Across the watery vale, and shout again, Responsive to his call, with quivering peals,

And long halloos, and screams, and echoes loud

Redoubled and redoubled; concourse wild Of jocund din! And, when there came a pause

Of silence such as baffled his best skill, Then, sometimes, in that silence, while he hung

Listening, a gentle shock of mild surprise
Has carried far into his heart the voice
Of mountain-torrents; or the visible scene
Would enter unawares into his mind
With all its solemn imagery, its rocks,
Its woods, and that uncertain heaven
received

Into the bosom of the steady lake.

This boy was taken from his mates, and died

In childhood, ere he was full twelve years old.

Pre-eminent in beauty is the vale Where he was born and bred: the churchyard hangs

Upon a slope above the village-school; And through that church-yard when my way has led

On summer-evenings, I believe, that there A long half-hour together I have stood Mute looking at the grave in which he

lies!

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands !

Stretch to your oars for the ever-green

Pine!

O that the rosebud that graces yon islands Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine!

O that some seedling gem,
Worthy such noble stem

Honoured and blessed in their shadow might grow!

Loud should Clan-Alpine then Ring from her deepmost glen, "Roderigh vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

CORONACH

He is gone on the mountain,
He is lost to the forest,
Like a summer-dried fountain,
When our need was the sorest.
The font, reappearing,

From the rain-drops shall borrow, But to us comes no cheering,

To Duncan no morrow!

The hand of the reaper

Takes the ears that are hoary,
But the voice of the weeper
Wails manhood in glory.
The autumn winds rushing

Waft the leaves that are searest,
But our flower was in flushing,
When blighting was nearest.

Fleet foot on the correi,

Sage counsel in cumber,
Red hand in the foray,

How sound is thy slumber!
Like the dew on the mountain,

Like the foam on the river,
Like the bubble on the fountain,
Thou art gone, and forever!

HARP OF THE NORTH, FAREWELL! HARP of the North, farewell! The hills grow dark,

On purple peaks a deeper shade descending;

In twilight copse the glow-worm lights her spark,

The deer, half-seen, are to the covert wending.