I retire from the field, conscious that there remains
behind not only a large harvest, but labourers capable
of gathering it in. More than one writer has
of late displayed talents of this description; and
if the present author, himself a phantom, may be permitted
to distinguish a brother, or perhaps a sister shadow,
he would mention, in particular, the author of the
very lively work entitled marriage.
No. I
The scarcity of my late friend’s poem may be
an excuse for adding the spirited conclusion of Clan
Alpin’s vow. The Clan Gregor has met in
the ancient church of Balquidder. The head of
Drummond-Ernoch is placed on the altar, covered for
a time with the banner of the tribe. The Chief
of the tribe advances to the altar:
And pausing, on the
banner gazed;
Then cried in scorn,
his finger raised,
“This was the
boon of Scotland’s king;”
And, with a quick and
angry fling,
Tossing the pageant
screen away,
The dead man’s
head before him lay.
Unmoved he scann’d
the visage o’er,
The clotted locks were
dark with gore,
The features with convulsion
grim,
The eyes contorted,
sunk, and dim.
But unappall’d,
in angry mood,
With lowering brow,
unmoved he stood.
Upon the head his bared
right hand
He laid, the other grasp’d
his brand:
Then kneeling, cried,
“To Heaven I swear
This deed of death I
own, and share;
As truly, fully mine,
as though
This my right hand had
dealt the blow:
Come then, our foeman,
one, come all;
If to revenge this caitiffs
fall
One blade is bared,
one bow is drawn,
Mine everlasting peace
I pawn,
To claim from them,
or claim from him,
In retribution, limb
for limb.
In sudden fray, or open
strife,
This steel shall render
life for life.”
He ceased; and at his
beckoning nod,
The clansmen to the
altar trod;
And not a whisper breathed
around,
And nought was heard
of mortal sound,
Save from the clanking
arms they bore,
That rattled on the
marble floor;
And each, as he approach’d
in haste,
Upon the scalp his right
hand placed;
With livid lip, and
gather’d brow,
Each uttered, in his
turn, the vow.
Fierce Malcolm watch’d
the passing scene,
And search’d them
through with glances keen;
Then dash’d a
tear-drop from his eye;
Unhid it came—he
knew not why.
Exulting high, he towering
stood:
“Kinsmen,”
he cried, “of Alpin’s blood,
And worthy of Clan Alpin’s
name,
Unstain’d by cowardice
and shame,
E’en do, spare
nocht, in time of ill
Shall be Clan Alpin’s
legend still!”
No. II.
It has been disputed whether the Children of the Mist
were actual MacGregors, or whether they were not outlaws
named MacDonald, belonging to Ardnamurchan. The
following act of the Privy Council seems to decide
the question:—
