than design, from tendering his submission within the limited time. In the end of December he went to Colonel Hill, who commanded the garrison in Fort-William, to take the oaths of allegiance to the Government; and the latter having furnished him with a letter to Sir Colin Campbell, sheriff of the county of Argyll, directed him to repair immediately to Inverary, to make his submission in a legal manner I before that magistrate. But the way to Inverary lay through almost impassable mountains, the season was extremely rigorous, and the whole country was covered with a deep snow. So eager, however, was Macdonald to take the oaths before the limited time should expire, that, though the road lay within half a mile of his own house, he stopped not to visit his family, and, after various obstructions, arrived at Inverary. The time had elapsed, and the sheriff hesitated to receive his submission; but Macdonald prevailed by his importunities, and even tears, in inducing that functionary to administer to him the oath of allegiance, and to certify the cause of his delay. At this time Sir John Dalrymple, afterwards Earl of Stair, being in attendance upon William as Secretary of State for Scotland, took advantage of Macdonald's neglecting to take the oath within the time prescribed, and procured from the king a warrant of military execution against that chief and his whole clan. This was done at the instigation of the Earl of Breadalbane, whose lands the Glencoe men had plundered, and whose treachery to Government in negotiating with the Highland clans, Macdonald himself had exposed. The King was accordingly persuaded that Glencoe was the main obstacle to the pacification of the Highlands; and the fact of the unfortunate chief's submission having been concealed, the sanguinary orders for proceeding to military execution against his clan were in consequence obtained. The warrant was both signed and countersigned by the King's own hand, and the Secretary urged the officers who commanded in the Highlands to execute their orders with the utmost rigour. Campbell of Glenlyon, a captain in Argyll's regiment, and two subalterns, were ordered to repair to Glencoe on the 1st of February with a hundred and twenty men. Campbell, being uncle to young Macdonald's wife, was received by the father with all manner of friendship and hospitality. The men were lodged at free quarters in the houses of his tenants, and received the kindest entertainment. Till the 13th of the month the troops lived in the utmost harmony and familiarity with the people; and on the very night of the massacre, the officers passed the evening at cards in Macdonald's house. In the night, Lieutenant Lindsay, with a party of soldiers, called in a friendly manner at his door, and was instantly admitted. Macdonald, while in the act of rising to receive his guest, was shot dead through the back with two bullets. His wife had already dressed; but she was stripped naked by the soldiers, who tore the rings off her fingers with their teeth. The slaughter now became general, and neither age nor infirmity was spared. Some women, in defending their children, were killed; boys imploring mercy, were shot dead by officers on whose knees they hung. In one place nine persons, as they sat enjoving themselves at table, were butchered by the soldiers. In Inverriggon, Campbell's own quarters, nine men were first bound by the soldiers, and then shot at intervals, one by one. Nearly forty persons were massacred by the troops; and several who fled to the mountains perished by famine and the inclemency of the season. Those who escaped owed their lives to a tempestuous night. Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, who had received the charge of the execution from Dalrymple, was on his march with four hundred men, to guard all the passes from the valley of Glencoe ; but he was obliged to stop by the severity of the weather, which proved the safety of the unfortunate clan. Next day he entered the valley, laid the houses in ashes, and carried away the cattle and spoil, which were divided among the officers and soldiers."-Article "BRITAIN;"Encyc. Britannica. "O TELL. me, Harper, wherefore flow Thy wayward notes of wail and woe Far down the desert of Glencoe, Where none may list their melody? Say, harp'st thou to the mists that fly, Or to the dun-deer glancing by, Or to the eagle that from high Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy?"— "No, not to these, for they have rest,The mist-wreath has the mountain-crest, The stag his lair, the erne her nest, Abode of lone security. But those for whom I pour the lay, "Their flag was furl'd, and mute their drum, The very household dogs were dumb, In guise of hospitality. To tend her kindly housewifery. "The hand that mingled in the meal, The friendly hearth which warm'd that hand, At midnight arm'd it with the brand, That bade destruction's flames expand Their red and fearful blazonry. "Then woman's shriek was heard in vain Nor infancy's unpitied plain, More than the warrior's groan, could gair Respite from ruthless butchery! The winter wind that whistled shrill, The snows that night that cloked the h Though wild and pitiless, had still Far more than Southron clemency. "Long have my harp's best notes bee gone, Few are its strings, and faint their tone They can but sound in desert lone Their grey-hair'd master's misery. Were each grey hair a minstrel string Each chord should imprecations fling, Till startled Scotland loud should r 'Revenge for blood and treachery!" LINES, ADDRESSED TO RANALD MACDONALD ESQ. OF STAFFA. [1814.] STAFFA, sprung from high Macdonald FAREWELL TO MACKENZIE, HIGH CHIEF OF KINTAIL. from the gaelic. [1815.-ET. 44.] The original verses are arranged to a beautiful Gaelic air, of which the chorus is adapted to the double pull upon the oars of a galley, and which is therefore distinct from the ordinary jorrams, or boat-songs. They were composed by the Family Bard upon the departure of the Earl of Seaforth, who was obliged to take refuge in Spain, after an unsuccessful effort at insurrection in favour of the Stuart family, in the year 1718. FAREWELL to Mackenneth, great Earl of the North, Though the whirlwind should rise, and the ocean should boil: SAINT CLOUD. [Paris, 5th September, 1815.] SOFT spread the southern summer night The evening breezes gently sigh'd, Bewailing the deserted pride And wreck of sweet Saint Cloud. The drum's deep roll was heard afar, The startled Naiads from the shade And silenced was that proud cascade, *Bonail, or Bonallez, the old Scottish phrase for a feast at parting with a friend. We sate upon its steps of stone, The echoes of Saint Cloud. Slow Seine might hear each lovely note Fall light as summer dew, While through the moonless air they float, Prolong'd from fair Saint Cloud. And sure a melody more sweet His waters never knew, Nor then, with more delighted ear, Few happy hours poor mortals pass, - Cocks had sung their earliest greeting; Where the soldier lay, Chill and stiff, and drench'd with rain, Wishing dawn of morn again, Though death should come with day. II. 'Tis at such a tide and hour, Wizard, witch, and fiend, have power, And ghastly forms through mist and shower Gleam on the gifted ken; And spurr'd 'gainst storm the swerving horse; But there are sounds in Allan's ear, When down the destined plain, 'Twixt Britain and the bands of France, Wild as marsh-borne meteors glance, Strange phantoms wheel'd a revel dance, And doom'd the future slain.Such forms were seen, such sounds were heard, When Scotland's James his march pre pared For Flodden's fatal plain; Such, when he drew his ruthless sword As Choosers of the Slain, adored The yet unchristen'd Dane. An indistinct and phantom band, They wheel'd their ring-dance hand in hand. Wheel the wild dance And thunders rattle loud, To bloody grave, To sleep without a shroud. Wheel the wild dance! Brave sons of France, For you our ring makes room; Make space full wide For martial pride, For banner, spear, and plume. Room for the men of steel! Both head and heart shall feel. At morn, grey Allan's mates with awe Heard of the vision'd sights he saw, The legend heard him say; But the Seer's gifted eye was dim, Deafen'd his ear, and stark his limb, Ere closed that bloody dayHe sleeps far from his Highland heath,But often of the Dance of Death His comrades tell the tale, On picquet-post, when ebbs the night, And waning watch-fires glow less bright And dawn is gliminering pale. |
