it is possible that a little practice with the rifle in any similar wilderness may propitiate even the holiday sportsman somewhat in favour of the subject and its minute details.  We must commit this forest minstrel to the good-nature of other readers, entreating them only to render due acknowledgment to the forbearance which has, in the meantime, troubled them only with the first half of the performance, and with a single stanza of the finale.  The composition is always rehearsed or sung to pipe music, of which it is considered, by those who understand the original, a most extraordinary echo, besides being in other respects a very powerful specimen of Gaelic minstrelsy.

URLAR.

The noble Otter hill! 
It is a chieftain Beinn,[109]
Ever the fairest still
Of all these eyes have seen. 
Spacious is his side;
I love to range where hide,
In haunts by few espied,
The nurslings of his den. 
In the bosky shade
Of the velvet glade,
Couch, in softness laid,
The nimble-footed deer;
To see the spotted pack,
That in scenting never slack,
Coursing on their track,
Is the prime of cheer. 
Merry may the stag be,
The lad that so fairly
Flourishes the russet coat
That fits him so rarely. 
’Tis a mantle whose wear
Time shall not tear;
’Tis a banner that ne’er
Sees its colours depart: 
And when they seek his doom,
Let a man of action come,
A hunter in his bloom,
With rifle not untried: 
A notch’d, firm fasten’d flint,
To strike a trusty dint,
And make the gun-lock glint
With a flash of pride. 
Let the barrel be but true,
And the stock be trusty too,
So, Lightfoot,[110] though he flew,
Shall be purple-dyed. 
He should not be novice bred,
But a marksman of first head,
By whom that stag is sped,
In hill-craft not unskill’d;
So, when Padraig of the glen
Call’d his hounds and men,
The hill spake back again,
As his orders shrill’d;
Then was firing snell,
And the bullets rain’d like hail,
And the red-deer fell
Like warrior on the field.

SIUBHAL.

Oh, the young doe so frisky,
So coy, and so fair,
That gambols so briskly,
And snuffs up the air;
And hurries, retiring,
To the rocks that environ,
When foemen are firing,
And bullets are there. 
Though swift in her racing,
Like the kinsfolk before her,
No heart-burst, unbracing
Her strength, rushes o’er her. 
’Tis exquisite hearing
Her murmur, as, nearing,
Her mate comes careering,
Her pride, and her lover;—­
He comes—­and her breathing
Her rapture is telling;
How his antlers are wreathing,
His white haunch, how swelling! 
High chief of Bendorain,
He seems, as adoring
His hind, he comes roaring
To visit her dwelling. 
’Twere endless my singing
How the mountain is teeming
With thousands, that bringing