The Modern Scottish Minstrel Volume I Part 46

All lightsome are beaming.

When that lightfoot so airy, Her race is pursuing, Oh, what vision saw e'er a Feat of flight like her doing?

She springs, and the spreading gra.s.s Scarce feels her treading, It were fleet foot that sped in Twice the time that she flew in.

The gallant array!

How the marshes they spurn, In the frisk of their play, And the wheelings they turn,-- As the cloud of the mind They would distance behind, And give years to the wind, In the pride of their scorn!

'Tis the marrow of health In the forest to lie, Where, nooking in stealth, They enjoy her[113] supply,-- Her fosterage breeding A race never needing, Save the milk of her feeding, From a breast never dry.

Her hill-gra.s.s they suckle, Her mammets[114] they swill, And in wantonness chuckle O'er tempest and chill; With their ankles so light, And their girdles[115] of white, And their bodies so bright With the drink of the rill.

Through the gra.s.sy glen sporting In murmurless glee, Nor snow-drift nor fortune Shall urge them to flee, Save to seek their repose In the clefts of the knowes, And the depths of the howes Of their own Eas-an-ti.[116]

URLAR.

In the forest den, the deer Makes, as best befits, his lair, Where is plenty, and to spare, Of her gra.s.sy feast.

There she browses free On herbage of the lea, Or marsh gra.s.s, daintily, Until her haunch is greased.

Her drink is of the well, Where the water-cresses swell, Nor with the flowing sh.e.l.l Is the toper better pleased.

The bent makes n.o.bler cheer, Or the rashes of the mere, Than all the creagh that e'er Gave surfeit to a guest.

Come, see her table spread; The _sorach_[117] sweet display'd The _ealvi_,[118] and the head Of the daisy stem; The _dorach_[119] crested, sleek, And ringed with many a streak, Presents her pastures meek, Profusely by the stream.

Such the luxuries That plump their n.o.ble size, And the herd entice To revel in the howes.

n.o.bler haunches never sat on Pride of grease, than when they batten On the forest links, and fatten On the herbs of their carouse.

Oh, 'tis pleasant, in the gloaming, When the supper-time Calls all their hosts from roaming, To see their social prime; And when the shadows gather, They lair on native heather, Nor shelter from the weather Need, but the knolls behind.

Dread or dark is none; Their 's the mountain throne, Height and slope their own, The gentle mountain kind; Pleasant is the grace Of their hue, and dappled dress, And an ark in their distress, In Bendorain dear they find.

SIUBHAL.

So brilliant thy hue With tendril and flow'ret, The grace of the view, What land can o'erpower it?

Thou mountain of beauty, Methinks it might suit thee, The homage of beauty To claim as a queen.

What needs it? Adoring Thy reign, we see pouring The wealth of their store in Already, I ween.

The seasons--scarce roll'd once, Their gifts are twice told-- And the months, they unfold On thy bosom their dower, With profusion so rare, Ne'er was clothing so fair, Nor was jewelling e'er Like the bud and the flower Of the groves on thy breast, Where rejoices to rest His magnificent crest, The mountain-c.o.c.k, shrilling In quick time, his note; And the clans of the grot With melody's note, Their numbers are trilling.

No foot can compare, In the dance of the green, With the roebuck's young heir; And here he is seen With his deftness of speed, And his sureness of tread, And his bend of the head, And his freedom of spring!

Over corrie careers he, The wood-cover clears he, And merrily steers he With bound, and with fling,-- As he spurns from his stern The heather and fern, And dives in the dern[120]

Of the wilderness deep; Or, anon, with a strain, And a tw.a.n.g of each vein He revels amain 'Mid the cliffs of the steep.

With the burst of a start When the flame of his heart Impels to depart, How he distances all!

Two bounds at a leap, The brown hillocks to sweep, His appointment to keep With the doe, at her call.

With her following, the roe From the danger of ken Couches inly, and low, In the haunts of the glen; Ever watchful to hear, Ever active to peer, Ever deft to career,-- All ear, vision, and limb.

And though Cult[121] and Cuchullin, With their horses and following, Should rush to her dwelling, And our prince[122] in his trim, They might vainly aspire Without rifle and fire To ruffle or nigh her, Her mantle to dim.

Stark-footed, lively, Ever capering naively With motion alive, aye, And wax-white, in s.h.i.+ne, When her startle betrays That the hounds are in chase, The same as the base Is the rocky decline-- She puffs from her chest, And she ambles her crest And disdain is express'd In her nostril and eye;-- That eye--how it winks!

Like a sunbeam it blinks, And it glows, and it sinks, And is jealous and shy!

A mountaineer lynx, Like her race that 's gone by.

CRUNLUATH (FINALE).

Her lodge is in the valley--here No huntsman, void of notion, Should hurry on the fallow deer, But steal on her with caution;-- With wary step and watchfulness To stalk her to her resting place, Insures the gallant wight's success, Before she is in motion.

The hunter bold should follow then, By bog, and rock, and hollow, then, And nestle in the gulley, then, And watch with deep devotion The shadows on the benty gra.s.s, And how they come, and how they pa.s.s; Nor must he stir, with gesture rash, To quicken her emotion.

With nerve and eye so wary, sir, That straight his piece may carry, sir, He marks with care the quarry, sir, The muzzle to repose on; And now, the knuckle is applied, The flint is struck, the priming tried, Is fired, the volley has replied, And reeks in high commotion;-- Was better powder ne'er to flint, Nor trustier wadding of the lint-- And so we strike a telling dint, Well done, my own Nic-Coisean![123]

[109] Anglicised into _Ben_.

[110] The deer.

[111] Stag of the first head.

[112] Pa.s.s.

[113] Any one who has heard a native attempt the Lowland tongue for the first time, is familiar with the personification that turns every inanimate object into _he_ or _she_. The forest is here happily personified as a nurse or mother.

[114] Bog-holes.

[115] Stripings.

[116] _Gaelic_--Easan-an-tsith.

[117] Primrose.

[118] St John's wort.

[119] A kind of cress, or marshmallow.

[120] _Anglice_--dark.

[121] _Gaelic_--Caoillt; who, with Cuchullin, makes a figure in traditional Gaelic poetry.

[122] _Gaelic_--King George.

[123] Literally--"From the barrel of Nic-Coisean." This was the poet's favourite gun, to which his muse has addressed a separate song of considerable merit.

THE BARD TO HIS MUSKET.[124]

Macintyre acted latterly as a constable of the City Guard of Edinburgh, a situation procured him by the Earl of Breadalbane, at his own special request; that benevolent n.o.bleman having inquired of the bard what he could do for him to render him independent in his now advanced years. His salary as a peace-officer was sixpence a-day; but the poet was so abundantly satisfied with the attainment of his position and endowments, that he gave expression to his feelings of satisfaction in a piece of minstrelsy, which in the original ranks among his best productions. Of this ode we are enabled to present a faithful metrical translation, quite in the spirit of the original, as far as conversion of the Gaelic into the Scottish idiom is practicable. The version was kindly undertaken at our request by Mr William Sinclair, the ingenious author of "Poems of the Fancy and the Affections," who has appropriately adapted it to the lively tune, "Alister M'Alister." The song, remarks Mr Sinclair, is much in the spirit, though in a more humorous strain, of the famous Sword Song, beginning in the translation, "Come forth, my glittering Bride," composed by Theodore Korner of Dresden, and the last and most remarkable of his patriotic productions, wherein the soldier addresses his sword as his bride, thereby giving expression to the most glowing sentiments of patriotism. Macintyre addresses as his wife the musket which he carried as an officer of the guard; and is certainly as enthusiastic in praise of his new acquisition, as ever was love-sick swain in eulogy of the most attractive fair one.

Oh! mony a turn of woe and weal May happen to a Highlan' man; Though he fall in love he soon may feel He cannot get the fancied one; The first I loved in time that 's past, I courted twenty years, ochone!

But she forsook me at the last, And Duncan then was left alone.

To Edinbro' I forthwith hied To seek a sweetheart to my mind, An', if I could, to find a bride For the fause love I left behind; Said Captain Campbell of the Guard, "I ken a widow secretly, An' I 'll try, as she 's no that ill faur'd, To put her, Duncan, in your way."

As was his wont, I trow, did he Fulfil his welcome promise true, He gave the widow unto me, And all her portion with her too; And whosoe'er may ask her name, And her surname also may desire, They call her Janet[125]--great her fame-- An' 'twas George who was her grandsire.

She 's quiet, an' affable, an' free, No vexing gloom or look at hand, As high in rank and in degree As any lady in the land; She 's my support and my relief, Since e'er she join'd me, any how; Great is the cureless cause of grief To him who has not got her now!

Nic-Coisean[126] I 've forsaken quite, Altho' she liveth still at ease-- An' allow the crested stags to fight And wander wheresoe'er they please, A young wife I have chosen now, Which I repent not any where, I am not wanting wealth, I trow, Since ever I espoused the fair.

I pa.s.s my word of honour bright-- Most excellent I do her call; In her I ne'er, in any light, Discover'd any fault at all.

She is stately, fine, an' straight, an' sound, Without a hidden fault, my friend; In her, defect I never found, Nor yet a blemish, twist, or bend.