My youth with the stranger,[44]

Next on mountains a ranger, I pa.s.s'd--but no change, here, Will sever from Mary.

What ringlets discover Their gloss thy brows over-- Forget thee! thy lover, Ah, first shall they bury.

Thy aspect of kindness, Thy graces they bind us, And, like Feili,[45] remind us Of a heaven undreary.

Than the treasures of Spain I would toil more to gain Thy love--but my pain, Ah, 'tis cruel, my Mary!

When the sh.e.l.l is o'erflowing, And its dew-drops are glowing, No, never, thy snow on A slander shall tarry.

When viols are playing, And dancers are Maying, My eyes may be straying, But my soul is with Mary.

That white hand of thine Might I take into mine, Could I ever repine, Or from tenderness vary?

No, never! no, never!

My troth on 't for ever, Lip to lip, I 'd deliver My being to Mary.

FOOTNOTES:

[44] Invernahyle removed with his family to Edinburgh, and became very intimate with the father of Sir Walter Scott. He seems to have made a great impression on the future poet.

[45] Festivals, saint-days.

ANGUS FLETCHER.

Angus Fletcher was born at Coirinti, a wild and romantic spot on the west bank of Loch Eck, in June 1776. His education was chiefly conducted at the parish school of Kilmodan, Glendaruel. From Glendaruel he went to Bute, in 1791, where he was variously employed till May 1804, when he was elected schoolmaster of Dunoon, his native parish. His death took place at Dunoon in 1852. The first of the two following songs was contributed anonymously to the _Weekly Journal_ newspaper, whence it was transferred by Turner into his Gaelic collection. It soon became popular in the Highlands, and the authorship came to be a.s.signed to different individuals. Fletcher afterwards announced himself as the author, and completely established his claim. He was the author of various metrical compositions both in Gaelic and English.

THE CLACHAN OF GLENDARUEL.

Thy wily eyes, my darling, Thy graces bright, my jewel, Have grieved me since our parting At the kirk of Glendaruel.

'Twas to the Kirkton wending Bright eyes encounter'd duty, And mavis' notes were blending With the rosy cheeks of beauty.

Oh, jimpsome is her shapely waist, Her arms, her instep queenly; And her sweet parting lips are graced With rows of ivory inly.

When busy tongues are railing, Lown is her word unsaucy, And with modest grace unfailing She trips it o'er the causey.

Should royalty prefer me, Preferment none I crave, But to live a shepherd near thee, On the howes of Corrichnaive.

Would fortune crown my wishes-- The shealing of the hill, With my darling, and the rushes To couch on, were my will.

I hear, but not instruction, Though faithful lips are pleading-- I read thy eyes' perfection, On their dew of mildness feeding.

My hand is swiftly scrolling, In the courts of reverend men;[46]

But, ah! my restless soul in Is triumphing my Jean.

I fear, I fear their frowning-- But though they chased me over Where Holland's flats[47] are drowning, I 'll live and die thy lover.

FOOTNOTES:

[46] The poet waxes professional. He was session-clerk and clerk-depute of presbytery.

[47] The war was raging in Holland, under the command of the Duke of York. The bard threatens to exchange the pen for the sword.

THE La.s.sIE OF THE GLEN.

Versified from the Gaelic Original by the Author.

Beneath a hill 'mang birken bushes, By a burnie's dimplit linn, I told my love with artless blushes To the la.s.sie o' the glen.

Oh! the birken bank sae gra.s.sy, Hey! the burnie's dimplit linn; Dear to me 's the bonnie la.s.sie Living in yon rashy glen!

Lanely Ruail! thy stream sae gla.s.sy Shall be aye my fav'rite theme, For on thy banks my Highland la.s.sie First confess'd a mutual flame.

What bliss to sit, and nane to fash us, In some sweet wee bow'ry den!

Or fondly stray amang the rashes, Wi' the la.s.sie o' the glen!

And though I wander now unhappy, Far frae scenes we haunted then, I'll ne'er forget the bank sae gra.s.sy, Nor the la.s.sie o' the glen.

END OF VOL. IV.