The Modern Scottish Minstrel Volume I Part 45

"For as the sapling's st.u.r.dy stalk, Whose double twist is crossly strain'd, Such is thy fortune--sure to baulk At this extreme what there was gain'd.

"When Heaven its gracious manna hail'd, 'Twas vain who h.o.a.rded its supply, Not all his miser care avail'd His neighbour's portion to outvie.

"So, blended all that nature owns, So, warp'd all hopes that mortals bless-- With boundless wealth, the sufferer's groans; With courtly luxury, distress.

"Lift up the balance--heap with gold, Its other sh.e.l.l vile dust shall fill; And were a kingdom's ransom told, The scales would want adjustment still.

"Life has its competence--nor deem That better than enough were more; Sure it were phantasy to dream With burdens to a.s.suage thy sore.

"It is the fancy's whirling strife That breeds thy pain--to-day it craves, To-morrow spurns--suffices life When pa.s.sion asks what pa.s.sion braves?

"Should appet.i.te her wish achieve, To herd with brutes her joy would bound; Pleased other paradise to leave, Content to pasture on the ground.

"But pride rebels, nor towers alone Beyond that confine's lowly sphere-- Seems as from the Eternal Throne It aim'd the sceptre's self to tear.

"'Tis thus we trifle, thus we dare; But, seek we to our bliss the way, Let us to Heaven our path refer, Believe, and wors.h.i.+p, and obey.

"That choice is all--to range beyond Nor must, nor needs; provision, grace, In these He gives, who sits enthroned, Salvation, competence, and peace."

The instructive vision pa.s.s'd away, But not its wisdom's dreamless lore; No more in shadow-tracks I stray, And fondle shadow-shapes no more.

[107] _Orig._--The venomous red spider.

DUNCAN MACINTYRE.

Duncan Macintyre (Donacha Ban) is considered by his countrymen the most extraordinary genius that the Highlands in modern times have produced.

Without having learned a letter of any alphabet, he was enabled to pour forth melodies that charmed every ear to which they were intelligible.

And he is understood to have had the published specimens of his poetry committed to writing by no mean judge of their merit,--the late Dr Stewart of Luss,--who, when a young man, became acquainted with this extraordinary person, in consequence of his being employed as a kind of under-keeper in a forest adjoining to the parish of which the Doctor's father was minister.

Macintyre was born in Druimliart of Glenorchy on the 20th of March 1724, and died in October 1812. He was chiefly employed in the capacity of keeper in several of the Earl of Breadalbane's forests. He carried a musket, however, in his lords.h.i.+p's fencibles; which led him to take part, much against his inclination, in the Whig ranks at the battle of Falkirk. Later in life he transferred his musket to the Edinburgh City Guard.

Macintyre's best compositions are those which are descriptive of forest scenes, and those which he dedicated to the praise of his wife. His verses are, however, very numerous, and embrace a vast variety of subjects. From the extraordinary diffusiveness of his descriptions, and the boundless luxuriance of his expressions, much difficulty has been experienced in reproducing his strains in the English idiom.

MAIRI BHAN OG.

MARY, THE YOUNG, THE FAIR-HAIR'D.

My young, my fair, my fair-hair'd Mary, My life-time love, my own!

The vows I heard, when my kindest dearie Was bound to me alone, By covenant true, and ritual holy, Gave happiness all but divine; Nor needed there more to transport me wholly, Than the friends that hail'd thee mine.

'Twas a Monday morn, and the way that parted Was far, but I rivall'd the wind, The troth to plight with a maiden true-hearted, That force can never unbind.

I led her apart, and the hour that we reckon'd, While I gain'd a love and a bride, I heard my heart, and could tell each second, As its pulses struck on my side.

I told my ail to the foe that pain'd me, And said that no salve could save; She heard the tale, and her leech-craft it sain'd me, For herself to my breast she gave.

Forever, my dear, I 'll dearly adore thee For chasing away, away, My fancy's delusion, new loves ever choosing, And teaching no more to stray.

I roam'd in the wood, many a tendril surveying, All shapely from branch to stem, My eye, as it look'd, its ambition betraying To cull the fairest from them; One branch of perfume, in blossom all over, Bent lowly down to my hand, And yielded its bloom, that hung high from each lover, To me, the least of the band.

I went to the river, one net-cast I threw in, Where the stream's transparence ran, Forget shall I never, how the beauty[108] I drew in, Shone bright as the gloss of the swan.

Oh, happy the day that crown'd my affection With such a prize to my share!

My love is a ray, a morning reflection, Beside me she sleeps, a star.

[108] Gaelic, "gealag"--descriptive of the salmon, from its glossy brightness.

BENDOURAIN, THE OTTER MOUNT.

Bendourain is a forest scene in the wilds of Glenorchy. The poem, or lay, is descriptive, less of the forest, or its mountain fastnesses, than of the habits of the creatures that tenant the locality--the dun-deer, and the roe. So minutely enthusiastic is the hunter's treatment of his theme, that the attempt to win any favour for his performance from the Saxon reader, is attended with no small risk,--although 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 rehea.r.s.ed 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 n.o.ble Otter hill!

It is a chieftain Beinn,[109]

Ever the fairest still Of all these eyes have seen.

s.p.a.cious 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 Each a high chief's[111] proud seeming, With his hind, and her gala Of younglings, that follow O'er mountain and beala,[112]