Low the dauntless earl is laid, Long his loss shall Eirin weep, Horror covers all the heath, Clouds of carnage blot the sun : Hail the task, and hail the hands! Mortal, thou that hear'st the tale, Sisters, hence with spurs of speed : Each her thundering falchion wield; Each bestride her sable steed, Hurry, hurry to the field! A PSALM OF LIFE. What the heart of the young man said to the Psalmist. BY LONGFELLOW. TELL me not, in mournful numbers, For the soul is dead that slumbers, Life is real! Life is earnest ! Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Art is long, and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Lives of great men all remind us Footprints, that perhaps another, Let us then be up and doing, THE FATE OF MACGREGOR. BY HOGG. "MACGREGOR, Macgregor, remember our foemen ; Stern scowled the Macgregor, then silent and sullen, "Macgregor, Macgregor, our scouts have been flying, Three days, round the hills of M'Nab and Glen-Lyon; Of riding and running such tidings they bear, We must meet them at home else they'll quickly be here;—" "The Campbell may come, as his promises bind him, And haughty M'Nab, with his giants behind him ; This night I am bound to relinquish the fray, And do what it freezes my vitals to say. Forgive me, dear brother, this horror of mind; Or blenched at the ire or the prowess of man: But I've sworn, by the cross, by my God, and my all! "Last night, in my chamber, all thoughtful and lone, I knew her, O brother! I knew her too well! Of that once fair dame such a tale I could tell As would thrill thy bold heart; but how long she remained, I knew not-but ages seemed short to the while, The same to endure, the dread proffer I'd fly! The present to shun and some respite to find, "She told me, and turned my chilled heart to a stone, The glory and name of Macgregor were gone; "A parting embrace, in one moment she gave; 66 'Macgregor, thy fancies are wild as the wind; The dreams of the night have disordered thy mind, Come, buckle thy panoply-march to the fieldSee, brother, how hacked are thy helmet and shield ! Ay, that was M'Nab, in the height of his pride, When the lions of Dochart sood firm by his side. This night the proud chief his presumption shall rue; Rise, brother, these chinks in his heart-blood will glue ; Thy fantasies frightful shall flit on the wing, When loud with thy bugle Glen-Lyon shall ring." Like glimpse of the moon through the storm of the night, Away went Macgregor, but went not alone : All silent they went, for the time was approaching; No sound but the lullaby sung by the rill: Young Malcolm, at distance couched, trembling the while— Macgregor stood lone by the brook of Glen-Gyle. Few minutes had passed, ere they spied on the stream A skiff sailing light, where a lady did seem; Her sail was the web of the gossamer's loom, The glow-worm her wakelight, the rainbow her boom; A dim rayless beam was her prow and her mast, Like wold-fire at midnight, that glares on the waste. Though rough was the river with rock and cascade, No torrent, no rock, her velocity stayed; She wimpled the water to weather and lee, And heaved as if born on the waves of the sea. Mute Nature was roused in the bounds of the glen ; The wild deer of Gairtney abandoned his den, |