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In childhood's hour I linger'd near
I sat and watch'd her many a day
'Tis past ! 'tis past ! but I gaze on it now
At midnight, in his guarded tent,
The Turk was dreaming of the hour, 'When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,
Should tremble at his power.
In dreams through camp and court he bore,
The trophies of a conqueror;
As Eden's garden bird.
An hour pass'd on — the Turk awoke;
That bright dream was his last :
“ To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek !” He woke — to die midst flame and smoke, And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke,
And death-shots falling thick and fast
Bozzaris cheer his band :-
God — and your native land ! ”
They fought — like brave men, long and well,
They piled that ground with Moslem slain ;
Bleeding at every vein.
And the red field was won;
THE FATE OF MACGREGOR.
“ MACGREGOR, Macgregor, remember our foemen,
Stern scowld the Macgregor, then silent and sullen,
“ Macgregor, Macgregor, our scouts have been flying, Three days round the hills of Mc. Nab and Glen-Lyon; Of riding and running such tidings they bear, We must meet them at home, else they'll quickly be here."
“The Campbell may come, as his promises bind him, And haughty Mc. Nab, with his giants behind him; This night I am bound to relinquish the fray, And do what it freezes my vitals to say. . Forgive me, dear brother, this horror of mind! Thou know'st in the strife I was never behind Nor ever receded a foot from the van, Or blench'd at the ire or the prowess of man; But I've sworn by the cross, by my God, and by all, An oath which I cannot, and dare not recall — Ere the shadows of midnight fall east from the pile, To meet with a spirit this night in Glen-Gyle.
“ Last night, in my chamber, all thoughtful and lone
I knew her, O brother! I knew her full well !
“She told me, and turn’d my chill'd heart to a stone, The glory and name of Macgregor was gone; That the pine which for ages had shed a bright halo, Afar on the mountains of Highland Glen-Falo, Should wither and fall ere the turn of yon moon, Smit through by the canker of hated Colquhoun : That a feast on Macgregors each day should be common, For years, to the eagles of Lennox and Lomond.
“ A parting embrace in one moment she gave, Her breath was a furnace, her bosom the grave ! Then flitting elusive, she said with a frown, • The mighty Macgregor shall my
Macgregor, thy fancies are wild as the wind; The dreams of the night have disorder'd thy mind. Come buckle thy panoply — march to the field See, brother, how hack'd are thy helmet and shield ! Ay, that was Mc. Nab, in the height of his pride, When the lions of Dochart stood firm by his side.
This night the proud chief his presumption shall rue,
Like glimpse of the moon through the storm of the night, Macgregor’s red eye shed one sparkle of light: It faded — it darken’d-he shudder'd — he sigh'd — “No! not for the universe ! ” low he replied.
Away went Macgregor, but went not alone;
All silent they went, for the time was approaching, The moon the blue zenith already was touching; No foot was abroad on the forest or hill, No sound but the lullaby sung by the rill; Young Malcolm at distance crouch'd trembling the while -Macgregor stood lone by the brook of Glen-Gyle.
Few minutes had pass’d, ere they spied on the stream,