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 "Strathmassie," 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, "Strathmassie" 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, constitutes 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. "Strathmassie" 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.