And they who heard the war-notes wild
Hoped that one day the pibroch's strain
Should play before the hero's child,
While he should lead the Tartan train.
Another year is quickly past,
And Angus hails another son,
His natal day is like the last,
Nor soon the jocund feast was done.
Taught by their sire to bend the bow,
On Alva's dusky hills of wind :
The boys in childhood chased, the roe,
And left their hounds in speed behind.
But ere their years of youth are o'er,
They mingle in the ranks of war;
They rightly wheel the bright claymore,
And send the whistling arrow far.
Dark was the flow of Oscar's hair,
Wildly it stream'd along the gale;
But Allan's locks were bright and fair,
And pensive seem'd his cheek, and pale..
But Oscar own'd a hero's soul,
His dark eye shone through beams of truth; Allan had early learn'd control,
And smooth his words had been from youth.
Both, both were brave, the Saxon spear
Was shiver'd oft beneath their steel;
And Oscar's bosom scorn'd to fear,
But Oscar's bosom knew to feel.
While Allan's soul belied his form,
Unworthy with such charms to dwell,
Keen as the lightning of the storm
On foes his deadly vengeance fell.
From high Southannon's distant tower
Arrived a young and noble dame;
With Kenneth's lands to form her dower,
Glenalvon's blue-eyed daughter came;
And Oscar claim'd the beauteous bride,
And Angus on his Oscar smiled;
It soothed the father's feudal pride,
Thus to obtain Glenalvon's child.
Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note!
Hark to the swelling nuptial song!
In joyous strains the voices float,
And still the choral peal prolong.
See how the hero's blood-red plumes,
Assembled wave in Alva's hall;
Each youth his varied plaid assumes,
Attending on their chieftain's call.
It is not war their aid demands,
The pibroch plays the song of peace;
To Oscar's nuptials throng the band,
Nor yet the sounds of pleasure cease.
But where is Oscar? sure 'tis late:
Is this a bridegroom's ardent flame?
While thronging guests, and ladies wait,
Nor Oscar nor his brother came.
At length young Allan join'd the bride,
'Why comes not Oscar;' Angus said;
Is he not here? the youth replied,
With me he roved not o'er the glade.
Perchance, forgetful of the day,
"Tis his to chase the bounden roe;
Or ocean's waves prolong his stay;
Yet Oscar's bark is seldom slow.'
"Oh, no!' the anguish'd Sire rejoin'd,
Nor chase, nor wave my boy delay;
Would he to Mora seem unkind?
Would aught to her impede his way?
'Oh! search, ye chiefs! oh! search around!
Allan, with these through Alva fly;
Till Oscar, till my son is found,
Haste, haste, nor dare attempt reply.'
All is confusion-through the vale
The name of Oscar hoarsely rings,
It rises on the murmʼring gale,
Till night expands her dusky wings.
It breaks the stillness of the night,
But echoes through her shades in vain;
It sounds through morning's misty light,
But Oscar comes not o'er the plain.
Three days, three sleepless nights, the Chief
For Oscar searched each mountain cave;
Then hope is lost, in boundless grief,
His locks in grey-torn ringlets wave.
'Oscar! my Son!-thou God of Heav'n
Restore the prop of sinking age!
Or, if that hope no more is given,
Yield his assassin to my rage.
"Yes, on some desert rocky shore,
My. Oscar's whiten'd bones must lie;
Then grant, thou God! I ask no more,
With him his frantic sire may die!
"Yet, he may live,-away, despair!
Be calm, my soul! he yet may live;
T' arraign my fate, my voice forbear,
O God! my implous prayer forgive.
What, if he live for me no more,
I sink forgotten in the dust, The hope of Alva's age is o'er,
Alas! can pangs like these be just ?' Thus did the hapless parent mourn, Till Time, who soothes severest woe, Had bade serenity return,
And made the tear-drop cease to flow. For still some latent hope survived
That Oscar might once more appear; His hope now droop'd, and now revived, Till Time had told a tedious year.
Days roll'd along, the orb of light
Again had run his destined race;
No Oscar bless'd his father's sight,
And sorrow left a fainter trace.
For youthful Allan still remain'd,
And now his father's only joy:
And Mora's heart was quickly gain'd,
For beauty crown'd the fair-hair'd boy.
She thought that Oscar low was laid,
And Allan's face was wondrous fair;
If Oscar lived, some other maid
Had claim'd his faithless bosom's care.
And Angus said, if one year more,
In fruitless hope was pass'd away;
His fondest scruples should be o'er,
And he would name their nuptial day. Slow roll'd the moons, but blest at last Arrived the dearly destined morn; The year of anxious trembling past, What smiles the lovers' cheeks adorn.
Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note!
Hark to the swelling nuptial song!
In joyous strains the voices float,
And still the choral peal prolong.
Again the clan, in festive crowd,
Throng through the gate of Alva's hall;
The sounds of mirth re-echo loud,
And all their former joy recal.
But who is he, whose darken'd brow
Glooms in the midst of general mirth?
Before his eyes' far fiercer glow
The blue flames curdle o'er the hearth.
Dark is the robe which wraps his form,
And tall his plume of gory red;
His voice is like the rising storm,
But light and trackless is his tread.
'Tis noon of night, the pledge goes round,
The bridegroom's health is deeply quaff'd ;
With shouts the vaulted roofs resound,
And all combine to hail the draught.
Sudden the stranger-chief arose,
And all the clamorous crowd are hush'd; And Angus' cheek with wonder glows, And Mora's tender bosom blush'd.
'Old man!' he cried, 'this pledge is done; Thou saw'st 'twas duly drank by me;
It hail'd the nuptials of thy son:
Now will I claim a pledge from thee.
While all around is mirth and joy,
To bless thy Allan's happy lot;
Say, had'st thou ne'er another boy?
Say, why should Oscar be forgot?'
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