He played and he sang of their glory,
Their deeds which the ages admire;
Then softly, then wildly, their story
He told on the strings of his lyre.
While praise on the heroes he lavished,
And lauded their triumphs again,
A maid came a-list'ning, enravished—
Enrapt by his charming refrain.
O! bright were the beams of her smiling,
I sigh for the peace on her brow,
Not a trace on her features of guiling,
My heart singeth songs to her now.
Inspired by the rapturous measure,
This fair one skipt over the lea:
One morning I sought the young treasure,
Now dear as my soul she's to me.
DONALD MACGREGOR.
Member of the Gaelic Society of London.
THE HIGHLAND CEILIDH.
(Continued.)