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EER. Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day

When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array!
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight,
And the clans of Cullo'den' are scattered in fight;
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown;
Woe, woe, to the riders that trample them down!
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain,
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far?
'Tis thine, O Glenullin! whose bride shall await,
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate.
A steed comes at morning-no rider is there ;
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair.
Weep, Albin! to death and captivity led!

O weep! but thy tears can not number the dead;
For a mercilèss sword on Culloden shall wave-
Culloden, that reeks with the blood of the brave!

Lochiel. Go preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer! Or, if gōry Cullō'den so dreadful appear,

Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight,
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright.

Seer. Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn?
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn!
Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth
From his home in the dark-rolling clouds of the north?
Lo! the death-shot of foemen out-speeding, he rode
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad;

But down let him stoop from his havoc on high!
Ah! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh.
Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast
Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast?
'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven
From his eyry (a'ri), that beacons the darkness of heaven.

1 Cul lo' den, a wide, moory ridge in Scotland, county of Inverness, in the parish of Croy, memorable for the total defeat of Prince Charles's

army, on the 16th of April, 1746, by the royal troops under the Duke of Cumberland.

2 Bosoms, (bůz umz).

O crested Lochiel! the peerless in might,

Whose banners arise on the battlements' height,
Heaven's fire is around thee to blast and to burn:
Return to thy dwelling; all lonely return!

For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood,
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood!

Lochiel. False wizard, avaunt!' I have marshalled my clan:
Their swords are a thousand; their bosoms are one.
They are true to the last of their blood and their breath,
And like reapers descend to the harvest of death.
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock!
Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock!
But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause,
When Albin her claymore' indignantly draws;
When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd,
Clanranald the dauntless, and Moray the proud,
All plăided and plumed in their tartan array-

Seer. Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day!
For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal,
Yet man can not cover what God would reveal?
"Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore,
And coming events cast their shadows before.
I tell thee, Cullō'den's dread echoes shall ring
With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king.
Lo! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath,'
Behold where he flies on his desolate path!

Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight:
Rise! rise! ye wild tempèsts, and cover his flight!-
"Tis finished. Their thunders åre hushed on the moors;
Culloden is lost, and my country deplores.

But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where?

For the red eye of battle is shut in despair.

Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn,

Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and tōrn?
Ah! no; for a darker departure is near;

The war-drum is muffled, and black is the bier;
His death-bell is tōlling: O, mercy, dispel

Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell!

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Life flutters, convulsed, in his quivering limbs,
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims!
Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet,

Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases to beat,
With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale

Lochiel. Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale!
For never shall Albin a destiny meet

So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat!

Though his perishing ranks should be strewed in their gōre, Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shōre,

Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains,

While the kindling of life in his bosom remains,

Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low,

With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe!
And, leaving in battle no blot on his name,

Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame!


THOMAS CAMPBELL, the distinguished poet, was born in Glasgow, on the 27th of July, 1777. Owing to the straightened circumstances of his father young Campbell was obliged, while attending college, to have recourse to private teaching as a tutor. Notwithstanding this additional labor, he made rapid progress in his studies, and attained considerable distinction at the university of his native city. He very early gave proofs of his aptitude for literary composition, especially in the department of poetry. At the age of twenty, he occasionally labored for the booksellers, while attending lectures at the university in Edinburgh. In 1799, his first extended poem, "The Pleasures of Hope," was published. Its success was instantaneous and without parallel. It is not too much to say, that it is, without an exception, the finest didactic poem in the English language. In 1809, he published "Gertrude of Wyoming," which holds the second place among his lengthier poems, and to which were attached the most celebrated of his grand and powerful lyrics. Though Campbell was too frequently timid, and noted more for beauties of expression than for high inventive power and vigorous execution, yet his lyrical pieces, particularly "The Battle of the Baltic," "Mariners of England," "Hohenlinden," and "Lochiel's Warning," which appear to have been struck off at a heat, prove conclusively that his conceptions, when not too much subjected to elaboration, were glowing, bold, and powerful. In the latter part of the poet's life his circumstances were materially improved. In 1826, he was elected Lord Rector of the University of Glasgow. He died July 15th, 1844, and his remains were solemnly interred in Westminster Abbey.

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SACRED Truth! thy triumph ceased ǎwhile,
And Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile,
When leagued oppression poured to northern wars

Her whiskered pandoors, and her fierce hussars,

Waved her dread standard to the breeze of morn,
Pealed her loud drum, and twanged her trumpet horn!
Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van,

Presaging wrath to Poland and to man.

2. Warsaw's last champion from her height surveyed,
Wide ō'er the fields, a waste of ruin laid;

O Heaven! he cried, my bleeding country save!
Is there no hand on high to shield the brave?
Yet, though destruction sweep these lovely plains,
Rise, fellow-men! our country yet remains!
By that dread name, we wave the sword on high,
And swear for her to live, with her to die!
3. He said, and on the rampart heights arrayed
His trusty warriors-few, but undismayed;
Firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they form,
Still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm;
Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly,
Revenge or death!--the watchword and reply:
Then pealed the notes omnipotent to charm,
And the loud tocsin tölled their last alarm.

4. In vain, alas! in vain, ye gallant few!

From rank to rank your volleyed thunder flew :
Oh, bloodiest picture in the "book of time!"
Sarmatia' fell, unwept, without a crime!
Found not a generous friend, a pitying foe,

Strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe!

Dropped from her nervelèss grasp the shattered spear,
Closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career :
Hope, for a season, bade the world farewell,
And Freedom shrieked as Kosciusko" fell!

1 Sarmatia, (sår måshi å), the classical name of Poland. For many centuries Poland existed as an independent and powerful State, but hav. ing fallen a prey to internal dissensions, it was violently seized by Russia, Prussia, and Austria, and divided between them. The first partition took place in 1772, a second in 1793,

and a third in 1795. The Poles have made several attempts to recover their liberty, the last of which was in 1830.

2 Thaddeus Kos`cí ús'ko, a noble Pole, was born in 1756. When young, he served the United States in their war of independence against England, where he rose to the rank of

5. The sun went down, nor ceased the carnage there,
Tumultuous murder shook the midnight air!
On Prague's proud arch the fires of ruin glow,
His blood-dyed waters murmuring far below;
The storm prevails, the rampart yields away.
Bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay!
Hark! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall,
A thousand shrieks for hōpelèss mercy call:
Earth shook-red meteors flashed along the sky,
And conscious nature shuddered at the cry.





EANTIME the besieged city was at its last gasp. The burghers had been in a state of uncertainty for many days; being aware that the fleet had set forth for their relief, but knowing full well the thousand obstacles which it had to surmount. They had guessed its progress by the illumination from the blazing villages; they had heard its salvos' of artillery on its arrival at North Aa;' but since then, all had been dark and mournful again, hope and fear, in sickening alternation, distracting every breast.

2. They knew that the wind was unfavorable, and at the dawn of each day every eye was turned wistfully to the vanes of the steeples. So long as the easterly breeze prevailed, they felt, as they anxiously stood on towers and housetops, that they must look in vain for the welcome ocean. Yět, while thus patiently waiting, they were literally starving. Bread, malt-cake, horseflesh, had entirely disappeared; dogs, cats, rats, and other vermin, were esteemed luxuries. A small number of cows, kept as long as possible, for their milk, still remained; but a few were killed from day to day, and distributed in minute propor

general. He returned to Poland, and signalized himself at the head of one of her armies in 1792 and 1793; and when the Poles rose up against their oppressors in 1794, he was made their generalissimo, and their dictator. He was wounded and taken prisoner by the Russians at the fatal

battle of Maciovice, October 1st, 1794. and the complete downfall of his country soon followed. He closed his unstained and noble life in Switzerland in 1817.

Sǎl' vō, a general discharge of fire-arms; a volley. 2 North Aa, (å).

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