In vain the bright course of thy talents to wrong
Fate deaden’d thine ear and imprison’d thy tongue,
For brighter o’er all her obstructions arose
The glow of the genius they could not oppose;
And who, in the land of the Saxon, or Gael,
Might match with Mackenzie, High Chief of Kintail?
Thy sons rose around thee in light and in love,
All a father could hope, all a friend could approve;
What ’vails it the tale of thy sorrows to tell?
In the spring time of youth and of promise they fell!