The house of prayer in embers lay,
The crowded meeting wore away;
The quieted herdboy saw them go
With downcast look, serene and slow;
But never by the wonted path
That wound so smoothly through the heath
And led to many a cottage door
By meadow-stream, and flow'ry moor,
Came back a human voice to say
How that meeting sped away.
The Conon lends the ready ford,
The Conon glitters back the sword,
The Conon casts the echo wide,
"Arise Clanchonich! to the raid;
Pursue the monsters to their lair,
Pursue them hell, and earth, and air;
Pursue them till the page of time
Forgets their name, forgets their crime."
The sun had sunk in the far sea,
But the moon rose bright and merrily,
And by the sparkling midnight beam
That fell upon the gladdened stream;
The wild deer might be seen to look
On his dark shadow in the brook,
Whilst the more timorous hind lay by
Enamoured of the lovely sky.
Bright heaven! 'twas a glorious scene,
The sparry rock, the vale between,
The light arch'd cataract afar
Swift springing like a falling star
From point to point till lost to view,
It fades in deep ethereal blue.
So lone the hour, so fair the night,
The scene, the green and woody height,
Which rises o'er Glenconvent's vale
Like beauty in a fairy tale.
Here where the heavenward soul might stray,
The red remorseless spoiler lay,
Where holy praise was wont to rise
Like incense to the opening skies:
In broken and unhallowed dreams
He laughs amid the roar of flames.
Ha! see he starts, afar is heard
The war-cry wild of "Tullach Ard."
Away Mhicranuil! with thy band,
Away, Clanchonich is at hand,
Scale rock and ravine, hill, and dale,
Plunge through the depths of Urquhart's vale,
And spread thy followers one by one,
'Tis meet that thou should'st be alone.
It boots not for the jerkin red,
Fit emblem of the man of blood,
Is singled still, and still pursued
Through open moor and tangled wood.
High bounding as the hunted stag
He scales the wild and broken crag,
And with one desperate look behind
Again his steps are on the wind.
Why does he pause? means he to yield?
He casts aside his ponderous shield,
His plaid is flung upon the heath,
More firm he grasps the blade of death,
And springing wildly through the air
The dark gulf of Altsigh is clear!
Unhesitating, bold, and young,
Across the gulf Mackenzie sprung;
But ah! too short one fatal step,
He clears, but barely clears the leap,
When slipping on the further side
He hung suspended o'er the tide;
A tender twig sustained his weight,
Above the wild and horrid height.
One fearful moment whilst he strove
To grasp the stronger boughs above.
But all too late, Macranuil turns
With fiendish joy his bosom burns,
"Go, I have given you much," he said,
"The twig is cut—the debt is paid."
F.
"Notwithstanding the hideousness of this double crime of sacrilege and murder, which certainly in magnitude of atrocity was rarely, if ever, equalled in this quarter; it is strange that many will be found at no great distance from the scene of horror referred to in the poem who are not only ignorant of the cause of the fearful catastrophe, but even of the perpetrators of it. It is, therefore, the intention of the author to accompany the printed copy[B] with a copious note.
"Inverness, 4th Dec. 1839."
"Ah," says Domhnull a Bhuidhe, another of the bard's sons, "these men of Glengarry were a fine race. For real courage and bravery few in the Highlands could excel them. I remember once hearing a story of young 'Glen,' in which, perhaps, is exhibited the finest example of daring ever recorded in the annals of our country. Once upon a time Old Glengarry was very unpopular with all the northern chiefs in consequence of his many raids and spoliations among the surrounding tribes; but although he was now advanced in years and unable to lead his clan in person none of the neighbouring chiefs could muster courage to beard him in his den single-handed. There was never much love lost between him and the chief of the Mackenzies, and about this time some special offence was given to the latter by the Macdonnels, which the chief of Eilean-donnan swore would have to be revenged; and the insult must be wiped out at whatever cost. His clan was at the time very much subdivided, and he felt himself quite unable to cope with Glengarry in arms. Mackenzie, however, far excelled his enemy in ready invention, and possessed a degree of subtlety which usually more than made up for his enemy's superior physical power.
"'Kintail' managed to impress his neighbouring chiefs with the belief that Glengarry purposed, and was making arrangements to take them all by surprise and annihilate them by one fell swoop, and that in these circumstances it was imperative for their mutual safety to make arrangements forthwith by which the danger would be obviated and the hateful author of such a diabolical scheme extinguished root and branch. By this means he managed to produce the most bitter prejudice against Glengarry and his clan; but all of them being convinced of the folly and futility of meeting the 'Black Raven,' as he was called, man to man and clan to clan, Mackenzie invited them to meet him at a great council in Eilean-donnan Castle the following week to discuss the best means of protecting their mutual interests, and to enter into a solemn league, and swear on the 'raven's cross' to exterminate the hated Glengarry and his race, and to raze, burn, and plunder everything belonging to them.
"Old Glengarry, whom the ravages of war had already reduced to one son out of several, and he, only a youth of immature years, heard of the confederacy formed against him with great and serious concern. He well knew the impossibility of holding out against the combined influence and power of the Western Chiefs. His whole affections were concentrated on his only surviving son, and, on realizing the common danger, he bedewed him with tears, and strongly urged upon him the dire necessity of fleeing from the land of his fathers to some foreign land until the danger had passed away. He, at the same time, called his clan together, absolved them from their allegiance, and implored them also to save themselves by flight; and to their honour be it said, one and all spurned the idea of leaving their chief, in his old age, alone to his fate, exclaiming—'that death itself was preferable to shame and dishonour.' To the surprise of all, however, the son, dressed in his best garb, and armed to the teeth, after taking a formal and affectionate farewell of his father, took to the hills amidst the contemptuous sneers of his brave retainers. But he was no sooner out of sight than he directed his course to Lochduich, determined to attend the great council at Eilean-donnan Castle, at which his father's fate was to be sealed. He arrived in the district on the appointed day and carefully habilitating himself in a fine Mackenzie tartan plaid with which he had provided himself, he made for the stronghold and passed the outer gate with the usual salutation—'Who is welcome here?' and passed by unheeded, the guard replying in the most unsuspicious manner—'Any, any but a Macdonnell.' On being admitted to the great hall he carefully scanned the brilliant assembly. The Mackenzie plaid put the company completely off their guard; for in those days no one would ever dream of wearing the tartan of any but that of his own leader. The chiefs had already, as they entered the great hall, drawn their dirks and stuck them in the tables before them as an earnest of their unswerving resolution to rid the world of their hated enemy. The brave and intrepid stranger coolly walked up to the head of the table where the Chief of Kintail presided over the great council, threw off his disguise, seized Mackenzie by the throat, drew out his glittering dagger, held it against his enemy's heart, and exclaimed with a voice and a determination which struck terror into every breast—'Mackenzie, if you or any of your assembled guests make the slightest movement, as I live, by the great Creator of the universe I will instantly pierce you to the heart.' Mackenzie well knew by the appearance of the youth, and the commanding tone of his voice, that the threat would be instantly executed if any movement was made, and tremulously exclaimed—'My friends, for the love of God stir not lest I perish at the hands of my inveterate foe at my own table.' The appeal was hardly necessary, for all were terror-stricken and confused, sitting with open mouths, gazing vacantly, at each other. 'Now,' said the young hero, 'lift up your hands to heaven and swear by the Long, am Bradan, agus an Lamh Dhearg (the ship, the salmon, and the bloody hand) that you will never again molest my father or any of his clan.' 'I do now swear as you request,' answered the confused chief. 'Swear now,' continued the dauntless youth, 'you, and all ye round this table, that I will depart from here and be permitted to go home unmolested by you or any of your retainers.' All with uplifted hands repeated the oath. Young Glengarry released his hold on Mackenzie's throat, sheathed his dirk and prepared to take his departure, but was, extraordinary to relate, prevailed upon to remain at the feast and spend the night with the sworn enemies of his race and kindred, and the following morning they parted the best of friends. And thus, by the daring of a stripling, was Glengarry saved the fearful doom that awaited him. The youth ultimately became famous as one of the most courageous warriors of his race. He fought many a single combat with powerful combatants, and invariably came off victorious. He invaded and laid waste Glenmoriston, Urquhart, and Caithness. His life had been one scene of varied havoc, victory, ruin, and bloodshed. He entered into a fierce encounter with one of the Munros of Fowlis, but ultimately met the same fate at the hands of the 'grim tyrant' as the greatest coward in the land, and his body lies buried in the churchyard of Tuiteam-tarbhach."
ALASTAIR OG.