To the fame of your name,

When the storm has ceas'd to blow;

When the fiery fight is heard no more,

And the storm has ceas'd to blow.

GLENARA.

O HEARD ye yon pibrach sound sad in the gale,
Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail?
'Tis the chief of Glenara laments for his dear;
And her sire, and the people, are call'd to her bier.

: Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud; Her kinsmen they follow'd, but mourn'd not aloud: Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around: They march'd all in silence-they look'd on the ground.

In silence they reach'd over mountain and moor,
To a heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and

hoar;

Now here let us place the grey stone of her cairn: • Why speak ye no word!'-said Glenara the stern.

• And tell me, I charge you! ye clan of my spouse, • Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows?

So spake the rude chieftain:-no answer is made, But each mantle unfolding a dagger display'd.、

• I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud, Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and

loud;

' And empty that shroud, and that coffin did seem: • Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"

O! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween, When the shroud was unclos'd, and no lady was seen; When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn, 'Twas the youth who had lov'd the fair Ellen of Lorn:

I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief,
I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief:
On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem;
Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"

In dust, low the traitor has knelt to the ground, And the desert reveal'd where his lady was found; From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne, Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn!