principal access to the Highlands from that town. Glenartney is a forest, near Benvoirlich. The whole forms a sublime tract of Alpine scenery. "For them the viewless forms of air obey, Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair; To see the phantom train their secret work prepare." "O HONE a rie'! O hone a rie'!" The pride of Albin's line is o'er, And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree; O, sprung from great Macgillianore, How matchless was thy broad claymore, Well can the Saxon widows tell How, on the Teith's resounding shore, The boldest Lowland warriors fell, How blazed Lord Ronald's Beltane tree, From distant isles a Chieftain came, 'Twas Moy; whom in Columba's isle, Was never meant for mortal ear. For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood, High converse with the dead they hold, And oft espy the fated shroud That shall the future corpse enfold. O so it fell, that on a day, To rouse the red deer from their den, The chiefs have ta'en their distant way, And scoured the deep Glenfinlas glen. No vassals wait their sports to aid, To watch their safety, deck their board; Their simple dress, the Highland plaid, Their trusty guard, the Highland sword. Three summer days, through brake and dell, Their whistling shafts successful flew ; And stili, when dewy evening fell, In gray Glenfinlas' deepest nook Fast by Moneira's sullen brook, Which murmurs through that lonely wood. Soft fell the night, the sky was calm, When three successive days had flown; And summer mist in dewy balm Steeped heathy bank, and mossy stone. The moon, half hid in silvery flakes, As many a pledge he quaffs to Moy.- Beneath a sister's watchful eye. "But thou mayst teach that guardian fair, While far with Mary I am flown, Of other hearts to cease her care, And find it hard to guard her own. Hang on thy notes, 'twixt tear and smile. "Or, if she choose a melting tale, All underneath the green-wood bough, Will good St Oran's rule prevail, Stern huntsman of the rigid brow?"— "Since Enrick's fight, since Morna's death, No more on me shall rapture rise, Responsive to the panting breath, Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes. "E'en then, when o'er the heath of woe, "The bark thou sawst, yon summer morn, So gaily part from Oban's bay, My eye beheld her dashed and torn. "Thy Fergus too-thy sister's son, Thou sawst, with pride, the gallant's power, As down Benvoirlich's side they wound, He poured his clan's resistless roar. The corpse-lights dance-they're gone, and now No more is given to gifted eye!". "Alone enjoy thy dreary dreams, Sad prophet of the evil hour! Say, should we scorn joy's transient beams, "Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe, My Mary's buskins brush the dew;" He fed the watch-fire's quivering gleams. And sudden cease their moaning howl; |