Full many a spell to him was known,

Which wandering spirits shrink to hear; And many a lay of potent tone,

Was never meant for mortal ear.

For there, 'tis said, in mystic mood,
High converse with the dead they hold,
And oft espy the fated shroud,

That shall the future corpse enfold.

O so it fell, that on a day,

To rouse the red deer from their den, The Chiefs have ta'en their distant way, And scour'd the deep Glenfinlas glen.

No vassals wait their sports to aid,

To watch their safety, deck their board; Their simple dress, the Highland plaid,

Their trusty guard, the Highland sword.

Three summer days, through brake and dell,
Their whistling shafts successful flew ;
And still, when dewy evening fell,
The quarry to their hut they drew.

In grey Glenfinlas' deepest nook
The solitary cabin stood,
Fast by Moneira's sullen brook,

Which murmurs through that lonely wood.

Soft fell the night, the sky was calm,

When three successive days had flown; And summer mist in dewy balm

Steep'd heathy bank, and mossy stone.

The moon, half-hid in silvery flakes, Afar her dubious radiance shed, Quivering on Katrine's distant lakes, And resting on Benledi's head.

Now in their hut, in social guise,

Their silvan fare the Chiefs enjoy ; And pleasure laughs in Ronald's eyes, As many a pledge he quaffs to Moy.

• What lack we here to crown our bliss, While thus the pulse of joy beats high? What, but fair woman's yielding kiss,

Her panting breath and melting eye?

"To chase the deer of yonder shades, This morning left their father's pile The fairest of our mountain maids,

The daughters of the proud Glengyle.

"Long have I sought sweet Mary's heart, And dropp'd the tear, and heaved the sigh: But vain the lover's wily art,

Beneath a sister's watchful eye.

"But thou mayst teach that guardian fair,
While far with Mary I am flown,
Of other hearts to cease her care,
And find it hard to guard her own.

"Touch but thy harp, thou soon shalt see The lovely Flora of Glengyle, Unmindful of her charge and me,

Hang on thy notes, 'twixt tear and smile.

"Or, if she choose a melting tale,

All underneath the greenwood bough, Will good St. Oran's rule prevail,1

Stern huntsman of the rigid brow?”—

"Since Enrick's fight, since Morna's death,
No more on me shall rapture rise,
Responsive to the panting breath,
Or yielding kiss, or melting eyes.

"E'en then, when o'er the heath of woe,
Where sunk my hopes of love and fame,
I bade my harp's wild wailings flow,
On me the Seer's sad spirit came.

"The last dread curse of angry Heaven,
With ghastly sights and sounds of woe,
To dash each glimpse of joy was given--
The gift, the future ill to know.

"The bark thou saw'st, yon summer morn,
So gaily part from Oban's bay,
My eye beheld her dash'd and torn,
Far on the rocky Colonsay.

"Thy Fergus too-thy sister's son,
Thou saw'st, with pride, the gallant's power,
As marching 'gainst the Lord of Downe,
He left the skirts of huge Benmore.

1 St. Oran was a friend and follower of St. Columba, and was buried in Icolinkill. His pretensions to be a saint were rather dubious. According to the legend, he consented to be buried alive, in order to propitiate certain demous of the soil, who obstructed the attempts of Columba to build a chapel. Columba caused the body of his friend to be dug up, after three days had elapsed; when Oran, to the horror and scandal of the assistants, declared, that there was neither a God, a judgment, nor a future state! He had no time to make further discoveries, for Columba caused the earth once more to be shovelled over him with the utmost despatch. The chapel, however, and the cemetery, was called Relig Ouran; and, in memory of his rigid celibacy, no female was permitted to pay her devotions, or be buried, in that place. This is the rule alluded to in the poem.

2 Tartans-The full Highland dress, made of the chequered stuff so terined.

9 Pibroch-A piece of martial music, adapted to the Highland bagpipe.

"Or false, or sooth, thy words of woe,
Clangillian's Chieftain ne'er shall fear;
His blood shall bound at rapture's glow,
Though doom'd to stain the Saxon spear.
"E'en now, to meet me in yon dell,
My Mary's buskins brush the dew.'
He spoke, nor bade the Chief farewell,
But call'd his dogs, and gay withdrew.

Within an hour return'd each hound;
In rush'd the rousers of the deer;
They howl'd in melancholy sound,

Then closely couch'd beside the seer.

No Ronald yet; though midnight came,
And sad were Moy's prophetic dreams,
As, bending o'er the dying flame,

He fed the watch-fire's quivering gleams.

Sudden the hounds erect their cars,

And sudden cease their moaning howl; Close press'd to Moy, they mark their fears By shivering limbs, and stifled growl.

Untouch'd, the harp began to ring,
As softly, slowly, oped the door;
And shook responsive every string,
As light a footstep press'd the floor.

And by the watch-fire's glimmering light,
Close by the minstrel's side was seen
An huntress maid, in beauty bright,

All dropping wet her robes of green.

All dropping wet her garments seem;
Chill'd was her cheek, her bosom bare,
As, bending o'er the dying gleam,
She wrung the moisture from her hair.

With maiden blush she softly said,
"O gentle huntsman, hast thou seen,
In deep Glenfinlas' moonlight glade,
A lovely maid in vest of green:
"With her a Chief in Highland pride;
His shoulders bear the hunter's bow,
The mountain dirk adorns his side,

Far on the wind his tartans flow?"-

"And who art thou? and who are they?"
All ghastly gazing, Moy replied:
"And, why beneath the moon's pale ray,
Dare ye thus roam Glenfinlas' side?"-

"Where wild Loch Katrine pours her tide,
Blue, dark, and deep, round many an isle,
Our father's towers o'erhang her side,
The castle of the bold Glengyle.

"To chase the dun Glenfinlas deer,

Our woodland course this morn we bore,
And haply met, while wandering here,
The son of great Macgillianore.

"O aid me, then, to seek the pair,

Whom, loitering in the woods, I lost; Alone, I dare not venture there,

Where walks, they say, the shrieking ghost."

"Yes, many a shrieking ghost walks there;
Then first, my own sad vow to keep,
Here will I pour my midnight prayer,
Which still must rise when mortals sleep."-

"O first, for pity's gentle sake,

Guide a lone wanderer on her way! For I must cross the haunted brake, And reach my father's towers ere day."

First, three times tell each Ave-bead,
And thrice a Pater-noster say;

Then kiss with me the holy rede;
So shall we safely wend our way."-

"O shame to knighthood, strange and foul!
Go, doff the bonnet from thy brow,
And shroud thee in the monkish cowl,
Which best befits thy sullen vow.

"Not so, by high Dunlathmon's fire,
Thy heart was froze to love and joy,
When gaily rung thy raptured lyre,

To wanton Morna's melting eye.'

Wild stared the minstrel's eyes of flame,
And high his sable locks arose,
And quick his colour went and came,
As fear and rage alternate rose.

And thou! when by the blazing oak
I lay, to her and love resign'd,
Say, rode ye on the eddying smoke,

Or sail'd ye on the midnight wind!

"Not thine a race of mortal blood,

Nor old Glengyle's pretended line;
Thy dame, the Lady of the Flood,
Thy sire, the Monarch of the Mine."

He routter'd thrice St. Oran's rhyme,
And thrice St. Fillan's powerful prayer;
Then turn'd him to the eastern clime,
And sternly shook his coal-black hair.

1 St. Fillan has given his name to many chapels, holy fountains, &c. in Scotland. He was, according to Came rarius, an Abbot of Pittenween, in Fife; from which situation he retired, and died a hermit in the wilds of Glenurchy, A.D. 649. While engaged in transcribing the Scriptures, his left hand was observed to send forth such a splendour, as to afford light to that with which be wrote; a miracle which saved many candles to the convent, as St. Fillan used to spend whole nights in that exercise. The 9th of January was dedicated to this saint, who gave his name to Kilfillan, in Renfrew, and St. Phillans, or Forgend, in Fife. Lesley, Ib. 7. tells us, that Robert the Bruce was possessed of Fillan's miraculous and luminous arm, which he enclosed in a silver shrine, and had it carried at the head of his army. Previous to the battle of Bannockburn, the king's chaplain, a man of little faith, abstracted the relic, and deposited it in some place el security, lest it should fall into the hands of the English. But, lo! while Robert was addressing his prayers to the empty casket, it was observed to open and shut suddenly; and, on inspection, the saint was found to have huose deposited his arm in the shrine, as an assurance of victory, Such is the tale of Lesley. But though Bruce little needed that the arm of St. Fillan should assist his own, be dedi cated to him, in gratitude, a priory at Killin, upon Loch Tay.

In the Scots Magazine for July, 19, there is a copy of a very curious crown grant, dated 11th July, 147, by which James III. confirms, to Malice Doire, an inhabitant of Strathfillan, in Perthshire, the peaceable exercise and enjoyment of a relic of St. Fillan, being apparently the head of a pastoral staff called the Quegrich, which he and his predecessors are said to have pissened since the days

of Robert Brace. As the Quezrich was used to care diseases, this document is probably the most ancient