She heard the Caledonian lyre

Pour forth its notes of runic fire;

But scarcely caught the ravished Queen,

The minstrel's song that flowed between;
Entranced upon the strain she hung,

"Twas thus the gray-haired minstrel sung.

The Song.

"O! Lady dear, fair is thy noon,

But man is like the inconstant moon:
Last night she smiled o'er lawn and lea;

That moon will change, and so will he.

"Thy time, dear Lady, 's a passing shower; Thy beauty is but a fading flower;

Watch thy young bosom, and maiden eye,

For the shower must fall, and the flow'ret die."

What ails my Queen? said good Argyle, Why fades upon her cheek the smile?

Say, rears your steed too fierce and high? Or sits your golden seat awry?

Ah! no, my Lord! this noble steed,
Of Rouen's calm and generous breed,
Has borne me over hill and plain,
Swift as the dun-deer of the Seine.
But such a wild and simple lay,
Poured from the harp of minstrel gray,
My every sense away it stole,

And swayed a while my raptured soul.
O! say, my Lord (for you must know
What strains along your vallies flow,
And all the hoards of Highland lore),
Was ever song so sweet before?—

Replied the Earl, as round he flung,Feeble the strain that minstrel sung! My royal Dame, if once you heard The Scottish lay from Highland bard,

Then might you say, in raptures meet,
No song was ever half so sweet!

It nerves the arm of warrior wight
To deeds of more than mortal might;
"Twill make the maid, in all her charms,
Fall weeping in her lover's arms;

"Twill charm the mermaid from the deep;
Make mountain oaks to bend and weep;
Thrill every heart with horrors dire,
And shape the breeze to forms of fire.

When poured from greenwood-bower at even, "Twill draw the spirits down from heaven; And all the fays that haunt the wood,

To dance around in frantic mood,
And tune their mimic harps so boon
Beneath the cliff and midnight moon.
Ah! yes, my Queen! if once you heard
The Scottish lay from Highland bard,

Then might you say in raptures meet,

No

song was ever half so sweet.

Queen Mary lighted in the court;

Queen Mary joined the evening's sport;
Yet though at table all were seen,

To wonder at her air and mien;

Though courtiers fawned and ladies sung,

Still in her ear the accents rung,—

"Watch thy young bosom, and maiden eye,
"For the shower must fall, and the flowret die."

These words prophetic seemed to be,
Foreboding wo and misery;

And much she wished to prove ere long,

The wonderous powers of Scottish song.

When next to ride the Queen was bound,

To view the city's ample round,
On high amid the gathered crowd,
A herald thus proclaim'd aloud :-

C

"Peace, peace to Scotland's wasted vales, To her dark heaths and Highland dales; To her brave sons of warlike mood,

To all her daughters fair and good;
Peace o'er her ruined vales shall pour,

Like beam of heaven behind the shower.
Let every harp and echo ring;

Let maidens smile and poets sing;

For love and peace entwined shall sleep,

Calm as the moon-beam on the deep;

By waving wood and wandering rill,

On purple heath and Highland hill.

"The soul of warrior stern to charm, And bigotry and rage disarm,

Our Queen commands, that every bard
Due honours have, and high regard.

If, to his song of rolling fire,

He join the Caledonian lyre,

And skill in legendary lore,

Still higher shall his honours soar.