XXIV.

The neighbouring chieftains, too, had ceas'd to try

For mastery with the Western Islands' lords; They saw, in fact, 'twas useless more to vie

With men who held, by their unconquer'd swords, The numerous Isles, from Islay round to Skye,6 From time unknown, as History records; And the Macdonalds victors long remain'd,

And held by might the land their valour gain'd.

XXV.

One youth there was, of this once powerful clan,

Whose arm was felt already in the fight

Who oft triumphant led in danger's van,

And taught his foes how fearful was his might;

For ever first the dangerous pass to man,

The last to seek for safety in the flight— Quick to provoke, slow to forgive a blow, Or quit the field while yet remain❜d a foe.

XXVI.

Train'd from his youth to danger, war and toil,

To lead the foray with the mountaineer— Inur'd to action, bustle and turmoil,

He ill these "piping times of peace" could bear, And dream'd of harvests, from whose golden spoil He yet might reap th' advantage of his care;

Nor could th' exhilarating joys of chase,

Those visions from Macdonald's mind efface.

XXVII.

His grandsire lov'd, and, with affection, smil'd,

And boasted of the laurels he had won;

But still he felt he was a lonely child,

The lonely orphan of a younger son:
He knew for him, alas, no hoards were pil'd,
For which his father bled, or he had won;
But still he hoped there yet would come a day,
His sword to fortune would carve out a way.

XXVIII.

"When things are at the worst they sometimes mend,"

It has been said, and I believe it true;

I've found my own affairs in that way tend,
Although I ne'er replac'd old friends with new:
Macdonald little thought how near an end

That peace (to him no pleasure) hourly grew,
For while his plans revolv'd within his breast,
The anxious mother thus her son address'd:

XXIX.

"I've mark'd, my son, the anguish of thy mind, Thy wonted spirits' buoyancy decline

A longer silence now would be unkind,

So cheer, brave youth, you must no longer pine; Seek Ireland's shores, there rich domains you'll find,

With Noble mansion, which should all be thine! Seek proud Dunluce, on Dalrieda's' coast,

Thine own by right, though long it hath been lost!

XXX.

"My father once those princely halls possess'd,
When first thy sire came to our native land,
And there remain'd, a long and welcome guest;
He own'd his passion, woo'd, and won my hand-
An only child, endear'd, belov'd, caress'd-

A priest, in private, tied the Gordian band:
We hop❜d my parent's pardon to have gain'd,
But envy, deep, our spotless loves had stain'd.

XXXI.

"A spurious kinsman, mov'd to deadly hate, By disappointment, jealousy, and rage,

Who sought my hand to gain my sire's estate,

Had vow'd revenge-nought could his wrath assuage,

Until his hellish vengeance was complete;

False in his youth, and falser in his age,

He plann'd one night my lord should murder'd be

We learn'd the plot, and fled his treachery.

XXXII.

"In trembling haste we left my father's hall,

Far in the Glens to seek a safe retreat;

And, under cover of night's dusky pall,

Without a friend to guide our stumbling feet,

We made our way unseen, unheard by all,

And Valla's towers by morning's dawn did greet; Whose worthy master, brave and good Sir Hugh, The balm of kindness o'er our green wounds threw.

XXXIII.

"He heard our tale-his indignation rose

He pledged his word to aid us with his band,

And swore our enemies should be his foes,

While he had life, and could command a hand; And should our cause be ever tried by blows, He to the last our trusty friend would stand

And when we bid adieu, he said again,

'Macaulay's word was never pledged in vain.'

C