XXXIV.

"My honour'd father's debt to Nature's paid

The wise, the good, the generous, and the brave

And all his honours are for ever laid,

Where all must be, within a narrow grave;

And false Macquillan lords it in his stead,
But not Dunluce the guilty wretch can save,
When, with Macaulay's clans yours join in fight,
And in Truth's cause with heart and hand unite."

XXXV.

He heard astonish'd, and without reply,

And oft his changing colour came and went—

And kindling rage, in his prophetic eye,

The fearful workings of his spirit sent

Along his deep-mark'd features' swarthy die,

In dread foretellings of his dire intent;

He smote his brow, and then with ardour said— "Thy wrongs, my mother, yet shall be repaid!

XXXVI.

"Ho, Ranald! with the lightning's swiftness fly,

And tell the clans Macdonald to prepare

And bid the leading warriors of Skye

With utmost haste unto their chief repair;

Much must be done ere night, and it draws nighThroughout the Isles a herald send with careAnd when on Torr the warning fire they'll see, 9 In Islay muster, and then follow me." 10

XXXVII.

Quick was each order given, and obey'd—

For, "always ready" at their master's call, The chiefs of Skye no farther question staid, But met in conclave in their leader's hall.

Brief was his tale-they heard and pledged their aid, To stand fast by him, whether rise or fall

"I go alone," he said, "Nay, it must be,

Cheer you the clans-prepare and follow me.

XXXVIII.

"Speed to the shore! and, hark thee, Donald, hark—

See all things ready with despatch and care; Await my coming in my own light bark—

Nay, look not sad, for hope prevents despair, Unfurl her sails, and trim her ere 'tis dark

11

Let a boat wait, the breeze is fresh and fair-
This night I'll sail, and in Glenarriff's bay,1
On Ireland's coast, I'll anchor ere it's day !"

XXXIX.

Such, lovely Erin! ever was thy fate,

To strange adventurers a common prey;

The overflowings of each o'ercloy'd state

To thee, my country, made a beaten way:
Oft hast thou bow'd 'neath each marauder's weight
The Picts, the Scots, the Danes alternate sway
Have wrung thy bosom, and you've writh'd in pain,
'Till Freedom rush'd to arms, and burst the chain.

XL.

Mighty and many were thy giant foes,

That, Hydra-like, assail'd thee every year-Scarce one was vanquish'd, 'till another rose,

And show'd a head of tenfold deadly fear, Which scarce thy sons' Herculean force could pose, Or check the ragings of his dread career, Though first in eloquence's war they stood, And in the field unconquer'd—unsubdu’d.

XLI.

But yet thy deepest, deadliest foe of all,

That from thy breast such bitter drops have

wrung;

That curb'd thy freedom, brought thee into thrall
And chains, and sadness all around thee flung;
That work'd, and still are working for thy fall,
And, like tarantulas, thy soul have stung,
Are thine own sons- -But who a balm shall bring,
To draw the venom from their deadly sting?

XLII.

Alas, my country! once the proud and free,

When forth, cemented with a brother's band,

Thy warlike sons stood in defence of thee,

Their common mother-link'd with heart and hand;

A victim now to vice and treachery,

With discord stalking through th' affrighted land,

And fell dissension riding on the blast,

Like the Simoom, that wither'd as it pass'd.

XLIII.

Oh! that a gleam of Hope's prophetic ray

Would light our souls with one bright spark of fire,

To look, though distant, to a coming day,

When each gorg'd vampire would at last expire, Which on thy heart's pure streams for ever prey; That from the ashes of their funeral pyre,

Like the expiring bird of Araby,

A nation yet might rise, great, glorious, and free!