The wind is hush'd, and still the lake Strange murmurs fill my tingling ears, Bristles my hair, my sinews quake, At the dread voice of other years "When targets clash'd, and bugles rung, And blades round warriors' heads were flung, The foremost of the band were we, And hymn'd the joys of Liberty!" [65] ON THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE. “O TELL me, Harper, wherefore flow Thy wayward notes of wail and woe Far down the desert of Glencoe, Where none may list their melody? Say, harp'st thou to the mists that fly, Or to the eagle that from high Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy?". "No, not to these, for they have rest,The mist-wreath has the mountain-crest, The stag his lair, the erne her nest, Abode of lone security. But those for whom I pour the lay, "Their flag was furl'd, and mute their drum, The very household dogs were dumb, Unwont to bay at guests that come In guise of hospitality. His blithest notes the piper plied, The dame her distaff flung aside, To tend her kindly housewifery. "The hand that mingled in the meal, At midnight drew the felon steel, And gave the host's kind breast to feel Meed for his hospitality! The friendly hearth which warm'd that hand, That bade destruction's flames expand "Then woman's shriek was heard in vain, Nor infancy's unpitied plain, More than the warrior's groan, could gain Respite from ruthless butchery! The winter wind that whistled shrill, The snows that night that cloked the hill, Though wild and pitiless, had still Far more than southron clemency. "Long have my harp's best notes been gone, Few are its strings, and faint their tone, They can but sound in desert lone Their grey-hair'd master's misery. |