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GLENFINLAS,

OR

LORD RONALD'S CORONACH.*

THE

HE tradition upon which the following stanzas are founded, runs thus: While two Highland hunters were passing the night in a solitary bathy, (a hut built for the purpose of hunting,) and making merry over their venison and whisky, one of them expressed a wish that they had pretty lasses to complete their party. The words were scarcely uttered, when two beautiful young women, habited in green, entered the hut, dancing and singing. One of the hunters was seduced by the Syren, who attached herself particularly to him, to leave the hut: the other remained, and, suspicious of the fair seducers, continued to play upon a trump, or Jewsharp, some strain consecrated to the Virgin Mary. Day at length came, and the temptress vanished. Searching in the forest, he found the bones of his unfortunate friend, who had been torn to pieces and devoured by the fiend, into whose toils he had fallen. The place was from thence called, The Glen of the Green Women.

* Coronach is the lamentation for a deceased warrior, sung by the aged of the clan.

Glenfinlas is a tract of forest ground, lying in the highlands of Perthshire, not far from Callender, in Menteith. It was formerly a royal forest, and now belongs to the earl of Moray. This country, as well as the adjacent district of Balquidder, was, in times of yore, chiefly inhabited by the Macgregors. To the west of the forest of Glenfinlas lies Loch Katrine, and its romantic avenue called the Troshachs. Benledi, Benmore, and Benvoirlich, are mountains in the same district, and at no great distance from Glenfinlas. The river Teith passes Callender and the castle of Doune, and joins the Forth near Sterling. The pass of Lenny is immediately above Callender, and is the principal access to the Highlands from that town. Glenartney is a forest near Benvoirlich. The whole forms a sublime tract of Alpine scenery.

GLENFINLAS,

OR

LORD RONALD'S CORONACH.

"For them the viewless forms of air obey, Their bidding heed, and at their beck repair; They know what spirit brews the stormful day,

And heartless oft, like moody madness, stare,

To see the phantom train their secret work prepare."

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HONE ȧ rie'! O hone a rie'!"*

The pride of Albin's line is o'er,
And fallen Glenartney's stateliest tree;
We ne'er shall see lord Ronald more!

O, sprung from great Macgillianore,
The chief that never feared a foe,
How matchless was thy broad claymore,
How deadly thine unerring bow!

Well can the Saxon widows tell,
How, on the Teith's resounding shore,

The boldest Lowland warriors fell,
As down from Lenny's pass you bore.

O hone a rie' signifies, "Alas for the prince, or chief."

But o'er his hills, on festal day,

How blazed lord Ronald's beltane tree; While youths and maids the light strathspey So nimbly danced with Highland glee.

Cheered by the strength of Ronald's shell,
E'en age forgot his tresses hoar;
But now the loud lament we swell,
O, ne'er to see lord Ronald more!

From distant isles a chieftain came,
The joys of Ronald's hall to find,
And chase with him the dark brown game,
That bounds o'er Albin's hills of wind.

'Twas Moy; whom, in Columba's isle,
The Seer's prophetic spirit found,
As, with a Minstrel's fire the while,

He waked his harp's harmonious sound.

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.

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