"Yes, on some desert rocky shore

My Oscar's whitened bones must lie;
Then grant, thou God! I ask no more,
With him his frantic sire may die!
"Yet he may live,-away, despair!
Be calm, my soul! he yet may live;
Tarraign my fate, my voice forbear!
O God! my impious prayer forgive.
"What, if he live for me no more,
I sink forgotten in the dust,
The hope of Alva's age is o'er;

Alas! can pangs like these be just ?"
Thus did the hapless parent mourn,
Till time, which soothes severest woe,
Had bade serenity return,

And made the tear-drop cease to flow.

For still some latent hope survived

That Oscar might once more appear;
His hope now droop'd and now revived,
Till Time had told a tedious year.

Days roll'd along, the orb of light
Again had run his destined race;
No Oscar bless'd his father's sight,
And sorrow left a fainter trace.

For youthful Allan still remain'd,
And now his father's only joy:
And Mora's heart was quickly gain'd,
For beauty crown'd the fair-hair'd boy
She thought that Oscar low was laid,
And Allan's face was wondrous fair;
If Oscar lived, some other maid

Had claim'd his faithless bosom's care.

And Angus said, if one year more
In fruitless hope was pass'd away,
His fondest scruples should be o'er,
And he would name their nuptial day.
Slow roll'd the moons, but blest at last
Arrived the dearly destined morn;
The year of anxious trembling past,
What smiles the lover's cheeks adorn!
Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note!
Hark to the swelling nuptial song!
In joyous strains the voices float,
And still the choral peal prolong.

Again the clan, in festive crowd,
Throng through the gate of Alva's hall;
The sounds of mirth re-echo loud,
And all their former joy recall.

But who is he, whose darken'd brow
Glooms in the midst of general mirth?
Before his eyes far fiercer glow

The blue flames curdle o'er the hearth.
Dark is the robe which wraps his form,
And tall his plume of gory red;
His voice is like the rising storm,

But light and trackless is his tread.

"Tis noon of night, the pledge goes round,
The bridegroom's health is deeply quaff'd ;
With shouts the vaulted roofs resound,
And all combine to hail the draught.

Sudden the stranger chief arose,

And all the clamorous crowds are hush'd;
And Angus' cheek with wonder glows,
And Mora's tender bosom blush'd.

"Old man!" he cried, "this pledge is done;
Thou saw'st 'twas duly drank by me:

It hail'd the nuptials of thy son:

Now will I claim a pledge from thee.
"While all around is mirth and joy,
To bless thy Allan's happy lct,
Say, had'st thou ne'er another boy?
Say, why should Oscar be forgot?"
"Alas!" the hapless sire replied,

The big tears starting as he spoke,
"When Oscar left my hall, or died,

This aged heart was almost broke.
"Thrice has the earth revolved her course
Since Oscar's form has bless'd my sight;
And Allan is my last resource,

Since martial Oscar's death or flight."
""Tis well," replied the stranger stern,
And fiercely flash'd his rolling eye:
"Thy Oscar's fate I fain would learn ;
Perhaps the hero did not die.

"Perchance, if those whom most he loved
Would call, thy Oscar might return;
Perchance the chief has only roved,
For him thy Beltane yet may burn.*
"Fill high the bowl the table round,
We will not claim the pledge by stealth;
With wine let every cup be crown'd;
Pledge me departed Oscar's health."
"With all my soul," old Angus said,
And filled his goblet to the brim;
"Here's to my boy! alive or dead,

I ne'er shall find a son like him."

Beltane Tree, a Highland festival on the first of May, held near fires lighted for the occasion.-B.

"Bravely, old man, this health has sped;
But why does Allan trembling stand?
Come, drink remembrance of the dead,
And raise thy cup with firmer hand."

The crimson glow of Allan's face

Was turned at once to ghastly hue;
The drops of death each other chase
Adown in agonizing dew.

Thrice did he raise the goblet high,
And thrice his lips refuse to taste;
For thrice he caught the stranger's eye
On his with deadly fury placed.

"And is it thus a brother hails

A brother's fond remembrance here? If thus affection's strength prevails,

What might we not expect from fear?"

Roused by the sneer, he raised the bowl,
"Would Oscar now could share our mirth!"
Internal fear appall'd his soul;

He said, and dash'd the cup to earth.

""Tis he! I hear my murderer's voice!" Loud shrieks a darkly gleaming form, "A murderer's voice!" the roof replies, And deeply swells the bursting storm. The tapers wink, the chieftains shrink, The stranger's gone,-amidst the crew A form was seen in tartan green,

And tall the shade terrific grew

His waist was bound with a broad belt round,
His plume of sable stream'd on high;

But his breast was bare, with the red wounds there
And fix'd was the glare of his glassy eye.

And thrice he smiled, with his eye so wild,
On Angus bending low the knee ;

And thrice he frowned on a chief on the ground,
Whom shivering crowds with horror see.

The bolts loud roll, from pole to pole,

The thunders through the welkin ring,

And the gleaming form, through the mist of the storm, Was borne on high by the whirlwind's wing.

Cold was the feast, the revel ceased,

Who lies upon the stony floor!

Oblivion press'd old Angus' breast,

At length his life-pulse throbs once more.
"Away, away! let the leech essay
To pour the light on Allan's eyes:"
His sand is done,-his race is run;
Oh! never more shall Allan rise!

But Oscar's breast is cold as clay,
His locks are lifted by the gale:
And Allan's barbed arrow lay

With him in dark Glentanar's vale.
And whence the dreadful stranger came,
Or who, no mortal wight can tell;
But no one doubts the form of flame,
For Alva's sons knew Oscar well.

Ambition nerved young Allan's hand,
Exulting demons wing'd his dart;
While Envy waved her burning brand,
And pour'd her venom round his heart.
Swift is the shaft from Allan's bow;

Whose streaming life-blood stains his side?
Dark Oscar's sable crest is low,

The dart has drunk his vital tide.

And Mora's eye could Allan move,

She bade his wounded pride rebel;

Alas! that eyes which beam'd with love
Should urge the soul to deeds of hell.
Lo! seest thou not a lonely tomb

Which rises o'er a warrior dead?
It glimmers through the twilight gloom;
Oh! that is Allan's nuptial bed.

Far, distant far, the noble grave

Which held his clan's great ashes stood;
And o'er his corse no banners wave,

For they were stain'd with kindred blood.
What minstrel gray, what hoary bard,
Shall Allan's deeds on harp-strings raise?
The song is glory's chief reward,

But who can strike a murderer's praise?
Unstrung, untouch'd, the harp must stand,
No minstrel dare the theme awake;
Guilt would benumb his palsied hand,
His harp in shuddering chords would break,
No lyre of fame, no hallow'd verse,
Shall sound his glories high in air:
A dying father's bitter curse,

A brother's death-groan echoes there.

THE EPISODE OF NISUS AND EURYALUS.

A PARAPHRASE FROM THE ÆNEID, LIB. IX.

NISUS, the guardian of the portal, stood,
Eager to gild his arms with hostile blood;
Well skill'd in fight the quivering lance to wield,
Or pour his arrows through th' embattled field:

From Ida torn, he left his sylvan cave,
And sought a foreign home, a distant grave.
To watch the movements of the Daunian host,
With him Euryalus sustains the post;

No lovelier mien adorn'd the ranks of Troy,
And beardless bloom yet graced the gallant boy;
Though few the seasons of his youthful life,
As yet a novice in the martial strife,

"Twas his, with beauty, valour's gifts to share-
A soul heroic, as his form was fair:

These burn with one pure flame of generous love,
In peace, in war, united still they move;

Friendship and glory form their joint reward;
And now combined they hold their nightly guard.
instils this fire?

"What god," exclaim'd the first,
Or, in itself a god, what great desire?

My labouring soul, with anxious thought oppress'd.
Abhors this station of inglorious rest;
The love of fame with this can ill accord,

Be't mine to seek for glory with my sword.

Seest thou yon camp, with torches twinkling dim,
Where drunken slumbers wrap each lazy limb ?
Where confidence and ease the watch disdain,
And drowsy Silence holds her sable reign?
Then hear my thought:-In deep and sullen grief
Our troops and leaders mourn their absent chief:
Now could the gifts and promised prize be thine
(The deed, the danger, and the fame be mine),
Were this decreed, beneath yon rising mound,
Methinks, an easy path perchance were found;
Which past, I speed my way to Pallas' walls,
And lead Æneas from Evander's halls."

With equal ardour fired, and warlike joy,
His glowing friend address'd the Dardan boy :-
"These deeds, my Nisus, shalt thou dare alone?
Must all the fame, the peril be thine own?
Am I by thee despised, and left afar,
As one unfit to share the toils of war?
Not thus his son the great Opheltes taught;
Not thus my sire in Argive combats fought;
Not thus, when Ilion fell by heavenly hate,
I track'd Æneas through the walks of fate:
Thou know'st my deeds, my breast devoid of fear
And hostile life-drops dim my gory spear.
Here is a soul with hope immortal burns,
And life, ignoble life, for glory spurns.

Fame, fame, is cheaply earn'd by fleeting breath:
The price of honour is the sleep of death."

Then Nisus,-" Calm thy bosom's fond alarms,
Thy heart beats fiercely to the din of arms.
More dear thy worth and valour than my own,
I swear by him who fills Olympus' throne!
So may I triumph, as I speak the truth.