When she searches for her offspring

Round the relics of her nest.

For in many a spot the tartan
Peered above the wintry heap,
Marking where a dead Macdonald
Lay within his frozen sleep.
Tremblingly we scooped the covering
From each kindred victim's head,
And the living lips were burning

On the cold ones of the dead.
And I left them with their dearest-
Dearest charge had every one-
Left the maiden with her lover,
Left the mother with her son.
I alone of all was mateless-

Far more wretched I than they,
For the snow would not discover
Where my lord and husband lay.
But I wandered up the valley,
Till I found him lying low,
With the gash upon his bosom
And the frown upon his brow-
Till I found him lying murdered,
Where he wooed me long ago!

III

Woman's weakness shall not shame meWhy should I have tears to shed? Could I rain them down like water,

O my hero! on thy headCould the cry of lamentation

Wake thee from thy silent sleep,
Could it set thy heart a-throbbing,

It were mine to wail and weep!
But I will not waste my sorrow,
Lest the Campbell women say
That the daughters of Clanranald
Are as weak and frail as they.
I had wept thee hadst thou fallen,
Like our fathers, on thy shield,
When a host of English foemen
Camped upon a Scottish field-

I had mourned thee, hadst thou perished With the foremost of thy name,

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With my unavailing cries, Whilst thy cold and mangled body Stricken by the traitor lies; Whilst he counts the gold and glory That this hideous night has won, And his heart is big with triumph At the murder he has done. Other eyes than mine shall glisten, Other hearts be rent in twain, Ere the heathbells on thy hillock

Wither in the autumn rain.

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Black amidst the common whiteness Rose the spectral ruins there:

And I'll give thee tears, my husband!

But the sight of these was nothing

More than wrings the wild dove's breast,

Cry the coronach for thee!

O'er the gorges of the glen Broken only by the Cona

Plunging through its naked den. Slowly from the mountain summit Was the drifting veil withdrawn, And the ghastly valley glimmered In the grey December dawn. Better had the morning never

Dawned upon our dark despair!

As far as eye could see.

5

CLEAR AND COOL

(Song from The Water Babies, 1863) Clear and cool, clear and cool, By laughing shallow, and dreaming pool; Cool and clear, cool and clear, By shining shingle, and foaming wear; Under the crag where the ouzel sings,

"Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair

A tress of golder han,

Above the nets at sea?

A drowned maider's hair

Was never salmon yet that shone so fair Among the stakes on Dee."

They rowed her in across the rolling foam,

The cruel crawling foam,

The cruel hungry foam,

To her grave beside the sea:

But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle

home

Across the sands of Dee.

THE THREE FISHERS
1851)

Three fishers went sailing away to the West,
Away to the West as the sun went down;
Each thought on the woman who loved him
the best.

So to live is heaven: 10
To make undying music in the world,
Breathing as beauteous order that controls
With growing sway the growing life of man.
So we inherit that sweet purity

For which we struggl'd, fail'd, and agoniz'd 15
With widening retrospect that bred despair.
Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued,
A vicious parent shaming still its child,
Poor anxious penitence, is quick dissolv'd;
Its discords, quench'd by meeting harmonies, 20
Die in the large and charitable air.
And all our rarer, better, truer self,
That sobb'd religiously in yearning song,
That watch'd to ease the burthen of the
world,

Laboriously tracing what must be;
And what may yet be better,-saw within
A worthier image for the sanctuary,
And shap'd it forth before the multitude,
Divinely human, raising worship so

25

To higher reverence more mix'd with love,- 30 That better self shall live till human Time Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb, Unread forever.

15

20

At dead of night their sails were filled,
And onward each rejoicing steered-
Ah, neither blame, for neither willed,
Ór wist, what first with dawn appeared!
To veer, how vain! On, onward strain,
Brave barks! In light, in darkness too,
Through winds and tides one compass guides—
To that, and your own selves, be true.
But O blithe breeze! and O great seas,
Though ne'er, that earliest parting past,
On your wide plain they join again,
Together lead them home at last.
One port, methought, alike they sought,
One purpose hold where'er they fare,-
O bounding breeze, O rushing seas!
At last, at last, unite them there.

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