But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels THERE IS MIST ON THE MOUNTAIN AND NIGHT ON THE VALE. Now he hears the pipes lamenting, Then anon his dreams are darker, Wild Lochaber's mountain echoes And Loch Awe's deep waters murmur Fierce and strong the godless tyrants Trample the apostate land, While her poor and faithful remnant Wait for the avenger's hand. Once again at Inverary, Years of weary exile o'er, Armed to lead his scattered clansmen, Stands the bold MacCallum More. Once again to battle calling Sound the war-pipes through the glen, And the court-yard of Dunstaffnage Rings with tread of arméd men. All is lost! the godless triumph, On the darkness of his dreaming Shining hosts attend and guard him "Down the glen, beyond the castle. Where the linn's swift waters shine." Fairest of the rustic dancers, Blue-eyed Effie smiles once more, Bends to him her snooded tresses, Treads with him the grassy floor. OW charming is divine philosophy! Not harsh and crabbéd, as dull fools suppose, But musical as is Apollo's lute, And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets. |