VII.

THE pibroch's note, discountenanced or mute;
The Roman kilt, degraded to a toy

Of quaint apparel for a half-spoilt boy;
The target mouldering like ungathered fruit;
The smoking steam-boat eager in pursuit,
As eagerly pursued; the umbrella spread
To weather-fend the Celtic herdsman's head-
All speak of manners withering to the root,

And some old honours, too, and passions high:

Then may we ask, though pleased that thought should range

Among the conquests of civility,

Survives imagination-to the change

Superior? Help to virtue does it give?

If not, O Mortals, better cease to live!

VIII.

COMPOSED IN THE GLEN OF LOCH ETIVE.

“THIS Land of Rainbows (spanning glens whose walls,
Rock-built, are hung with rainbow-coloured mists)
Of far-stretched Meres whose salt flood never rests,
Of tuneful caves and playful waterfalls,

Of mountains varying momently their crests—
Proud be this Land! whose poorest huts are halls
Where Fancy entertains becoming guests;
While native song the heroic Past recals."
Thus, in the net of her own wishes caught,

The Muse exclaimed; but Story now must hide
Her trophies, Fancy crouch ;—the course of pride
Has been diverted, other lessons taught,

That make the Patriot-spirit bow her head

Where the all-conquering Roman feared to tread.

IX.

COMPOSED AFTER READING A NEWSPAPER OF THE DAY.

"PEOPLE! your chains are severing link by link;
Soon shall the Rich be levelled down-the Poor
Meet them half way." Vain boast! for These, the more
They thus would rise, must low and lower sink
Till, by repentance stung, they fear to think;

While all lie prostrate, save the tyrant few
Bent in quick turns each other to undo,
And mix the poison, they themselves must drink.
Mistrust thyself, vain Country! cease to cry,

66 'Knowledge will save me from the threatened woe."
For, if than other rash ones more thou know,
Yet on presumptuous wing as far would fly
Above thy knowledge as they dared to go,
Thou wilt provoke a heavier penalty.

X.

EAGLES.

COMPOSED AT DUNOLLIE CASTLE IN THE BAY OF OBAN.

DISHONOURED Rock and Ruin! that, by law
Tyrannic, keep the Bird of Jove embarred
Like a lone criminal whose life is spared.

Vexed is he, and screams loud. The last I saw
Was on the wing; stooping, he struck with awe
Man, bird, and beast; then, with a consort paired,
From a bold headland, their loved aery's guard,
Flew high above Atlantic waves, to draw

Light from the fountain of the setting sun.

Such was this Prisoner once; and, when his plumes

The sea-blast ruffles as the storm comes on,

In spirit, for a moment, he resumes

His rank 'mong freeborn creatures that live free,

His power, his beauty, and his majesty.

XI.

IN THE SOUND OF MULL.

TRADITION, be thou mute! Oblivion, throw

Thy veil in mercy o'er the records, hung

Round strath and mountain, stamped by the ancient tongue
On rock and ruin darkening as we go,—

Spots where a word, ghost-like, survives to show
What crimes from hate, or desperate love, have sprung;

From honour misconceived, or fancied wrong,

What feuds, not quenched but fed by mutual woe.
Yet, though a wild vindictive Race, untamed
By civil arts and labours of the pen,

Could gentleness be scorned by those fierce Men,
Who, to spread wide the reverence they claimed
For patriarchal occupations, named

Yon towering Peaks, Shepherds of Etive Glen* ?'

* In Gaelic, Buachaill Eite.