The heart-struck minstrel heard the word; and though his flame, uncured,
Still fired his soul, in haste the shores 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 noble bride.
But I, alas! no language find, of Sassenach 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 shell
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Even that has withdrawn from the scene;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