ry, which contains all his best productions. Returning to his native
district, he attempted farming without success, and ultimately he became
dependent on the liberality of his relations. He died sometime
subsequent to the middle of the century.

Macdonald was author of a large quantity of poetry, embracing the
descriptive, in which his reading made him largely a borrower; the
lyrical in which he excelled; the satirical, in which he was personal
and licentious; and the Jacobitical, in which he issued forth treason of
the most pestilential character. He has disfigured his verses by
incessant appeals to the Muses, and repeated references to the heathen
mythology; but his melody is in the Gaelic tongue wholly unsurpassed.

THE LION OF MACDONALD.

This composition was suggested by the success of Caberfae, the clan song
of the Mackenzies. Macdonald was ambitious of rivaling, or excelling
that famous composition, which contained a provoking allusion to a
branch of his own clan. In the original, the song is prefaced by a
tremendous philippic against the hero of Caberfae. The bard then strikes
into the following strain of eulogy on his own tribe, which is still
remarkably popular among the Gael.

Awake, thou first of creatures! Indignant in their frown,
Let the flag unfold the features that the heather[119] blossoms crown;
Arise, and lightly mount thy crest while flap thy flanks in air,
And I will follow thee the best, that I may dow or dare.
Yes, I will sing the Lion-King o'er all the tribes victorious,
To living thing may not concede thy meed and actions glorious;
How oft thy noble head has woke thy valiant men to battle,
As panic o'er their spirit broke, and rued the foe their mettle!
Is there, thy praise to underrate, in very thought presuming,
O'er crested chieftainry[120] thy state, O thou, of right assuming!
I see thee, on thy silken flag, in rampant[121] glory streaming,
As life inspired their firmness thy planted hind feet seeming.
The standard tree is proud of thee, its lofty sides embracing,
Anon, unfolding, to give forth thy grandeur airy space in.
A following of the trustiest are cluster'd by thy side,
And woe, their flaming visages of crimson, who shall bide?
The heather and the blossom are pledges of their faith,
And the foe that shall assail them, is destined to the death.
Was not a dearth of mettle among thy native kind?