LACHIN Y. GAIR. AWAY, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses! Round their white summits though elements war; Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth-flowing fountains, I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr. Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wandered; My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid; On chieftains long perished my memory pondered, As daily I strode through the pine-covered glade: I sought not my home till the day's dying glory Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star; For fancy was cheered by traditional story, Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr. "Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale?" Surely the soul of the hero rejoices, And rides on the wind o'er his own Highland vale. Round Loch na Garr while the stormy mist gathers, Winter presides in his cold icy car: Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers; They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr. "Ill-starred, though brave, did no visions foreboding Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause?” Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden, Victory crowned not your fall with applause: Still were you happy in death's early slumber, You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemar; The pibroch resounds, to the piper's loud number, Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr. Years have rolled on, Loch na Garr, since I left you, Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain. The steep frowning glories of dark Loch na Garr. TO ROMANCE. PARENT of golden dreams, Romance! Thy votive train of girls and boys; And yet 'tis hard to quit the dreams And must we own thee but a name, And from thy hall of clouds descend? Nor find a sylph in every dame, But leave at once thy realms of air To mingling bands of fairy elves? Confess that woman's false as fair, And friends have feeling - for themselves? With shame I own I've felt thy sway; No more on fancied pinions soar. To trust a passing wanton's sigh, And melt beneath a wanton's tear. Romance! disgusted with deceit, For any pangs excepting thine; Now join with sable Sympathy, With cypress crowned, arrayed in weeds, To mourn a swain for ever gone, But bends not now before thy throne. Ye genial nymphs, whose ready tears Say, will you mourn my absent name, From you a sympathetic strain. Adieu, fond race! a long adieu! The hour of fate is hovering nigh; E'en now the gulf appears in view, Where unlamented you must lie: Oblivion's blackening lake is seen, Convulsed by gales you cannot weather; Where you, and eke your gentle queen, Alas! must perish altogether. 11 |