GLENARA

OH, heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale,
Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail?
'Tis the Chief of Glenara laments for his dear,
And her sire, and her people, are called to her bier.

Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud;
His kinsmen they followed, but mourned not aloud:
Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around;
They marched all in silence,-they looked on the ground.

In silence they went, over mountain and moor,
To a heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar;
"Now here let us place the gray stone of her cairn:
Why speak ye no word?" said Glenara the stern.

"And tell me, I charge you, ye clan of my spouse,
Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows?"
So spake the rude chieftain:—no answer is made,
But each mantle unfolding, a dagger displayed.

"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud,"
Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud:
"And empty that shroud and that coffin did seem;
Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"

Oh, pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween,
When the shroud was unclosed and no lady was seen;
When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn,-
'Twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn,—

"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief;
I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief;
On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem!
Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"

In dust, low the traitor has knelt to the ground,
And the desert revealed where his lady was found;
From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne,-
Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn!

Thomas Campbell [1777–1844]

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER

A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound,
To row us o'er the ferry."

"Now who be ye, would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?" "O, I'm the chief of Ulva's Isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter.

"And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together, For should he find us in the glen,

My blood would stain the heather.

(( His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover?”

Outspoke the hardy Highland wight,
"I'll go, my chief,-I'm ready:-
It is not for your silver bright;
But for your winsome lady:

"And by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry:

So, though the waves are raging white,
I'll row you o'er the ferry."

By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;
And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armèd men,-

Their trampling sounded nearer.

"O, haste thee, haste!" the lady cries,
"Though tempests round us gather;
I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father."

The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her,—

When, O, too strong for human hand,
The tempest gathered o'er her.

And still they rowed amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing:

Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore,—
His wrath was changed to wailing.

For sore dismayed, through storm and shade,
His child he did discover:

One lovely hand she stretched for aid,

And one was round her lover.

"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief,

"Across this stormy water:

And I'll forgive your Highland chief,

My daughter! O my daughter!"

'Twas vain; the loud waves lashed the shore,

Return or aid preventing;

The waters wild went o'er his child,

And he was left lamenting.

Thomas Campbell [1777-1844]

"WAE'S ME FOR PRINCE CHARLIE"

A WEE bird came to our ha' door;

He warbled sweet and clearly;

And aye the o'ercome o' his sang

Was "Wae's me for Prince Charlie!"

Oh! when I heard the bonny, bonny bird
The tears came drapping rarely;

I took my bonnet aff my head,

For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie.

Quoth I: "My bird, my bonny, bonny bird,
Is that a tale ye borrow?

Or is't some words ye've learned by rote,
Or a lilt o' dool and sorrow?"
"Oh! no, no, no!" the wee bird sang,
"I've flown sin' morning early;

But sic a day o' wind and rain!—
Oh! wae's me for Prince Charlie!

"On hills that are by right his ain
He roams a lanely stranger;
On ilka hand he's pressed by want,
On ilka side by danger.

Yestreen I met him in the glen,
My heart near bursted fairly;
For sadly changed indeed was he-
Oh! wae's me for Prince Charlie!

"Dark night came on; the tempest howled
Out owre the hills and valleys;

And where was't that your prince lay down,
Whose hame should be a palace?

He ro'ed him in a Highland plaid,
Which covered him but sparely,
And slept beneath a bush o' broom-
Oh! wae's me for Prince Charlie!"

But now the bird saw some red coats, And he shook his wings wi' anger: "Oh! this is no a land for me—

I'll tarry here nae langer.”

A while he hovered on the wing,

Ere he departed fairly;

But weel I mind the farewell strain,

'Twas "Wae's me for Prince Charlie!"

William Glen [1789-1826]

TRUE LOVE'S DIRGE

SOME love is light and fleets away,
Heigho! the wind and rain;
Some love is deep and scorns decay,
Ah, well-a-day! in vain.

Of loyal love I sing this lay, Heigho! the wind and rain; 'Tis of a knight and lady gay,

Ah, well-a-day! bright twain.

He loved her, heart loved ne'er so well,
Heigho! the wind and rain;
She was a cold and proud damsel,
Ah, well-a-day! and vain.

He loved her, oh, he loved her long,
Heigho! the wind and rain;
But she for love gave bitter wrong,
Ah, well-a-day! Disdain!

It is not meet for knight like me,
Heigho! the wind and rain;

Though scorned, love's recreant to be,
Ah, well-a-day! Refrain.

That brave knight buckled on his brand,

Heigho! the wind and rain;

And fast he sought a foreign strand,

Ah, well-a-day! in pain.

He wandered wide by land and sea
Heigho! the wind and rain;

A mirror of bright constancy.
Ah, well-a-day! in vain.

He would not chide, he would not blame,

Heigho! the wind and rain;

But at each shrine he breathed her name, Ah, well-a-day! Amen!