I knew her, O brother, I knew her full well!
Of that once fair name such a tale I could tell

As would thrill thy bold heart;-but how long she remained,
So racked was my spirit, my bosom so pained,

I knew not, but ages seem short to the while.
Though, proffer the Highlands, nay, all the green isle,
With length of existence no man can enjoy,
The same to endure, the dread proffer I'd fly!
The thrice threatened pangs of last night to forego,
Macgregor would dive to the mansions below.
Despairing and mad, to futurity blind,

The present to shun and some respite to find,
I swore, ere the shadow fell east from the pile,
To meet her alone by the brook of Glen-Gyle.

"She told me, and turned my chilled heart to a stone,
The glory and name of Macgregor were 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.

66

A parting embrace in one moment she gave,Her breath was a furnace, her bosom the grave; Then flitting illusive, she said, with a frown,

66

The mighty Macgregor shall yet be my own!'"
Macgregor, thy fancies are wild as the wind
The dreams of the night have disordered thy mind;
Come, buckle thy panoply-march to the field,
See, brother, how hacked are thy helmet and shield.
Ay, that was M‘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:
Rise, brother, these chinks in his heart-blood will glue :
Thy fantasies frightful shall flit on the wing,

When loud with thy bugle Glen-Lyon shall ring."

Like glimpse of the moon through the storm of the night, Macgregor's red eye shed one sparkle of light:

It faded-it darkened-he shuddered-he sighed,— "No! not for the universe!" low he replied.

Away went Macgregor, but went not alone:
To watch the dread rendezvous Malcolm has gone.
They oared the broad Lomond so still and serene!
And deep in her bosom how awful the scene!
O'er mountains inverted the blue waters curled,
And rocked them on skies of a far nether world.

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, crouched trembling the while; Macgregor stood lone by the brook of Glen-Gyle.

Few minutes had passed ere they spied on the stream
A skiff sailing light, where a lady did seem;
Her sail was the web of the gossamer's loom,
The glow-worm her wakelight, the rainbow her boom;
A dim rayless beam was her prow and her mast,
Like wold-fire at midnight that glares on the waste.
Though rough was the river with rock and cascade,
No torrent, no rock, her velocity stayed:
She whimpled the water to weather and lee,
And heaved as if borne on the waves of the sea.
Mute nature was roused in the bounds of the glen:
The wild deer of Gairtney abandoned his den,
Fled panting away over river and isle,

Nor once turned his eye to the brook of Glen-Gyle:
The fox fled in terror, the eagle awoke,

As slumbering he dozed on the shelf of the rock;
Astonished, to hide in the moonbeam he flew,
And screwed the night-heaven till lost in the blue.

Young Malcolm beheld the pale lady approach,
The chieftain salute her, and shrink from her touch.
He saw the Macgregor kneel down on the plain,
As begging for something he could not obtain;
She raised him indignant, derided his stay,
Then bore him on board, set her sail, and away.
Though fast the red bark down the river did glide,

Yet faster ran Malcolm adown by its side.
"Macgregor! Macgregor!" he bitterly cried;

"Macgregor! Macgregor!" the echoes replied.

He struck at the lady, but, strange though it seem,
His sword only fell on the rocks and the stream;
But the groans from the boat that ascended the main,
Were groans from a bosom in horror and pain.
They reached the dark lake, and bore lightly away,—
Macgregor is vanished for ever and aye!

XXII. THE BATTLE OF NASEBY.

BY OBADIAH BIND-THEIR-KINGS-IN-CHAINS-AND-THEIR-NOBLESWITH-LINKS-OF-IRON, SERJEANT IN IRETON'S REGIMENT. (LORD MACAULAY.)

The battle of Naseby, in Northamptonshire, which decided the fate of Charles I., was fought on the 14th June 1645. The King's army was commanded by Lord Astley, Prince Rupert (of Bavaria, son of Frederick, King of Bohemia, and Elizabeth, daughter of James I. of England), and Sir Marmaduke Langdale, the King himself being in charge of the reserve forces. Thomas Fairfax (afterwards Lord Fairfax), Oliver Cromwell, and Henry Ireton (Cromwell's son-in-law), led the Parliamentary troops.

OH! wherefore come ye forth in triumph from the North, With your hands and your feet and your raiment all red? And wherefore doth your rout send forth a joyous shout? And whence be the grapes of the wine-press which ye tread?

Oh, evil was the root, and bitter was the fruit,

And crimson was the juice of the vintage that we trod ; For we trampled on the throng of the haughty and the strong,

Who sate in the high places and slew the saints of God.

It was about the noon of a glorious day of June,

That we saw their banners dance and their cuirasses shine; And the Man of Blood was there, with his long essenced hair,

And Astley and Sir Marmaduke and Rupert of the Rhine!

Like a servant of the Lord, with his Bible and his sword, The General rode along us to form us for the fight,

When a murmuring sound broke out, and swelled into a

shout,

Among the godless horsemen upon the tyrant's right.

And hark! like the roar of the billows on the shore,

The cry of battle rises along their charging line !For God! for the Cause! for the Church! for the Laws! For Charles King of England, and Rupert of the Rhine! The furious German comes, with his clarions and his drums, His bravoes of Alsatia and pages of Whitehall;

They are bursting on our flanks:-grasp your pikes ;-close your ranks ;

For Rupert never comes but to conquer or to fall.

They are here; they rush on! We are broken-we are ·

gone;

Our left is borne before them like stubble on the blast. O Lord, put forth thy might! O Lord, defend the right! Stand back to back, in God's name, and fight it to the last.

Stout Skippon hath a wound;-the centre hath given. ground;

Hark! hark! What means the trampling of horsemen on

our rear

Whose banner do I see, boys?-'Tis he, thank God, 'tis he,

boys!

Bear up another minute. Brave Oliver is here!

Their heads all stooping low, their points all in a row,
Like a whirlwind on the trees, like a deluge on the dykes,
Our cuirassiers have burst on the ranks of the Accurst,
And at a shock have scattered the forest of his pikes.

Fast, fast, the gallants ride, in some safe nook to hide
Their coward heads, predestined to rot on Temple-Bar.
And he he turns, he flies!-shame to those cruel eyes
That bore to look on torture, and dare not look on war.

Ho! comrades, scour the plain; and ere ye strip the slain,
First give another stab to make your guest secure ;

Then shake from sleeves and pockets their broad-pieces and

lockets,

The tokens of the wanton, the plunder of the poor.

Fools! your doublets shone with gold, and your hearts were gay and bold,

When ye kissed your lily hands to your lemans1 to-day; And to-morrow shall the fox, from her chambers in the rocks,

Lead forth her tawny cubs to howl above the prey.

Where be your tongues that late mocked at heaven and hell and fate,

And the fingers that once were so busy with your

blades;

Your perfumed satin clothes, your catches and your oaths, Your stage plays and your sonnets, your diamonds and

your spades?

Down, down, for ever down, with the mitre and the crown,

With the Belial of the Court, and the Mammon of the

Pope:

There is woe in Oxford Halls; there is wail in Durham's

Stalls;

The Jesuit smites his bosom; the Bishop rends his

cope.

And She of the seven hills shall mourn her children's ills, And tremble when she thinks on the edge of England's

sword;

And the kings of earth in fear, shall shudder when they

hear

What the hand of God hath wrought for the Houses and

the word.

1 Lovers.

2 Houses of Parliament.