and unanimous congratulations of the circle. The frail old bard, pulling
himself together, got up, went across the room, and shook him heartily
with both hands. This special honour was a most unusual one. It was
clear that _Alastair_ was just in the mood when a little persuasion
would suffice to get him to recite one of his own compositions. This he
was generally very chary of doing, but Norman getting the hint from one
of his immediate neighbours to ask the bard a special favour on this
occasion at once begged the honour of hearing one of the bard's
compositions from his own lips. The venerable old man bent himself
forward, began to work the fingers of both hands and beat time on his
leg as on a chanter, humming a quiet _cronan_. This was his usual
practice when composing or reciting poetry, and it was at once seen that
he would consent. "I will give you," says he, "a _Marbh-rann_, or Elegy
which no one ever heard, and which I have recently composed to the late
'Bailie Hector' of Dingwall, a son of my late esteemed friend
'Letterewe,' on condition that you, Sir, will give us another story when
I am done." Norman at once agreed, and the bard commenced as follows:--

MARBHRANN.

DO BHAILIDH EACHAINN, INBHIR-FEOTHARAN, MAC FEAR LEITIR-IUGH.

AIR FONN--"_'S mi 'm shuidhe 'm 'onar._"

O 's truagh an sgeula tha 'n diugh ri fheutainn,
Thug gal air ceudan a measg an t-sluaigh,
Mu Eachainn gleusta 'bha fearail, feumail,
Gun da ghlac an t-eug thu a threun-laoich chruaidh:
'S mor bron do Chinnidh, mar eoin na tuinne
Tha 'n cronan duilich 's an ullaidh uath
'S bho nach duisg an gair thu, 's nach cluinn thu 'n gailich,
Se chlaoidh do chairdean do bhas cho luath.

Tha do chairdean cianal, tha bron da'lionadh,
Tha 'n inntinn pianail bho n' ghlac thu 'm bas,
'S iad a ghnath fuidh thiorachd 's nach faigh iad sgial ort,
Ach thu bhi iosal an ciste chlar
Bu tu ceann na riaghailt 'us lamh na fialachd,
A sheoid gun fhiaradh, gun ghiamh gun sgath,
'Sa nis bho 'n thriall thu, 's sinn lan dha d' iargan,
'S nach eil 's na criochan fear a lionas d' ait.

Bha d' aite miaghail 's gach cas an iarrt' thu,
A reir mo sgiala bu teirc do luach:
Bha thu pairteach, briathrach, ri ard 's ri iosal,
Gun chas gun dioghaltas air an tuath.
Bha foghlum Iarl' agad 's ciall fear riaghlaidh
Bu mhor an diobhail nach da liath do ghruag,
'S ann a bharc