The Modern Scottish Minstrel Volume Iii Part 35

The heart-struck minstrel heard the word; and though his flame, uncured, Still fired his soul, in haste the sh.o.r.es of danger he abjured: But aye he rung his harp, though now it knew another strain, And loud arose its warblings as the sounding of the main.

Yes! 'twas an organ peal that soar'd the vocal lift along, As chorus'd to the high-strung harp his words of mightier song, Lest, hapless chance! should rise, above the swelling of the tide, A remnant of the ambitious love that sought a n.o.ble bride.

But I, alas! no language find, of Sa.s.senach or Gael, Nor note of music in the land, my cureless woe to quail.

And art thou gone, without a word, without a kindly look Of smiling comfort, on the bard whose life thy beauty shook?

Not so it fared with Cormac; for thus the tale is told, That never, to the last, he brook'd desertion's bitter cold.

His comrades sorrow'd round him; his dear vouchsafed a kiss-- He almost thought he heard her sigh, "_Come back again to bliss!_"

THE LAST LAY OF LOVE.

This was composed when Ross was dying, and probably when he was aware of his approaching end. He died of consumption, precipitated by the espousals of his mistress to another lover.

Reft the charm of the social sh.e.l.l By the touch of the sorrowful mood; And already the worm, in her cell, Is preparing the birth of her brood.

She blanches the hue of my cheek, And exposes my desperate love; Nor needs it that death should bespeak The hurt no remeid can remove.

The step, 'twas a pleasure to trace, Even that has withdrawn from the scene; And, now, not a breeze can displace A leaf from its summit of green

So prostrate and fallen to lie, So far from the branch where it hung, As, in dust and in helplessness, I, From the hope to which pa.s.sion had clung.

Yet, benison bide! where thy choice Deems its bliss and its treasure secure, May the months in thy blessings rejoice, While their rise and their wane shall endure!

For me, a poor warrior, in blood By thy arrow-shot steep'd, I am p.r.o.ne, The glow of ambition subdued, The weapons of rivalry gone.

Yet, cruel to mock me, the base Who scoff at the name of the bard, To scorn the degree of my race, Their toil and their travail, is hard.

Since one, a bold yeoman ne'er drew A furrow unstraight or unpaid; And the other, to righteousness true, Hung even the scales of his trade.

And I--ah! they should not compel To waken the theme of my praise; I can boast over hundreds, to tell Of a chief in the conflict of lays.

And now it is over--the heart That bounded, the hearing that thrill'd, In the song-fight shall never take part, And weakness gives warning to yield.

As the discord that raves 'neath the cloud That is raised by the dash of the spray When waters are battling aloud, Bewilderment bears me away.

And to measure the song in its charm, Or to handle the viol with skill, Or beauty with carols to warm, Gone for ever, the power and the will.

No never, no never, ascend To the mountain-pa.s.s glories, shall I, In the cheer of the chase to unbend; Enough, it is left but to die.

And yet, shall I go to my rest, Where the dead of my brothers repair-- To the hall of the bards, not unblest, That their worthies before me are there?

LACHLAN MACVURICH.

This bard, known by his territorial designation of "Strathma.s.sie," lived during nearly eighty years of the last century, and died towards its close. His proper patronymic was Macpherson. He was a favourite tenant of the chief of Cluny, and continued to enjoy the benefit of his lease of a large farm in Badenoch, after the misfortunes of the family, and forfeiture of their estate. He was very intimate with his clansman, James Macpherson, who has identified his own fame so immortally with that of Ossian. Lachlan had the reputation of being his Gaelic tutor, and was certainly his fellow-traveller during the preparation of his work. In the specimens of his poetical talents which are preserved, "Strathma.s.sie" evinces the command of good Gaelic, though there is nothing to indicate his power of being at all serviceable to his namesake in that fabrication of imagery, legends, and sentiments, which, in the opinion of many, const.i.tutes all that we have in the name of Ossian.

THE EXILE OF CLUNY.

The brave chief of Cluny, after lingering long on the heights of Benalder, where he entertained his unfortunate prince during some of the last days of the adventurer's wandering, at length took shipping for France, amidst the tears and regrets of a clan that loved him with the fondest devotion. "Strathma.s.sie"

seems to have caught, in the following verses, some characteristic traits of his chief, in whom peaceful dispositions were remarkably blended with the highest courage in warfare.

Oh, many a true Highlander, many a liegeman, Is blank on the roll of the brave in our land; And bare as its heath is the dark mountain region, Of its own and its prince's defenders unmann'd.

The hound's death abhorr'd, some have died by the cord, And the axe with the best of our blood is defiled, And e'en to the visions of hope unrestored, Some have gone from among us, for ever exiled.

He is gone from among us, our chieftain of Cluny; At the back of the steel, a more valiant ne'er stood; Our father, our champion, bemoan we, bemoan we!

In battle, the brilliant; in friendship, the good.

When the sea shut him from us, then the cross of our trial Was hung on the mast and was swung in the wind: "Woe the worth we have sepulchred!" now is the cry all; "Save the shade of a memory, is nothing behind."

What symbols may match our brave chief's animation?

When his wrath was awake, 'twas a furnace in glow; As a surge on the rock struck his bold indignation, As the breach to the wall was his arm to the foe.

So the tempest comes down, when it lends in its fury To the frown of its darkness the rattling of hail; So rushes the land-flood in turmoil and hurry, So bickers the hill-flame when fed by the gale.

Yet gentle as Peace was the flower of his race, Rare was shade on his face, as dismay in his heart; The brawl and the scuffle he deem'd a disgrace, But the hand to the brand was as ready to start.

Who could grapple with him in firmness of limb And sureness of sinew? and--for the stout blow-- 'Twas the scythe to the swathe in the meadows of death, Where numbers were levell'd as fast and as low.

Ever loyal to reason, we 've seen him appeasing With a wave of one hand the confusion of strife; With the other unsheathing his sword, and, unbreathing, Following on for the right in the havoc of life.

To the wants of the helpless, the wail of the weak, His hand aye was open, his arm was aye strong; And under yon sun, not a tongue can bespeak His word or his deed that was blemish'd with wrong.

JAMES M'LAGGAN.

James M'Laggan was the son of a small farmer at Ballechin, in the parish of Logierait, Perthshire, where he was born in 1728. Educated at the University of St Andrews, he received license as a probationer of the Established Church. Through the influence of the Duke of Atholl, he was appointed to the Chapel of Ease, at Amulree, in Perthshire, and subsequently to the chaplainship of the 42d Regiment, his commission to the latter office bearing date the 15th of June 1764. His predecessor in the chaplainship was Dr Adam Ferguson, author of the "History of the Roman Republic," who was also a native of the parish of Logierait.

Than Mr M'Laggan, few could have been better qualified for the duties of chaplain to a Highland regiment. He was intimately conversant with the language, character, and partialities of the Gael, and was possessed of much military ardour, as well as Christian devotedness. He accompanied the regiment to America, and was present in several skirmishes during the War of Independence. Anecdotes are still recounted of the humour and spirit with which he maintained an influence over the minds of his flock; and Stewart, in his "History of the Highlands," has described him as having essentially contributed to form the character of the Highland soldier, then in the novitiate of his loyalty and efficiency in the national service. In 1776, while stationed with his regiment in Glasgow, he had the freedom of the city conferred on him by the corporation.

After discharging the duties of military chaplain during a period of twenty-four years, he was in 1788 presented by the Duke of Atholl to the parish of Blair-Athole, Perthshire. He died in 1805, in the seventy-seventh year of his age.

A pious and exemplary clergyman, Mr M'Laggan is still kindly remembered in the scene of his parochial ministrations. An accomplished Gaelic scholar, and with a strong admiration of the poetry of the Gael, he recovered, from the recitation of many aged persons, large portions of the poetry of Ossian, prior to the publication of the collections of Macpherson.[51] He composed some spirited Gaelic lyrics during the period of his connexion with the army, but the greater portion of his poetry still remains in MS. A collection of Gaelic songs under his editorial superintendence was published anonymously.

Mr M'Laggan was of fair and ruddy complexion, and was under the middle stature. He was fond of humour, and his dispositions were singularly benevolent. In youth, he was remarkable for his skill in athletic exercises. He married a daughter of the Rev. James Stewart, minister of Killin, the originator of the translation of the Scriptures into the Gaelic language. Of a family of four sons and three daughters, one son and two daughters still survive; his eldest son, the Rev. James M'Laggan, D.D., was successively minister of the parishes of Auchtergaven and Kinfauns, in Perthshire, and ultimately Free Church Professor of Divinity in Aberdeen.

[51] Macpherson afterwards consulted Mr M'Laggan's "Collection of Ossianic Remains" (see report on Ossian, App. 153).