An trusgan rìomhach òr-mhaiseach mu bheil
Gach cùbhraidh'chd àraidh thig o'n Aird-an-ear.

Ach thus', O Bhan-righ! aom do chluas, a's éisd, Tigh t'athar dioch'naich 's tìr do dhùchais tréig, 'S gach cusbair roimhe choisinneadh do luaidh, 'S do mhiann gu léir biodh air-san, Treun nam buadh. Le d' bhuaidhibh àraidh 's ni e tala' d' dhàimh

'S

gu caidreach leis thu glaisear 'na dha laimh; Gu'n cuirear leis thu 'm mòrachd faisg dha féin; Ach thus' do d' Dhia thoir urram gloir a's géill. Thig Ban-righ Thiruis féin o 'h-àite taimh

Le millte tiodhlac 'steach do d' theampull àigh; 'S na daoine saibhir anns gach àit' fo 'n ghréin Gun iarr do ghràs 's do dheadh ghean àghmhor féin. Feuch! Nigh'n an Righ, an éididh riomhaich, ghrinn, Do chéile, Ard Righ, miann a's gràdh do chridh, 'S a falluinn òr-mhaisicht', gu bòidheach, dlùth, 'S a h-aodunn-dhreach ni 's taitniche do 'n t-sùil; Am buaidhean àigh a cridh' cia àrd gu léir, Far bheil a' tàmh gach beus a's gràs is fearr. O feuch a Righ! do chéile rìomhach, gràidh, A' teachd a'd' ionnsuidh 'n deise bhainns' le h-àgh, 'An obair ghréis is fearr 's is finealt' fiamh Le leugaibh soillseach boisgeil mar a' ghrian, 'Measg mhaighdean' àillidh feuch a Bhan-righ chiùin A' falbh gu ciatach, miaghar do gach sùil,

'S a buaidhean taitneach, 's fiamh ro-thlachdmhor grinn, A's rìomhadh àillidh 'g inns' gur Ban-righ i. Mar so, 's i cuartaichte le sluagh ro mhòr, An staid ro ghreadhnach bheirear leo i 'd' chòir, 'S i féin 's a maighdeanna an aoibhneas gràidh Gun dòirt a steach do d' theampull feart'or àigh; Ach thus' Bhan-righ! cuir air cùl gach bròn, A's t'aithrich' aosda na bi 'caoidh ni's mò; 'N an àite sin dhuit féin bidh sliochd nach gann, Mic 's nigh'nean aghmhor bhios gu bràth neo-f hann ; 'S a bhios le 'm mòrachd àrd 'an glòir 's an cliù, Ach bhios ni 's àird' a'm maitheas gràsmhor 's fiù; 'Sa riaghlas thairis air an talamh mhòr, 'S do 'm bi a chaoidh, o linn gu linn, mòr ghlòir.

Ach 's tus', O Ard-righ! cùis mo dhàin 's mo chiùil, 'S do dhùthchaibh céin gu'n cuir mi'n céill do chliù. Am feadh a ghluaiseas neoil mu chuairt nam beann, 'S aig àm na h-oidhich' bhios reulta 'soillseach ann ; 'M feadh bhios a' ghrian a' fiamhachadh an lò, Do gloir 's do chliù cha searg 's cha mhùth ni 's mò.

ECHO'S ANSWER.

I stood by the banks of a swift flowing river,
While I marked its clear current roll speedily past,
It seemed to my fancy for ever repeating
That the dearest enjoyments of life would not last.
Oh! tell me, I said, rapid stream of the valley,
That bear'st in thy course the blue waters away,
Can the joys of life's morning awake but to vanish-
Can the feelings of love be all doomed to decay?
An Echo repeated,--" All doomed to decay!

Flow on in thy course, rapid stream of the valley,
Since the pleasures of life we so quickly resign;

My heart shall rejoice in the wild scenes of nature,
And friendship's delights while they yet may be mine.
Must all the sweet charms of mortality perish-
And friendship's endearments, Ah! will they not stay?
The simple enchantments of soft blooming nature,
And the pleasures of mind,-must they too fade away?
The Echo slow answered,-" They too fade away!"

Then where, I exclaimed, is there hope for the mourner— A balm for his sorrow-a smile for his grief?

If beautiful scenes like the present shall vanish Where, where shall we look for a certain relief? Oh! fly said my soul to the feet of thy Saviour, Believe in his mercy, for pardon now pray:

With him there is fulness of joy and salvationThy gladness shall live, and shall never decay, The Echo said sweetly, "Shall never decay!"

THE FIELD FLOWERS.

Ye field flowers! the gardens eclipse you, 'tis true,
Yet, wildings of Nature, I doat upon you,

For ye waft me to summers of old,

When the earth teem'd around me with fairy delight,
And when daisies and buttercups gladden'd my sight,
Like treasures of silver and gold.

I love you for lulling me back into dreams
Of the blue Highland mountains and echoing streams,
And of birchen glades breathing their balm;
While the deer was seen glancing in sunshine remote,
And the deep mellow crush of the wood-pigeon's note
Made music that sweeten'd the calm.

FREAGRADH MHIC-TALLA

Air bruaich aibhne 's mi'm sheasamh ag amharc gu beachdail Air a glan shruthaibh còbh'rach 'ruith seachad gu cas,

Air leamsa gu 'n robh i a' sìor chur an céill domh

Gach sonas air thalamh nach mair ach car seal.

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"O! innis domh " thuirt mi. "a bhras shruth a' ghleannain, A'd' chùrsa tha 'giùlan nam fuar-uisge gorm,

'N teid gach sonas san t-saoghal mar so as an t-sealladh ? Gach faireachduinn ghràidh 'n teid an gearradh air falbh ? Thuirt Mactalla 'se 'freagairt," An gearradh air falbh.” Gabh air t' aghart a' t' amar, a bhras shruth a' ghleannain, O'n tha sòlasan talmhaidh cho grad ri 'n toirt suas;

Ach mo chridhe bidh ait 'gabhail seallaidh air nàdur, 'S am beannachdan cairdeis, o'n 's leam iad san uair. 'M feum gach nì a ni milis ar beò-shlaint dol seachad ? A's beannachdan cairdeis am mair ach car uair?

Gach toil-inntinn aon-f hillt' ann an nàdur 'na cheud fhàs, A's subhachais inntinn, 'n teid gu grad an toirt uainn? Thuirt Mactalla 's e 'freagairt," Gu grad an toirt uainn." "C'àite nis a deir mise," bheil dòchas 'n fhir-thùrsa? C'à' bheil iocshlaint d'a thrioblaid a's saorsa o 'chall? Ma theid seallaidhnean àluinn mar so as an fhradharc, Ri fuasgladh bhios mairionn c'àit' idir an seall ?

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O! teich-sa," deir m' anam gu casan do Shlàn'ir, Dean maitheanas asluchadh, 's creid ann a ghràdh ; Oir annsan tha slàint' agus lànachd gun traoghadh, A's t'aoibhneas bidh mairionn 's cha teirig gu bràth; Thuirt Mactalla gu milis-" Cha teirig gu bràth."

BLAITHEAN AN RAOIN.

A bhlàithean an raoin! ged 's àillidh 'nan sgeimh
Blàithean a' ghàraidh, sibhse b' annsa leam fein,

Tha sibh 'g aiseag dhomh samhraidhean m' òig',
'Nuair bha aoibhneas air aghaidh an t-saoghail mu'n cuairt,
'Sa bha buidheagan 's neoineanan 'comhdach nam bruach,
A' fas air shnuadh airgid a's òir.

Is toigh leam sibh 'chionn a bhi 'tarruing a'm' chuimhn',
Beanntaibh lia-ghorm arda na Gaeltachd 's a h-uillt,
Agus réidhleanan cubhraidh nan cluan;

Far am faicinn am fiadh astar cian uam sa' ghréin,
'S an cluinninn an calaman air bharra nan geug,
Ri durdail throm a bu chianala fuaim.

Not a pastoral song has a pleasanter tune
Than ye speak to my heart little wildings of June:
Of old ruinous castles ye tell,

Where I thought it delightful your beauties to find,
When the Magic of Nature first breath'd on my mind,
And your blossoms were part of her spell.

Even now what affections the violet awakes;
What loved little islands, twice seen in their lakes,
Can the wild water lily restore;

What landscapes I read in the primrose's looks,
And what pictures of pebbled and minnowy, brooks,
In the vetches that tangled their shore.

Earth's cultureless buds, to my heart ye were dear,
Ere the fever of passion or ague of fear

Had scathed my existence's bloom;

Once I welcome you more, in life's passionless stage,
With the visions of youth to revisit my age, ♦
And I wish you to grow on my tomb.

DUART CASTLE.

The following Poem was composed by the Rev. Dr. John M'Leod of Morven, on seeing a flag waving from the battlements of Duart Castle on a Sabbath morning, intimating to the surrounding peasantry that a sermon was to be preached on that day in the neighbourhood. What is given on the opposite page, is not a literal translation, but it gives the substance of the English. It is by Dr M'Leod of Glasgow, a gentleman to whom the Highlanders are more indebted than to any man living, for his labours in connexion with their native literature.

On the war tower of Duart the banner is spread,
But 'tis not the banner of terror and dread;
It sends the far summons, o'er mountain and heath,
But 'tis not the summons to onset and death.

It calls not the chieftain to gird on his might,
To send forth the war-cry, and arm for the fight;
It calls not each clansman, in hostile array,
From his home and his kindred to hasten away.

It calls not the mother in anguish to mourn
O'er the child of her hope as if ne'er to return;
It calls not the widow, in forebodings of fear,
O'er her fatherless offspring to shed forth the tear.

Cha 'n 'eil òran na ceol a bheir sòlas do m' chri',
Mar ni sibhse a neoineana boidheach na fri;

Tha sibh 'g innse mu làraichean uain',

Far am b'ait leam bhi 'tachairt ruibh 's dearc air 'ur gnùis, 'Nuair a bheachdaich mi iongantais nàduir an tùs,

'S bha 'ur 'n àilleachd-se 'dùsgadh mo smuain.

Nach tig blàths ann am chri', 'nuair a chi miʼn t-sail-chuachNach iomad seimh-lochan fior-uisg' le'n innseagan uain', Thig a'm' chuimhne, 'sna duileagaibh bàit';

Nach iomad sealladh is leur dhomh san t-sobhrach 's glan snuadh Nach iomad allt briceineach, bulbhagach, luath,

'Sa' pheasair-luchag mu'm bruachaibh a' fas!

Fhiadh-bhlàithean nan raon! bha sibh ionmhuinn 'sna làith,
Mu'n d'rinn buaireas inntinn, iomagain no cràdh,
Mo chàileachd a mhilleadh 's mo shnuadh,
Fàilte dhuibh fhathast ann am feasgar mo shaogh'il,
Thigh'nn le taibhsean na h-òige 'thoirt sòlas do m' aois,
'S tha mi guidhe sibh a chinntinn air m' uaigh.

CAISTEAL DHUAIRT.

Air do bhallachaibh aosda a Dhuairt nan saoi,
Gur h-áluinn do bhratach a' snámh anns a' ghaoith;
Air a' bhaideal m'an iadh an eidheann gu h-àrd,
Tha'n sanus r'a fhaicinn air maduinn an àigh.

Tha m'anam a' lasadh le aiteas, 's le faoilt,
'An leirsinn do bhrataich, a Dhuairt a' chaoil;
An ùr bhratach àluinn, gu h-àrd ris a' chrann,
Tha lìonadh le sòlas luchd-àiteach' nam beann.

Cha sanus a dhùsgadh na dùthcha gu blàr,
Cha sanus gu éiridh le chéile gu h-àr,
Cha sanus gu còmhrag, gu creach, no gu strìth,
Ach sanus tha 'tàladh gu àros na sìth.

Fàilt air a' bhrataich,-O 's taitneach an sgeul!
Tha i 'sgaoileadh an diugh mu eirthir a' chaoil;
Air moch-thra na sàbaid chaidh a luasga sa' ghaoith,
A dhùsgadh na dùthcha gu lùth-chuirt nan laoidh.
Cha'n'eil fiamh air an òigh' roi' bhratach an àigh,
Gu'n gairmear air falbh uaipe leannan a gràidh;
Tha màthair nam fleasgach gun eagal, gun fhuath,
A' faicinn an t-sanuis air Caisteal nan stuadh.