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Faic sa mhoch-thra tha steud 'tighinn gun mharcaich' na chòir;
Ach tha'n t-srian air a deargadh le fuil nam fear mòr.
O Albuinn! 'tha 'm bàs a's am bruid aig an nàmh,
A's cha'n àireamh do dheòir na tha nis aig a' bhàs;
Oir claidheamh an dioghaltais tha mach air gach taobh,
'S tha smùid feadh Chuilfhodair bho chairbhean nan laoch!
Lochiall.-Falbh 's innis do'n ghealtaire mheata do sgeul-
'S ma tha faiche Chuilfhodair cho dosgach leat féin,

An fhalluing so suain i mu'n cuairt ort gu dlùth,
'S gach bocan a's glaisteag ni fhalach o'd' shùil!

Fios.-'Lochiall sguir ad sgallais, 's na dean tàir air mo sgeul, Eòin uaibhrich na beinne spionar t'ite chùl-sgéith!

Am fir-eun an seòl e gu bôsdail a suas

Bho dhachaidh measg tiugh neula' dùbhlaidh 'n taobh tuath? Feuch a naimhdean tha 'caitheadh geur shaighdean a' bhàis, 'S na aonar tha 'siubhal le léir-sgrios 's le h-àr;

Ach cromadh e nuas o gach cruadail a's beud,

'S rachadh dhachaidh gu luath, oir tha 'n tòir as a dhéigh.
'N an lasair na mullaich, 's mar fhalaisg an fhraoich
Tha 'n teine na fhrasan a' tuiteam gach taobh,-
Ise teine an léir-sgrios air iomain gu garbh,
'S a tha 'tarruing a nuas orra dìoghaltas ro gharg,
O! thusa, 'Lochiall, 'tha gun choimeas 'an cliù,
Le do bhrataichean âluinn a' snàmh bho do thùir,-
Tha teine o'n àirde mu'n cuairt ort gu d' chràdh ;
Gu grad pill-sa dhachaidh, 's rach as o gach càs,
Oir tha duibhre a' chasgraidh a mach air gach taobh,

'S tha mhàthair gu cràiteach mu leanaban a gaoil.

Loch.-Nis, 'Fhiosaiche bhreugaich, thoir thu féin as gu luath, Mo dhaimhich tha treubhach, 's cha ghéill iad gun bhuaidh, Tha iad firinneach, dìleas, 's cha strìoc iad gu bràth, 'S mar luchd-buana ni gearradh air achadh a' bhàis. Bheir mi dùlan do Chumberland tighinn le 'steud, Ged a bhuaileas mar thonn air a' charraig le beuc;

Ach mo thruaigh' a luchd-leanmhuinn, 'n an creich aig a' bhàs, 'N uair thàirn'eas na Gàidheil an claidh'ean

gu h-àr!

An Cinnfheadhna, le 'm boineidean gorma bheir buaidh—
Clann-Dòmhnuill, 's gach Clann nach bu tais anns an ruaig—
Air an éideadh 'am breacan an fhéilidh gu'n sàil—

Fios. A Lochiall! a Lochiall! bi t-fhaicill roi'n là;
Oir ged dhiùltas mi amharc air sealladh cho fiat'
Cha cheilear le duine na dh'fhoillsicheas Dia:
Chi mi nitheanan dìomhair 'am feasgar mo lài',
Agus plathadh roi' làimh do gach ni tha 'san dàn.

Mu'n cuairt do Chuilfhodair cluinneam ullartaich bhreun
Nan con-luirg a tha 'n tòir air ar Prionnsa ro threun.

Lo! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath—
Behold! where he flies on his desolate path:

Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight;
Rise! rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight.

'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors--
Culloden is lost and my country deplores:

But where is the iron bound prisoner? Where?

For the red eye of battle is shut in despair.

Say, mounts he the ocean wave, banish'd, forlorn,

Like a limb from his country cast, bleeding and torn?

Ah! no, for a darker departure is near;

The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier;
His death-bell is tolling, oh, mercy dispel

Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell!
Life flutters convuls'd in his quivering limbs,
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims;
Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet,

Where his heart shall be thrown e'er it ceases to beat,
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale—

Lochiel.-Down soothless insulter, I trust not thy tale ;
For never shall Albyn a destiny meet,

So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat;

Though my perishing ranks should be strew'd in their gore,
Like ocean-weeds heap'd on the surf-beaten shore,

Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains,

While the kindling of life in his bosom remains,

Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low,

With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe;
And leaving in battle no blot on his name,

Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of fame.*

* It is somewhat remarkable that none of the English Poets furnishes so many pieces suited for translating into Gaelic as Thomas Campbell. The cause no doubt is, that Campbell spent a considerable portion of his early days in the West Highlands, and consequently he knew the habits and superstitions of the people thoroughly. Every schoolboy knows "Lochiel's Warning," but only those who have spent their early days in the Highlands can fully understand the "mystical lore," so ingeniously interwoven with the texture of the "Warning" Those who pretend to have the gift of the "Second Sight" allege that they see those events which are soon to happen, pass in succession before them. They are generally very old, and partly by native shrewdness and cunning, and also by paying attention to local matters, they are able to give a pretty correct guess of "coming events," and one of

As na nèamhan a nuas dòirtear copan na feirg-
Feuch a nis e 'na dheann-ruith air lom shlios na leirg―
Air na bòc-thonna caoir-gheal a' teicheadh gu luath;
Dùisgeadh éireadh! an doinionn a ni dhìon o gach fuath's.
Tha e seachad. Cha chluinnear an làmhach ni's mò;
Oir chailleadh Cuilfhodair, 's tha 'n dùthaich fo bhròn.
Ach c'à' bheil an ciomach 'an geimhlibh tha 'n sås?
Oir an còmhrag tha crìochnaicht' an léir-sgrios 's am bàs.
Air falbh thar a' chuain e na dhìobrach fo bhròn,
Le lotaibh air fhuadach o 'dhùthaich 's o 'chòir.
Ni h-eadh, oir tha 'shiubhal am fagusg gu dearbh-
Tha suaicheantas bròin ann, a's eislinn nam marbh.
Tha éigh bhais r'a cluinntinn-O! thròcair gabh truas,
Tha 'n sealladh ro sgreitidh, 's ga m' fhàgail-sa truagh;
Air chrith tha gach cuisle, gach féith agus ball,

'So chuinneinibh chi mi 'n fhuil chraobhach na deann;
Tha cual chrion a' chasgraidh na lasair air làr
Leis an loisgear an cridhe tha tairisneach blàth;
Tha deathach a dhuslaich ag éiridh 'san speur-

Loch.-Tosd, 'Fhiosaiche bhreugaich, cha chreid mi do sgeul,
Oir am feasd cha bhi crannchur nan Gaidheal cho cruaidh
'S gun teich iad fo dhosguinn 's fo thamailt san ruaig.
Ged a mhillte mo ghaisgich 's a thuiteadh sa' bhlàr,
Mar fheamainn a' chladaich air a sgapadh air tràigh,
Lochiall bi'dh gun truailleadh, 's gun chuibhreach gach ré,
Fhad 's a bhuaileas a chuisle 's a phlosgas a chré ;
Air na coimhich bheir buaidh no luidhidh san ùir,
Le a bhuinn ris an nàmh, 's ris an àrfhaich a chùl,
Gun smal air a chliù ged a thuiteas san àr,

R'a dhuais anns na flaitheas suas seallaidh gun sgàth.

those "Taisearan" or Seers, before '45, could predict with considerable accuracy what would be the fate of those who espoused the cause of the Prince.

The sentiments expressed by Lochiel in the closing lines are truly the sentiments of a Highland warrior of the olden times. Although his ideas of the way of a sinner's acceptance with God are rather heathenish, they are quite consistent with the belief of those who expected to be received at their death to "Flathinnis," (the Island of the Brave,) because they had never done anything to tarnish their honour; and the poet, putting the words into Lochiel's mouth, makes him speak, as we have said, the sentiments of a Highland warrior, and in the belief of which he could "Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame!"

LOCHIN VAR.

Oh! young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broad-sword he weapon had none,
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone,
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Esk river where ford there was none;
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented, the gallant came late:
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,

Among bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers and all:
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,)
O! come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,

66

Or to dance at our bridal, young lord Lochinvar."

"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ;—
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide-
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."
The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,—
“Now tread we a measure!” said young Lochinvar.
So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens whispered, ""Twere better by far
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near ; So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,

So light to the saddle before her he sprung!

"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

LOCHIN BHAR.

Thainig triath Lochinbhàr as an Iar oirnn gu grad,
Air steud each a b'àille 's na crìochaibh air fad;
Gun bhall air a shiubhal ace claidheamh deas, treun,
A marcachd gun armachd 's a' marcachd leis fhéin!
Cho dìleas an gaol, a's cho gaisgeil am blàr,
Cha'n fhacas riamh coimeas do thriath Lochinbhàr!
Gun chùram do bhacadh, gun eagal roimh nàmh,
Far an doimhne an amhainn, rinn esan a snàmh ;—
Ach Netherby Hall, m'an do răinig e thall,

Thug a leannan a h-aonta, 's bha 'shao'ir-san air chall,
Oir bha giùgaire 'n gaol, agus cladhaire 'm blâr,
Dol a phòsadh na h-ainnir aig triath Lochinbhàr.

Do Netherby Hall gu neo-sgàthach ghabh e steach,

Am measg fhleasgach a's chairdean, a's bhrà'rean, 's gach neach!
'Sin thu'irt athair na gruagaich, 's a lamh air a lann,—
(Bha 'm fear-bainnse air chrith, 's e gun smid as a cheann.)
"An d'thàinig thu 'n sìth no an d'thain' thu chum àir?
No a dhanns' aig a' phòsadh, a thriath Lochinbhàr ?”

“B'fhad' a shuiridh mi do nighean, ged dhiùlt thu mo ghràdh';
Ach tha 'n gaol mar a' mhuir, ni e lìonadh a's trá’dh;
A's thàinig mi dh'ionnsaidh a' phòsaidh gun sion,
'Ach a dhanns' leis an òg-bhean, 's a dh'òl leatha fìon.
Tha pailteas an Albainn de dh'òighibh a's fhearr,
A ghabhadh gu deònach tighearn òg Lochinbhår!”
Bhlais ise; ghlac esan an copan gu teann,
As thilg e á làimh e 'n uair dh'òl e na bh' ann ;
Chrom ise gu mållda 's a h-aghaidh fo nàir',

Le deur air a sùil, 's air a bilibh fèith-ghàir’.

Ghabh e greim air a làimh dh'aindeoin bacadh a måth'r,—
"'Nis theid sinn a dhannsadh!" thu'irt triath Lochinbhàr.

A chruth-san cho àluinn, 's a gnùis-se cho briagh,
Cha 'n fhacas aon chàraid thug bàrr orra riamh;

Fo chorruich bha h-athair, a màthair, 's a luchd-dàimh,

'S am fear-bainnse trom, dubhach, 's a bhoineid 'n a làimh ;—
Rinn na maighdeannan cagar, " B'e mòran a b' fhearr,
"I dh' fhaotainn r'a phòsadh tighearn òg Lochinbhàr!"

Air dha beantuinn r'a làimh agus cagar n'a ceann,
A mach air an dorus a ghearr iad le deann;
Thog e suas air an each i, 's am priobadh na sùl,
Bha esan 's an dìolaid a's is' aig a chùl!

"Tha i agam gun taing! Beannachd leibh!" thuirt an sàr,
"Bidh iad tapaidh a ghlacas tighearn òg Lochinbhàr.”

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