THE SCOTTISH GAEL, OR CELTIC MANNERS AS PRESERVED AMONG THE HIGHLANDERS. By the Late James Logan, F.S.A.S. Edited with Memoir and Notes by the Rev. Alex. Stewart, "Nether Lochaber." Issued in 12 Parts at 2s each. Inverness: Hugh Mackenzie, Bank Lane. Edinburgh: Maclachlan & Stewart. Glasgow: John Tweed.
We have before us the first and second parts of this valuable work. The Frontispiece is a coloured plate of two Highland Chiefs dressed in the Stewart and Gordon tartans; and the other engravings, which are well got up, are in every case fac-similes of those in the original Edition, which had become so scarce that it was difficult to procure it even at a very high price. Logan's Scottish Gael has long been held as the best authority on the antiquities and national peculiarities of Scotland, especially on those of the Northern or Gaelic parts of the country where some of the peculiar habits of the aboriginal race have been most tenaciously retained.
The valuable superintendence and learned notes of "Nether-Lochaber," one of our best Celtic scholars and antiquarians, will very materially enhance the value of the work, which is well printed in clear bold type, altogether creditable to the printer and to the editor, but, particularly so, to the public-spirited publisher. We have no hesitation in recommending the work to all who take an interest in the Literature of the Gael.
SONG OF THE SUMMER BREEZE.
Dedicated by permission to the Rev. George Gilfillan.
When balmy spring
Has ceased to wring
The youthful bud from the old oak tree,
And the sweet primrose
No longer glows
On the glad hill-side by the sunfilled sea;
When the Cuckoo's wail
Has ceased to go
O'er hill and dale
In a pensive flow,
And the deepest shade
In the woods is made,
And the brightest bloom on the fields is laid;
When the lord of light
With a lover's pride
Pours a beauty bright
O'er his blushing bride,
That lies below
His glowing gaze,
In a woodland glow, and a flowery blaze;
When winter's gloom
Of wind and rain
Is lost in the bloom
Of the flower-lit plain,
And his ruins grey
Have died away
In the love-sent breath of the smiling day;
When the beauteous hours
Of the twilight still
With dewy tears in their joy-swelled eyes
See the peaceful flowers
On the cloudless hill
Send scented gifts to the grateful skies;
And the wave-like grain
O'er the sea-like plain
In peaceful splendour essays to rise;—
From my silent birth in the flowery land
Of the sunny south
At time's command.
As still as the breath of a rosy mouth,
Or rippling wave on the sighing sand,
Or surging grass by the stony strand,
I come with odour of shrub and flower
Stolen from field and sunny bower
From lowly cot and lordly tower.
Borne on my wings the soul-like cloud—
That snowy, mountain-shading shroud
That loves to sleep
On the sweet hill's crest,
As still as the deep
With its voice at rest,—
Is wafted in dreams to its peaceful nest;
At my command
The glowing land
Scorched by the beams of the burning sun,
Listing the sounds of the drowsy bees,
Thirsting for rain, and the dews that come
When light has died on the surging seas,
Awakes to life, and health, and joy;
I pour a life on the sickening trees,
And wake the birds to their sweet employ,
Amidst the flowers of the lowly leas;
From the sweet woodbine
That loves to twine
Its arms of love round the homes of men,
Or laugh in the sight
Of the sun's sweet light
'Midst the flower gemmed scenes of the song-filled glen,
And the full-blown rose that loves to blush
'Midst the garden bowers
Where the pensive hours
Awaiting the bliss of the summer showers
List to the songs of the warbling thrush,—
I steal the sweets of their fragrant breath;
From the lily pale
That seems to wail
With snow-like face
And pensive grace
O'er the bed that bends o'er the deeds of death,
I brush the tears
That she loves to shed
For the early biers
Of the lovely dead.
When still twilight with dew-dimmed eye
Sees the lord of light from the snow-white sky,
Descend at the sight
Of the coming night,
'Midst the waves of the deathful sea to die!
When glowing day
Has passed away
In peace on the tops of the dim-seen hills,
That pour from their hearts the tinkling rills
That dance and leap
In youthful pride,
To the brimming river, deep and wide,
That bears them in rest to their distant sleep;
And the gladsome ocean
That ever presses
The bridal earth in fond caresses,
Rages no more in a wild commotion;
When the distant hills appear to grow
At the touch of evening bright,
And the sunless rivers seem to go
With a deeper music in their flow,
Like dreams thro' the peaceful night,
I fade away
With the dying day,
Like the lingering gleam of the sun's sweet ray!