"Now, lady, give attention due, The story claims thy full belief; Even in the worst events of life, Suspense removed, is some relief. "Though worn by care, see Madoc here, Great Glyndur's friend, thy kindred's foe; Ah! let his name no anger raise, For now that mighty chief lies low. "E'en from the day when chained by fate, "E'en from that day misfortune still, Pursued him with unwearied step, Vindictive still for Hotspur's death. "Vanquished at length, the Glyndur fled Where winds the Wye her devious flood, To find a casual shelter there, 66 In some lone cot, or desart wood. 'Clothed in a shepherd's humble guise, He gained by toil his scanty bread; He who had Cambria's sceptre borne, And her brave sons to glory led. "To penury extreme, and grief, The chieftain fell a lingering prey; "To Sele's sad widow bear the tale, "Dim waxed the eye that fiercely shone, And faint the tongue that proudly spoke And weak that arm still raised to me, Which oft had dealt the mortal stroke. "How could I then his mandate bear, "Proscribed by Henry's hostile rage, And fought on Syria's distant strand. "O had thy long-lamented lord The Holy Cross and banner viewed,— "Led by the ardour of the chase From where Garthmaelan spreads her shade, The Glyndur sought the opening plain. "With head aloft, and antlers wide, A red-buck roused then crossed in view; Stung with the sight, and wild with rage, Swift from the wood fierce Howel flew. "With bitter taunt, and keen reproach, He, all impetuous, poured his rage, Reviled the chief as weak in arms, And bade him loud the battle wage. Glyndur for once restrained his sword, And, still averse, the fight delays; But softened words, like oil to fire, Made anger more intensely blaze. 66 'They fought, and doubtful long the fray; "How could we hope for wish'd retreat, “I marked a broad and blasted oak, Scorched by the lightning's livid glare; "Be this, (I cried) his proper grave! And dropped his bleeding corpse within." A shriek from all the damsels burst, With stupid stare, and vacant gaze, Full on his face her eyes were cast; Absorbed she lost her present grief, And faintly thought of things long past. Like wildfire o'er a mossy heath, The rumour through the hamlet ran; The peasants crowd at morning dawn, To hear the tale,- behold the man, He led them near the Blasted Oak, Then, conscious, from the scene withdrew; The peasants work with trembling haste, And lay the whitened bones to view. Back they recoiled! the right-hand still Which erst in many a battle gleamed, And proudly decked their slaughtered lord. They bore the corse to Vener's shrine, LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER. BY THOMAS CAMPBELL. A CHIEFTAIN, to the Highlands bound, Cries, " Boatman, do not tarry! And I'll give thee a silver pound To row us o'er the ferry." "Now, who be ye would cross Lochgyle, This dark and stormy water?" "O, I'm the chief of Ulva's Isle, And this Lord Ullin's daughter. The ruins of Kemmer Abbey are about a mile distant from Nannau House, the church of which is probably the one here meant. "And fast before her father's men, Three days we've fled together; For should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. "His horsemen hard behind us ride; Should they our steps discover, Then who will cheer my bonny bride, When they have slain her lover?" Out-spoke the hardy Highland wight, "I'll go, my chief — I'm ready : It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome lady. : 'And, by my word! the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry; So, though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferry." By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But still as wilder blew the wind, "O, haste thee, haste! (the lady cries), Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father." * Spirit. |