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LOCHIEL, Lochiel ! beware of the day
war, What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? 'Tis thine, oh 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! Oh weer, but thy tears cannot number the dead : For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, Culloden! that reeks with the blood of the brave
Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer!
Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn ? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be Say, rush'd the bold eagle exultingly forth, (torn! From his home, in the dark rolling clouds of the
north? Lo! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, 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 eyrie, that beacons the darkness of
heaven. Oh, 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,
[brood. And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing
False Wizard, avaunt ! I have marshalld 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, Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, All plaided and plumed in their tartan array
-Lochiel, Lochiel ! beware of the day; For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, But man cannot cover what God would reveal; 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. I tell thee, Culloden'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 tempests, and cover his flight!
"Tis finish'd. Their thunders are hush'd on the
Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale: For never shall Albin a destiny meet, So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat. Tho' my perishing ranks should be strew'd in their
gore, Like ocean-weeds heap'd on the surf-beaten shore, 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, [fame. Look proudly to Heaven from the death-bed of
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND:
A NAVAL ODE.
YE Mariners of England !
The spirits of your fathers