PROLOGUE TO MISS BAILLIE'S PLAY OF THE FAMILY LEGEND. 'Tis sweet to hear expiring Summer's sigh, But far more sadly sweet, on foreign strand, Chief, thy wild tales, romantic Caledon, He hears with throbbing heart and moistened eyes, * Acadia, or Nova Scotia. It opens on his soul his native dell, The woods wild waving, and the water's swell; The cot beneath whose simple porch were told, The infant group that hushed their sports the while, Are such keen feelings to the crowd confined, Yourselves shall judge-whoe'er has raised the sail Of whitening waves, and tells whate'er to-night FAREWELL TO MACKENZIE, HIGH CHIEF OF KINTAIL. FROM THE GAELIC. The original verses are arranged to a beautiful Gaelic air, of which the chorus is adapted to the double pull upon the oars of a galley, and which is therefore distinct from the ordinary jorams, or boat-songs. They were composed by the Family Bard upon the departure of the Earl of Seaforth, who was obliged to take refuge in Spain, after an unsuccessful effort at insurrection in favour of the Stuart family, in the year 1718. FAREWELL to Mackenneth, eat Earl of the North, The Lord of Lochcarron, Glenshiel, and Seaforth; To the Chieftain this morning his course who began, Launching forth on the billows his bark like a swan. For a far foreign land he has hoisted his sail, Farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail! O swift be the galley, and hardy her crew, In danger undaunted, unwearied by toil,. Though the whirlwind should rise, and the ocean should boil: On the brave vessel's gunnel I drank his bonail,* And farewell to Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail! Awake in thy chamber, thou sweet southland gale! Be his pilot experienced, and trusty, and wise, * Bonail', or Bonallez, the old Scottish phrase for a feast at parting with a friend. IMITATION OF THE PRECEDING SONG. So sung the old Bard, in the grief of his heart, When he saw his loved Lord from his people depart Now mute on thy mountains, O Albyn, are heard Nor the voice of the song, nor the harp of the bard; Or its strings are but waked by the stern winter gale, As they mourn for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail. From the far Southland border a Minstrel came forth, And he waited the hour that some Bard of the north, His hand on the harp of the ancient should cast, And bid its wild numbers mix high with the blast; But no Bard was there left in the land of the Gael, To lament for Mackenzie, last Chief of Kintail. And shalt thou then sleep, did the Minstrel exclaim, |