vine.

SIUBHAL.

Come, counsel me, my comrades,
While dizzy fancy lingers,
Did ever flute become, lads,
The motion of such fingers?
Did ever isle or Mor-hir,[137]
Or see or hear, before her,
Such gracefulness, adore her
Yet, woes me, how concealing
From her I 've wedded, dare I?
Still, homeward bound, I tarry,
And Jeanie's eye is weary,
Her truant unrevealing.
The glow of love I feel,
Not all the linns of Sheil,
Nor Cruachan's snow avail
To cool to congealing.[138]....

CRUNLUATH.

My very brain is humming, sirs,
As a swarm of bees were bumming, sirs,
And I fear distraction 's coming, sirs,
My passion such a flame is.
My very eyes are blinding, sirs,
Scarce giant mountains finding, sirs,
Nor height nor distance minding, sirs,
The crag, as Corrie, tame is....

[132] Mull.

[133] Morag's beauties are so exquisite, that all Europe, nay, the Pope
would be inflamed to behold them. The passage is omitted, though worthy
of the satiric vein of Mephistopheles.

[134] The gannet, or the _stranger-bird_, from his foreign derivation
and periodic visits to the Islands.

[135] A snowy grass, well known in the moors.

[136] _Lit._, On the day of devotion.

[137] The mainland, or _terra firma_, is called Morir by the islanders.

NEWS OF PRINCE CHARLES.

Though this, in some respects, may not rank high among Macdonald's
compositions, it is one of the most natural and earnest. His appeal to
the hesitating chiefs of Sleat and Dunvegan, is a curious specimen of
indignation, suppressed by prudence, and of contempt disguised under the
mask of civility.

Glad tidings for the Highlands!
To arms a ringing call--
Hammers storming, targets forming,
Orb-like as a ball.[139]
Withers dismay the pale array,
That guards the Hanoverian;
Assurance sure the sea 's come o'er,
The help is nigh we weary on.
From friendly east a breeze shall haste
The fruit-freight of our prayer--
With thousands wight in baldrick white,[140]
A prince to do and dare;
Stuart his name, his sire's the same,
For his riffled crown appealing,
Strong his right in, soon shall Britain
Be humbled to the kneeling.
Strength never quell'd, and sword and shield,
And firearms play defiance;
Forwards they fly, and still their cry,
Is,[