But, grasped by a cold and a trembling hand,

He clung to his parent, and sunk on the strand.

VII.

The boat across the tide flew fast,
And left a silver curve behind;
Loud sung the sailor from the mast,
Spreading his sails before the wind.

The stately ship, adown the bay,

A corslet framed of heaving snow, And flurred on high the slender spray,

Till rainbows gleamed around her prow. How strained was Malcolm's watery eye,

Yon fleeting vision to descry!

But, ah! her virgin form so fair,

Soon vanished in the liquid air.

Away to Ora's headland steep

The youth retired the while, And saw th' unpitying vessel sweep Around yon Highland isle.

His heart and his mind with that vessel had

gone;

His sorrow was deep, and despairing his moan, When, lifting his eyes from the green heaving deep,

He prayed the Almighty his Anna to keep.

VIII.

High o'er the crested cliffs of Lorn

The curlew coned her wild bravura ;

The sun, in pall of purple borne,

Was hastening down the steeps of Jura.

The glowing ocean heaved her breast,

Her wandering lover's glances under ; And shewed his radiant form, imprest

Deep in a wavy world of wonder.

Not all the ocean's dyes at even,
Though varied as the bow of heaven;

The countless isles so dusky blue,

Nor medley of the gray curlew,

Could light on Malcolm's spirit shed ;

Their glory all was gone!

For his joy was fled, his hope was dead,

And his heart forsaken and lone.

The sea-bird sought her roofless nest,
To warm her brood with her downy breast;

And near her home, on the margin dun,

A mother weeps o'er her duteous son.

IX.

One little boat alone is seen

On all the lovely dappled main,

That softly sinks the waves between,

Then vaults their heaving breasts again;

With snowy sail, and rower's sweep,

Across the tide she seems to fly.

Why bears she on yon headland steep, Where neither house nor home is nigh?

Is that a vision from the deep

That springs ashore and scales the steep,
Nor ever stays its ardent haste

Till sunk upon young Malcolm's breast!

O! spare that breast so lowly laid,

So fraught with deepest sorrow!

It is his own, his darling maid,
Young Anna of Glen-Ora !—
"My Malcolm! part we ne'er again!
My father saw thy bosom's pain;

Pitied my grief from thee to sever;

Now I, and Glen-Ora, am thine for ever!"

X.

That blaze of joy, through clouds of woe,
Too fierce upon his heart did fall.
For, ah! the shaft had left the bow,

Which power of man could not recall!
No word of love could Malcolm speak;
No raptured kiss his lips impart;
No tear bedewed his shivering check,
To ease the grasp that held his heart.
His arms essayed one kind embrace—
Will they enclose her? never! never!

A smile set softly on his face,

But ah! the eye was set for ever!

"Twas more than broken heart could brook! How throbs that breast!-How still that look!

One shiver more! All! all is o'er !

As melts the wave on level shore;
As fades the dye of falling even,
Far on the silver verge of heaven;
As on thy ear, the minstrel's lay,-
So died the comely youth away.”

The strain died soft in note of woe,
Nor breath nor whisper 'gan to flow
From courtly circle; all as still
As midnight on the lonely hill.
So well that foreign minstrel's strain
Had mimicked passion, woe, and pain,
Seemed even the chilly hand of death
Stealing away his mellow breath.

So sighed so stopp'd-so died his lay,-
His spirit too seemed fled for aye.