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Cornell University Library 
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 Mairi of Callaird.A West Highland tale, 
 
 '924 013 204 890 
 
Cornell University 
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 the Cornell University Library. 
 
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MAIRI OF CALLAIRD. 
 
 A WEST HIGHLAND TALE, 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE GJELIC AS ORALLY COLLECTED. 
 
 VEESIPIED: AND DEDICATED TO 
 
 MAC CAILEIN MOR, 
 
 DUKE OF ARGYLL, 
 BY A KINSWOMAN. 
 
 K. I. a, June, 1878. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Th e following is a metrical English version of part of a. local 
 Gaelic tradition, which was orally collected in Glencoe and about 
 Lochawe. Soon after the popular tales of the "West Highlands were 
 published in 1860-62, one of the peasant collectors, a woodman at 
 Rosneath, was employed to gather traditional county history and 
 family legends for the Duke of Argyll. John Dewar collected 
 orally from people of his own class, who still remember a great abun- 
 dance of traditions of all kinds. He wrote in Gaelic. His manuscripts 
 were read, and sorted, and bound in seven large volumes, which are 
 preserved in the library at Inveraray Castle. They escaped the fire 
 in October, 1877. 
 
 In August, 1877, a volume was taken on board of a yacht, and 
 stories were translated from it during a cruise amongst the Islands. 
 Part of one of these translations has now been versified. The Gaelic prose 
 version, as orally collected and put together by the collector, begins 
 at page 200, Vol. II. of Dewar's manuscript, and is thus headed : 
 
IV Introduction 
 
 " A Tale about Mary of Callaird, or Mary Cameron, and MacDhona- 
 chaidh, of InverElth." 
 
 The original tells how Griencoe was occupied at first, and 
 giyes many legends about the lands on botti sides of Loch Leven. 
 ''Duncan's son" is the patronymic of the head of an old Campbell 
 family, whose ancestor in the main stem was Duncan, one of the 
 Black Knights of Lochawe. The present MacDhonachaidh, Campbell 
 of Inver^th, according to tradition, is the 22nd of this branch tribe 
 of Campbells. The date of the story is fixed about 1645, by mention 
 of the battle of Inverlochy, at which the hero of the tale was slain. 
 It is true that one of the family of Inyer^th married a lady of the 
 Callaird family, and one of them fell at Inverlochy. 
 
 A plague visited Glasgow in 1646. The members of the Univer- 
 sity then removed to Irvine (Sketches of Early Scotch History : Innes, 
 Edinburgh, 1S61, page 420). In 1625 a great mortality prevailed in 
 London. The Great Plague of London was in 1665. In this story 
 a plague ship is said to have come from Sweden, or, according to 
 others, from Italy, with dye stuffs and linens. In Southern Norway 
 it is said that whole districts were depopulated about this time by the 
 Plague. Plagues also raged in France, Sardinia, and Italy between 
 1632 and 1656. In the Highlands and Islands of Scotland, sites of 
 farms and villages are commonly shewn which were abandoned, 
 according to local tradition during a great sickness, which is still 
 called "the Black Death." A plague so called, raged in Italy in 
 1340, which spread through Europe and to Great Britain and Ireland. 
 The name has been remembered. The story of the plague at Callaird 
 House, shortly before the battle of Inverlochy, fought 1645, is thus 
 supported by general history. About the time the plague was rife. 
 
INTEODTJCtlOif. V 
 
 In September, 1877, a herdsman, who had come down from th« 
 Black Moimt with cattle to Baile Chaolais, there met the writer by 
 chance. He knew all the chief incidents in the story, and pointed 
 to many of the places named in it, .which are within sight of the 
 ferry. An ordnance map and memory enabled the translator and the 
 lady who composed the following metrical version of part of the 
 translation, to identify and describe the localities. 
 
 In 1876 a version of this oral popular history was printed for 
 the second time. It is called on the title page, "A Highland Story. 
 Incidents relating to the Massacre of Glencoe and the Plague at 
 Callart House : by John Cameron, Bard to the Ossianic Society. 
 Second Edition. Glasgow: William Gilchrist, Printer, 64, Howard 
 Street, 1876." Dewar's version is fuller; he consulted more peasant 
 authorities, and got more incidents. The Bard has framed his word 
 pictures. He gives his own metrical Gselic version of the tradition, 
 which was orally . collected by Dewar about 1865, and was also told 
 to the writer by a herd in September, 1877. The Gselic poet imitates 
 MacPherson's Ossian ; his "Arguments" are in English. In notes 
 at page 31, &c., he gives, in English, an outline of the adventures 
 of several generations of the Callaird family, as remembered tradition- 
 ally in the district. 
 
 Dewar carries the family history down to the tragic death of 
 Mary. She and her party were overwhelmed by the fall of a cliif, 
 under which they had taken shelter during a thunderstorm, while on 
 their way to Islay with her second husband, the Prior of Ardchattan. 
 She married him after her first husband was slain at Inverlochy. 
 Some of her Gselic songs are still remembered and much admired. 
 A story so widely known to the people of a large district, pro- 
 
VI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 bably is true in the main. The manner of telling it belongs to 
 narrators, and to Bards who turn prose into verse and adorn it. 
 The foundation is fact. 
 
 This, then, is the history of the preservation of a popular tradition 
 of the "West Highlands, of which the following is a metrical version. 
 It illustrates the growth of legends, and of compositione founded upon 
 them. 
 
 J. F. CAMPBELL, 
 
 NiDDEY Lodge, Kensington-, 
 June, 1878. London, W. 
 
MAIRI OF CALLAIRD. 
 
 :o:- 
 
 In days gone by, when ruder was the land, 
 
 And feudal chiefs their followers might command, 
 
 While, ready in the fray to win or fall. 
 
 Each faithful clansman answered to the call, 
 
 Eierce jealousies kept men apart, more wide 
 
 Than loch and hill did neighbouring glens divide. 
 
 And wrong inherited made worse that wrong 
 
 As with avenging steel it armed the strong. 
 
 Yet were those times not altogether dark, 
 
 Bright through the gloom shot forth th' electric spark 
 
 Of generous thought, that would ennoble youth, 
 
 Where in the heart breathed chivalry and truth ; 
 
 And stirred thereby, oft daring deeds were done 
 
 W^hich sweet success and long remembrance won. 
 
8 MAIEI OF CALLAIBD. 
 
 In favoured spots more peaceful than the rest, 
 With homely wealth th' inhabitants were blest ; 
 There simple worth and innocence abode, 
 And through such channels acts of kindness flowed 
 To those whom fortune with a niggard hand 
 Had passed, or gifted with a shivered wand. 
 Of these past days, relate we now a tale 
 Which sympathy to win can scarcely fail. 
 
 On Caledonia's sea-indented shore, 
 Eich in that wild traditionary lore 
 Of which each glen and inlet record bears: 
 Where Leven's water gentle aspect wears ; 
 There lived a man of Cameron race and name, 
 Which race, tho' later proudly known to fame. 
 Then long, as was the wont of freeborn Celt, 
 In turbulent obscurity had dwelt. 
 This lochlet takes its narrow eastward way 
 Erom Linnhe's tidal waves which further stray, 
 
MAIRI OP CALLAIRD. 9 
 
 And in the midst of lofty hills that rise 
 
 To mountain grandeur there embosomed lies. 
 
 Its western end by jutting point of land 
 
 Is narrowed still ; this entrance to command 
 
 Needs but slight wardenship ; the point outside, 
 
 The waters roll in lengthening fuller tide, 
 
 Till reaching far past shore and island lee, 
 
 They mingle in the depths of open sea. 
 
 On Leven's northern side, in fair array, 
 
 The house and spreading lands of Oallaird lay ; 
 
 Sheltering the turret-roof Maam-Callaird rose 
 
 In gentle slope, where still the heather grows ; 
 
 Thence o'er the surface south and eastward gaze. 
 
 And hills on hills behold, now part in haze, 
 
 Or hid by changing clouds that deeper shade 
 
 The dark rich hues by fir and heather made. 
 
 Which clolhe the sloping sides — now standing forth 
 
 In clear relief —the giants of our north ; 
 
 Their stony tops, in cold and glittering sheen 
 
 Contrasting with the glens that lie between. 
 
10 MAIRI OP OALLAIRD. 
 
 And when tlie sinking sun casts roseate tint 
 Upon the nearer peaks and distant glint, 
 When creeping shadows deep and deeper groAv, 
 As evening mists enwrap the vales below ; 
 When with departing day all Nature sinks 
 To silent rest, from which guilt only shrinks ; 
 When all is hushed in sweet refreshing sleep, 
 And few save bat and owlet vigil keep ; 
 Then upward still, the vision seeks for light 
 And finds it in the starry shimmer bright, 
 Where glitter worlds unnumbered and unknown ; 
 Their varying path by distant radiance shown. 
 What scene more glorious can the eye demand 
 From Nature, stern, cold, beautiful and grand. 
 Still Southward look, and closer survey take 
 Where opes a glen whose name will ever make 
 The mirthful shudder and the grave more grave, — 
 For it proclaims how fiend-like can behave 
 Destroying man unto his fellow-man, 
 When thirst of blood doth with such fury fan 
 
MAIRI OP CAlLAIEB. 11 
 
 His fiery wrath, that he will basely deign 
 
 His victor's shield with treachery to stain. 
 
 Who has not heard that direful tale of woe, 
 
 The deeds there done — the terrors of Grlencoe ? 
 
 And though such deeds, approved in bygone days, 
 
 Have been but rarely known as Britons' ways. 
 
 Yet cruelties and wars in every clime 
 
 Lie darkly brooding in the womb of time ; 
 
 And sad it is for those doomed spots of earth 
 
 That feel the throes, and own their murderous birth. 
 
 But with our story crime has nought to do, 
 
 And we would fain unwind its silver clue. 
 
 The laird of Callaird had a daughter fair ; 
 So fair and pure that with her might compare 
 But few of earth's more known and lovely ones 
 Born to subdue, and bless (or curse) her sons. 
 Among her kindred there the maid was seen 
 Gracious in sweet simplicity of mien. 
 
12 MAIRI OF CAliLAIRi). 
 
 Her smile was gentle as her voice was kind, 
 
 No falseness lurked her eye's calm glance behind ; 
 
 It met you with a quiet look and frank, 
 
 Though admiration's gaze the eyelids sank 
 
 Reprovingly before; those dark-fringed lids 
 
 Veiled orbs of clearest blue from vulgar stare 
 
 Of stranger rude ; thus modesty forbids 
 
 Approach, and teaches folly to forbear. 
 
 But why describe the beauties of her face. 
 
 Or seek attraction's subtle power to trace ? 
 
 It is not always in the perfect line 
 
 Of features rare we can that power define ; 
 
 We see it in the sparkling speaking eye, 
 
 The rising blush, the look of softness shy ; 
 
 We hear it in the silvery laugh, not loud 
 
 But sweetly clear, that vibrates thro' the crowd ; 
 
 The tender tones that linger on the ear 
 
 With sympathetic force, though none be near; 
 
 We feel it in the restless wish to win 
 
 The kindly smile, and live its sway within ; 
 
iUlill Ot CALLAiKi). 13 
 
 The longing to be ever at the side, 
 And there in ecstasy of secret pride, 
 While others fret at darkly gathering sky, 
 At pattering rain and tempest raging high, — 
 Impatient how their idle hours to fill — 
 To feel for us that it is sunshine still : 
 And in this sweet bewilderment we dream. 
 Unconscious of the passing of life's stream, 
 Till comes some trifling act disturbing much, 
 A word, a look, and with the magic touch, 
 A thought of joy, it may be from above — 
 We wake to know that what we feel is love. 
 Thus steals into the heart the master-power 
 That subjugates the strong and rules the hour ; 
 And if rebellion break the bondage sweet, 
 And coward falsehood turn with flying feet, 
 No after source of pleasure can restore 
 The first bright spell that can be felt no more. 
 Though smiles and wit. and laughter may abound, 
 In conscience pricked a Nemesis is found. 
 
14 MAIEt 0¥ CALLAIAD. 
 
 But fickloness or folly could not mate 
 With Callaird's daughter, nor becloud her fate, 
 For she was one impetuous youth t' inspire 
 With feelings that could never change or tire. 
 Like as her native fir amid the grove 
 Eears its tall shaft all other trees above. 
 So Mairi showed 'mong damsels fair of face, 
 Alone in slender stateliness and grace ; 
 And with a form the eye would fain pursue, 
 Her mind was noble and her heart was true ; 
 So good, so kind, and pitiful Avithal, 
 Her ear ne'er turned from misery's plaintive call 
 And liberal to a fault, so all might live. 
 She would with both hands ever freely give. 
 The poor would seek her, and her nimble feet 
 Ne'er tarried sorrow helpfully to meet. 
 Thus softly moving in her mountain home, 
 Where city ways and pleasures were unknown 
 And books were scarce, except the holy tome, — 
 In works of kindliness her years had grown. 
 
MAIRI OF CALLAIRD. 15 
 
 There still unto the Gael her name is dear, 
 Still to her story lends he willing ear, 
 Nor in his memory doth its interest fade. 
 So well was loved that gentle Cameron maid. 
 
 There came a time of want and sore distress. 
 When aye the porridge bowl held less and less. 
 And weak and weaker grew the infant wail 
 Till hushed in death's kind arms were pillowed pale 
 Those whom the sorrowing heart and sinking frame 
 Would view with eyes all lustreless and dim, 
 Content that ghastly power the loved should claim. 
 If hut the piteous cry, the writhing limb 
 Could only so be stilled, and suffering o'er. 
 Then would the poor draw nigh the rich man's door 
 For meal to beg or borrow from his store. 
 From this full store, the elder daughter's charge, 
 'Twas Mairi's wont to give in measure large. 
 Dispensing thus the all too-precious grain, 
 When seed-time came, but little did remain. 
 
16 MAIM OF CALLAIRD. 
 
 " How is it, girl ? of seed there's not enough? " 
 And in his wrath the laird spoke loud and rough. 
 " Dear father, I hut gave what thou could' st spare. 
 "E'en were thy stackyard altogether hare, 
 " I knew that thou hadst money and could' st buy 
 " If need there were — the poor could only die. 
 " In their extremity I pitied them — 
 *' Oh do not this as an offence condemn." 
 " Weak, foolish girl/soon would'st thou waste my gold. 
 " !For ways like thine, no purse enough could hold. 
 " Begone, and leave my house, and take thy way 
 " The cold world through — and do as hest thou may. 
 " See then if others he as kind to thee 
 " As thou hast been to them — it scarce will be. 
 " The world is stern, and proving it alone 
 " Will teach its hardening truths — now be thou cjone. 
 " Nay, tears are useless — I will have it so." 
 And Mairi heard, and weeping turned to go. 
 She knew the hasty temper ne'er could brook- 
 Reply, yet lingered for relenting look. 
 
MAIEI OP CALLAIED. 17 
 
 None came her soft imploring glance to meet, 
 
 So with a pang at heart that faster beat, 
 
 Obedient to his word, she left him there. 
 
 She passed the little sister on the stair, 
 
 Who marked the falling tear, but with the awe 
 
 Which childhood feels at sight of elders' grief, 
 
 No question asked — stern was parental law 
 
 Within that household, where still reigned belief 
 
 In right unchallenged of domestic rule. 
 
 The wrath so quickly roused, as soon might cool 
 
 If unopposed ; but ill indeed it fared 
 
 With those who in his anger crossed the laird. 
 
 E'en she, the trusted, most indulged of all 
 
 Must bear reproaches, bitter past recall. 
 
 There was no help — the brothers were afield ; 
 
 And were they not, small comfort could they yield. 
 
 Her plaid she donned, allowing first short space 
 
 To check th' emotion showing in her face. 
 
 Then on the doorstep met again the child ; 
 
 This time with look that would not be repelled, 
 
18 MAIEI OF CALLAIRD. 
 
 And violets in the offering hand upheld. 
 Affection's tribute sorrow's course beguiled ; 
 She kissed the giver, and the curly head 
 Caressed — " I to Lundavra go," she said, 
 And forthwith o'er the garden grass-walk sped. 
 
 Maam-Oallaird's Pass along her steps she bent. 
 And wounded pride unto them firmness lent, 
 Altho' it flushed her cheek and dimmed her eye. 
 The breeze was keen, and dull and grey the sky 
 In lowering clouds hung coldly overhead. 
 And the fair scene with dreariness o'erspread. 
 Yet keener came the blast, as, upward still 
 Her way pursuing by the Spring-clad hill 
 Where, later, mountain berries would abound, 
 She shivering wrapped more close her plaid around. 
 What form is this that moves with step so slow ? 
 " Oh, lady dear, some help on me bestow, 
 
MAIM OP CALLAIRD. 19 
 
 " For I am weak and cold, and scarce do find 
 
 " My strength sufi&ce to battle with this wind." 
 
 " Poor wanderer, to an empty hand dost come, 
 
 " For, penniless, I'm banished from my home. 
 
 " My father sends me thence in sore disgrace 
 
 '• Nor know I when again I'll see his face." 
 
 '• Yet, lady, comfort thee — thy heart if pure, 
 
 " And spotless if thy conscience — time will cure 
 
 " All lesser evils ; there is One above 
 
 " Who cares for all with more than mortal love ; 
 
 " Eor thee, for me — ^Who tempereth the wind 
 
 " To the shorn lamb. Cast then thy grief behind 
 
 " And forward look. Forgive my words thns bold 
 
 " Nor let them in thine ear disfavour hold." 
 
 " Good Mother, thou hast done a kindly part 
 
 " And I will lay thy precept well to heart. 
 
 " I would I better guerdon could command 
 
 " Than gentle speech, that filleth not the hand : 
 
 " Yet stay, the little that I have I'll share 
 
 " With thee in all goodwill," and promptly there 
 
20 MAIEI OF CALLAIRD, 
 
 Her plaid upon the ground the damsel spread, 
 
 Then straightway cut its length in twain, and said 
 
 " Take thou the half, 'twill shield thee from the blast." 
 
 " Now blessings on thee, sweet and generous maid, 
 
 " Eor sharing thus thy warm and goodly plaid ; 
 
 " But thou who givest richer blessing hast 
 
 " Than I who take. I, too, would something give, 
 
 " So may this hour long in thy memory live. 
 
 '■' See here this seeming nut with circling band 
 
 " Of darker brown — clear-marked by Nature's hand. 
 
 " 'Tis called a fairy egg, and may be so, 
 
 " For how or whence it cometh none yet know. 
 
 " At times upon this western outer shore 
 
 " Where break the billows in their ceaseless roar, 
 
 " Bearing strange burdens o'er th' unfathomed deej), 
 
 " Do men such jetsam joy to find and keep. 
 
 " The weak and foolish think they are a charm 
 
 " To bring good fortune, and protect from harm; 
 
 " To guard from pestilence, from sinking prow, 
 
 " To keep the lover faithful to his vow ; 
 
MAIRI OF CALLAIRD. 21 
 
 "But thy firm heart, and thy yet firmer mind, 
 
 " Will in these fancies nanght hut folly find : 
 
 " Eor thee the blessing breathed by grateful age 
 
 " A hundredfold will more thy cares assuage, 
 
 " And the remembrance dear of kindness done 
 
 '' Will smoothe its roughness as thy course is run. 
 
 " Thy soul in strength and calmness will await 
 
 " Futurity, and bearing, conquer fate. 
 
 " Take then this humble gift, and with it take 
 
 " My heart's best thanks, that most its value make. 
 
 " Thj{ way is onward — up Life's mountain path, 
 
 " Mine to the Tale that rest and shelter hath. 
 
 •' Farewell." " May peace be with you, I must on, 
 
 " And go the happier for thy benison." 
 
 And with the lighter step of youth and hope 
 
 The maiden trod the long and toilsome slope. 
 
 Before her now, in near uprising might, 
 MuUach na Ooirean rears his stony height, 
 
22 MAIRI OP CALLAIRD. 
 
 And distant more, dark rolling clouds between, 
 
 Ben Nevis shows his crest of snowy sheen. 
 
 Soon will she see Lundavra's woods of fir. 
 
 Where lies the house long known and dear to her. 
 
 For there abides her father's brother kind 
 
 Whose welcome sure she ever hopes to find. 
 
 At length the bleak hill- side is well-nigh past 
 
 And on a corrie near her eye is cast. 
 
 For thicker still the clouds have gathered round, 
 
 And on she speeds where shelter may be found. 
 
 Ere yet the friendly hollow she can gain, 
 
 With rising blast down pours the blinding rain ; 
 
 But short the distance now, and muffled plaid 
 
 And homespun skirt defend the Highland maid. 
 
 A few steps more, and down the zig-zag way — 
 
 Which never practised footstep did betray — 
 
 She reaches soon a deep and quiet nook 
 
 Where scarce the breeze some budding rowans shook. 
 
 The earth- worn rocky bank o'er-arching bends, 
 
 And from the driving storm protection lends : 
 
MAIRI OP OALLAIRD. 23 
 
 The wind may blow, and fast the rain may fall, 
 Here from the tempest is she sheltered all. 
 She fears but she must long with patience wait, 
 Nor at Lundavra can arrive till late; 
 With head on hand, beside a moss-grown stone 
 She rests, and sighs to feel herself alone. 
 
 There falls a quick, light sound upon her ear ; 
 A soft touch on her hand— ah, who is here ? 
 " Oh, Bran, good Bran, thy greetings cheering are, 
 " For well I know thy master is not far ; " 
 And with a beating heart she, rising, sees — 
 His belted plaid all waving in the breeze — 
 Approaching near the young Knight of Lochawe. 
 " Down, Bran," he cries, " too rough thy kindly paw I 
 " I scarce can chide him, Mairi : he has read 
 " My wishes right, altho' my steps he led 
 " Not altogether willing, to this spot ; 
 " For I was fain our chase should be forgot, 
 
24 MAIRI OF CALLAIRD. 
 
 " And thought to check my most sagacious hound 
 
 " Whose mute persistence has such quarry found. 
 
 " But say, how comes it, dear one, thou art here, 
 
 " And thus alone ? " Then with a rising tear 
 
 But steady voice, she simply told her tale. 
 
 And much her father's anger did bewail. 
 
 " Now am I grateful to the morning breeze 
 
 " I'hat warned the herd, and did me then displease ; 
 
 " Por lucky is it that my hard-won chase 
 
 " Hath drawn me onward to such distant place. 
 
 " I sent the gillies and our spoil by boat, 
 
 " As best to reach our bothy so remote. 
 
 " Thrice happy then the chance that made me take 
 
 " The hill-side way, and for the ferry make. 
 
 " Perchance the thought that I might meet a friend 
 
 " Persuasion sweet to the intent did lend. 
 
 " Now, having met, I'll take my friend to task, 
 
 " And answer to repeated question ask — 
 
 " How long are these, our childish terms, to last, 
 
 " When Love is come to hallow all the past ? 
 
MAIM OP CALIAIRD. 25 
 
 " Oh. tell me I am right — do not deny — 
 
 " But now I read soft welcome in thine eye, 
 
 " That language ever true." " What can I say 
 
 " Thou dost not know already in that way ? 
 
 " A while ago, and I was wae and sad, 
 
 '• Now thou art here, and Diarmid, I am glad. 
 
 " But urge me not — I cannot wed with thee 
 
 " Till in such act our kindred fitness see, 
 
 *' And much I fear these hills will easier move 
 
 " Than stubborn wills their prejudice disprove. 
 
 " Lochawe's proud Knight I doubt will never meet 
 
 " In parlance Callaird's Laird — nor ever greet 
 
 " As his, the daughter of a humble foe ; 
 
 " Thus pride should freeze my heart," "Oh say not so, 
 
 " My father loves me well, and when he sees 
 
 " No other bride his favourite son can please, 
 
 " Consent — tho' tardy — he will surely yield ; 
 
 " Then we shall grieve that we have aught concealed. 
 
 " I'll tell him all, my childish love relate, 
 
 " And though his anger may wax stern and great 
 
26 MAIM OF CALIiAIKD. 
 
 " At disappointed views — it will be brief, 
 
 " And from tMs weight of secrecy relief 
 
 " We then sliall know." " Eor thy success I pray, 
 
 " And all disturbing doubts will chase away. 
 
 " Hope is ascendant in thy presence, dear, 
 
 " 'Tis but in absence it gives place to fear. 
 
 " Yet is there one ne'er on our love will smile, 
 
 " Thy haughty chief and kinsman, great Argyll." 
 
 " Nay, pale not when dost utter thus his name : 
 
 " My clansman's fealty Argyll can claim, 
 
 " And honoured service free to him is due ; 
 
 " Mine eye to serve, my tongue to speak him true, 
 
 " My hand to aid, my foot for him pursue, 
 
 " And danger's ways mine arm to guide him through, 
 
 " My blood to shed, if safer he may live, 
 
 " And for his life my very own to give; 
 
 " But freedom in my choice to mate is mine, 
 
 " And ne'er for frown or smile will I resign 
 
 " The precious right t® win thy love, and swear 
 
 " A higher fealty to thee, nor e'er, 
 
MAiRI OP CALLAIRD. 2? 
 
 " Eorbid it Heaven that I should earn such blame, 
 
 " By falsehood to my love his line defame. 
 
 " Thine is the service of my heart, I ween, 
 
 " For thou, my Mairi, art its chosen queen ! " 
 
 " Oh Diarmid ! sweet it is to hear thy voice 
 
 " In words that make my bounding heart rejoice ; 
 
 " If my poor self is so much prized by thee, 
 
 " Believe that doubly, dear art thou to me ; 
 
 " My life's devotion is the sole return 
 
 " That I can make — this mayest thou later learn — 
 
 " Thy generous love would sure be ill repaid 
 
 " Were I the cause of home disunion made ; 
 
 " Let but thy parents bless, and I am thine ; 
 
 " Thy hope shall be my hope, thy people mine." 
 
 " Then shall love's impress seal our compact, dear, 
 
 '• Nay, would'st thou go V " E'en so, yon sky is clear 
 
 •' And slower move those clouds, but fades the light, 
 
 " I needs must haste or be o'erta'en by night." 
 
 " We part not till I see thee safe upon 
 
 " Thine uncle's homelands near, for I have won 
 
28 MAIRI OF CALLAIBD. 
 
 " My suit, and will not leave my promised wife 
 
 " To wander lone, but guard lier as my life. 
 
 " Now wilt thou wear and keep this little spray 
 
 " Of myrtle wild, I gathered by the way? 
 
 "It is our badge, and by our clan 'tis said, 
 
 " ' Put foot thereon, and it will ne'er deceive,' 
 
 " Which meaneth — where it grows in safety tread, 
 
 " I vouch not for the bog, but this believe, 
 
 " That Diarmid will be true." " I doubt it not, 
 
 " Else should unworthy be of such fair lot ; 
 
 " As soon could I uncertain feel by night 
 
 " That with the hour will come returning light, 
 
 " As think thou could' st be false!" "Oh golden day! 
 
 " Good augury it was the myrtle spray 
 
 " To find ; and see, since wearing in my breast, 
 
 " Its tender leaves have gratefully confessed 
 
 " The vital power of warmth, and sweeter smell; 
 
 " Thus to our cherished hopes they joy foretell. 
 
 " Despite the chills of worldliness and pride, 
 
 " These yet shall strengthen, warmed and sanctified 
 
MAIRI OP CALLAIRD. 29 
 
 " By love's all watchful and sustaining care." 
 
 " Oh. may such forecast sweet fulfilment bear ! 
 
 " I place thy myrtle in my kerchief deep, 
 
 " And when it fades, the withered leaves will keep. 
 
 " But not like them shall fade our love's clear light ; 
 
 " Its fitter emblem rather is yon star 
 
 " Through evening gloom just coming into sight : 
 
 " In fixed radiance 'of a world afar 
 
 " It shineth ever, tho' unseen by day — 
 
 " So shall our love maintain its steadfast way ; 
 
 " In darker hours a bright and heaven-sent ray, 
 
 *' In joy unproved, still beaming none the less — 
 
 " Outshone by blaze of noontide happiness." 
 
 " Sweet serious one! thy pure fair thoughts take birth 
 
 " Erom holier things, while mine are of the earth. 
 
 " But the same Power ordained yon worlds to Jsnow 
 
 " Their circling orbits — bade the myrtle grow. 
 
 " In troublous times, when difB.culties bar 
 
 •' Mine eager steps from thee, be thou the star 
 
 " To cheer me on; and when with sunshine blest, 
 
30 MAlRI 01* CALLAIilD. 
 
 " The fragrant flower to cherisli in my breast. 
 
 " But hark! what mean those pipes resounding nigh?" 
 
 " They mark where — yonder see — are standing high 
 
 " Lundavra's walls, which 'mid those trees appear; 
 
 " They tell the labour of the day is done, 
 
 " And bid to gather to the evening cheer 
 
 " By honest toil and simple service won. 
 
 " But little thinks mine uncle that one more 
 
 " Will sit his hospitable board before, 
 
 " And that through sentence hard and stern, this night 
 
 •• Will bring to him a niece in homeless plight, 
 
 " Dejected and alone." " Say but the word, 
 
 •' I thee accompany, from this deterred 
 
 " By nought save thine own self." " 'Twere best not so, 
 
 " And seemlier of our meeting none should know. 
 
 " Quick tongues might bear it to thy father's ear, 
 
 " And it would justly anger him to hear 
 
 " From rumour vague, what thine own lips should tell ; 
 
 " So now farewell." " My heart's best wealth, farewell. 
 
 " Yet stay — how, when are we again to meet?" 
 
MAIM OF CALLAIRi). 31 
 
 " I know not, but shall live in dreaming sweet 
 
 " Of that blest hour." " May Heaven propitious prove 
 
 " And grant it soon. Good Angels guard my love." 
 
 The lovers leaving to their parted ways — 
 O'er which would each oft cast a backward gaze — 
 Eeturn we now unto the aged crone 
 Whose feeble steps, as yet observed by none, 
 Have to the ferry brought her tardily, 
 Thus far attained in patience wearily. 
 " I would Glencoe side reach, and. Sir, would fain 
 " A passage straightway in thy boat obtain." 
 " Now who art thou, our maiden's plaid who wears ? 
 " Such sight unwonted, air of mystery bears ; 
 " Some evil hath befallen its owner, sure, 
 " Or how that tartan could' st thou else procure 1 
 " Thou wilt not speak ! then to the laird must go ; 
 " 'Tis fit of this strange hazard he should know." 
 
32 MAIRI OP CALLAIRD. 
 
 And in the homestead soon the laird is found, 
 
 His orders issuing to the menials round. 
 
 " Whom bring'st thou here?" "A stranger all unsought 
 
 " Is thus into thine honoured presence brought ; 
 
 " She weareth, as thou seest, thy daughter's plaid, 
 
 " And when thereon I observation made, 
 
 " Demanding how it came that one of lot 
 
 " So humble had such goodly raiment got, 
 
 " No word could I, nor any answer gain ; 
 
 " She- doth a silence obstinate maintain." 
 
 " Nay, mistress, why is this ? " "To thee I speak ; 
 
 " I met a damsel on the hillside bleak, 
 
 " Who pity took upon mine aged frame, 
 
 " And did what angel would, nor Heaven will blame ; 
 
 " She gave me of her plaid one half to wear, 
 
 " And see. the rough-cut end doth witness bear 
 
 " To these my words." " In sooth 'tis even so, 
 
 " For by the tartan's length thou speakest truth. 
 
 " Poor Mairi in her folly aye will go 
 
 " And lose herself — thus may her simple youth 
 
MAIRI OP CALLAIBD. 33 
 
 " By ill be overcome ; now do I see 
 
 " "Tis useless quite, she ne'er will wiser be, 
 
 " But have her way ; so when the morn is come, 
 
 " Go seek her out, and bring my daughter home." 
 
 Then with the early dawn, Lundavra's door. 
 With hasty tread a gillie came before, 
 And speech with Mairi sought. She heard him there 
 But heeded not the message that he bare. 
 Unwilling felt she now the home to seek 
 Whence spurned with words, had crushed a spirit meek. 
 He much entreated, till her uncle came 
 The question to discuss, and urged the same. 
 Still was she loth, and long they her biesought. 
 Ere mingled prayers and chidings on her wrought 
 Consent to yield ; then homeward slow she turned. 
 In sorrow for life's hardening lesson — learned. 
 
 They met her kindly, and they spoke her fair, 
 But ah, a wounded spirit who can bear ! 
 
34 MAIRI 01" CALLAIE.D. 
 
 Thenceforward, saddened by the harshness dealt, 
 
 As alien in her family she dwelt ; 
 
 Consorting scarce with those who might upbraid. 
 
 In turret room remote she oftenest staid. 
 
 Thus came it she was sharer never in 
 
 The gleesome ways that youthful spirits win 
 
 To merriment ; from these excluded all, 
 
 In lone monotony she lived apart, 
 
 And in fond hope of good that might befal. 
 
 And musings sweet, beguiled an aching heart- 
 
 Up Linnhe sailed a ship from Eastern parts. 
 Well stored with merchandise of foreign marts. 
 In shelter of the Point it anchorage found: 
 Ere long from far and near folk gathered round. 
 The lading to inspect, and all would fain 
 Some products rare with little coin obtain. 
 Much goodly work was there, and longing eyes 
 Were cast on linens fine and precious dyes ; 
 
MAIEI Oie CALLAIRD. 86 
 
 These last most coveted as means to shade 
 
 The native wools their homewove tartan made. 
 
 Then they of Callaird on the sight were bent, 
 
 And all, save Mairi, soon on shipboard went. 
 
 Strange things were shown, inspected and approved, 
 
 And some they chose forthwith to be removed. 
 
 A chest apart the laird discovered then — 
 
 " What is therein ? Why keep it from our ken ?" , 
 
 " Good sir, if I withhold it from thy view 
 
 " 'Tis but that the contents are not quite new, 
 
 " Altho' of silks and rich apparel rare, 
 
 " And gauds befitting royalty to wear ; 
 
 " I raise the lid — so — now wilt partly see 
 
 " The braveries within." " And what may be 
 
 " The price demanded for this half-worn gear ? 
 
 " If moderate, then a purchaser is here." 
 
 The bargain's struck right soon— as aye hath been 
 
 When they who sell, and those would buy, are keen 
 
 Possessions to exchange. The money paid, 
 
 And all well pleased with acquisitions made, 
 
36 MAim OF CALLAIEl). 
 
 The party speedily the house regain, 
 And straight begin themselves to entertain 
 With closer view and more entire display 
 Of finery obtained — and in this way 
 Was soon apportioned to each one a share, 
 Which all in pride began forthwith to wear. 
 But Mairi in their pleasure had no part, 
 Shut out, it so befel, by thoughtless art ; 
 Nor was her presence sought, since all declared 
 For richer garments that she never cared. 
 'Twas useless quite to give such like to her 
 Who never aught could keep, and would incur 
 Eresh chiding certes with occasion given. 
 " She cannot come — I have the bolt hard driven 
 " Of door into her room — there must she wait.'" 
 Thus, half in jest, half childish petulance 
 The little brother spoke. His early fate 
 Just wrath disarms— a terrible mischance 
 Soon laid him low, and on that household fell. 
 The rich habiliments which keen to sell 
 
MAIBI of CALiiAiRi). 37 
 
 Had been the owner, danger all unknown 
 
 To dwellers in these mountain districts lone, 
 
 Evil unwonted and undreamt of, wrought; 
 
 The young and gay had worn them, with no thought 
 
 Of misery that might be handed down 
 
 To other wearers — the brocaded gown, 
 
 Embroidered cloth, those braveries all, bore 
 
 Infecting taint the merchant did ignore. 
 
 And now, new-worn, the poison that still lurked 
 
 Among their folds, a quick destruction worked. 
 
 Thus then it fell, ere many hours were past, 
 
 That signs of grievous sickness showed, which cast 
 
 Mysterious blight on the three youngest born. 
 
 In glee they donned again, th' ensuing morn. 
 
 The chosen finery which the eve before 
 
 Had been assigned to them ; they strewed the floor 
 
 With silks that to their eyes seemed gayest, best. 
 
 Prom out the open and still well-filled chest ; 
 
 The brothers in this pastime also shared, 
 
 And peering oft, the serving-folk declared 
 
38 MAIBI (W CALIiAiRD. 
 
 Loud admiration of tlie novelties 
 
 Displayed to view. Soon were their sympathies 
 
 In other and in sadder ways required. 
 
 The joyous spirits that were flagging, tired, 
 
 And wailing took the place of laughter hushed ; 
 
 For cheeks with fever, 'stead of mirth, were flushed, 
 
 And restless limbs lay tossing on the bed. 
 
 All efforts made to soothe the aching head. 
 
 The sudden pangs, were vain — the rising sun 
 
 Looked in on pallid forms, on havoc done : 
 
 It shone on growing terrors and on ill 
 
 That waxed to agonies increasing still. 
 
 The Leech quick sought for, came — in horror saw 
 
 That skill was powerless, and fled in awe. 
 
 Soon spread his dire report throughout the glen, 
 
 And great was fear and consternation then. 
 
 What visitation were they doomed to see ? 
 
 '• Black Death," the foul Black Death, it sure must be. 
 
 Of such appalling foe what need to tell 
 
 The rapid stride, or how contagion fell 
 
MAIRI OP CALLAIED. 39 
 
 Througli that affrighted stricken household ran, 
 And snapped the threads of Life's uncertain span, 
 Till father, children, servitors were seized. 
 Ere was the fury of that plague appeased. 
 Another night, another rising sun, 
 And Azrael's solemn mission there was done. 
 
 Oh' Death ! thou sure avenger of the past, 
 O'er which thy mantle dark is sternly cast. 
 Oh thou that takest spirits loved away, 
 And forms so dear dost turn to inert clay ; 
 Thou terror vague of all the earth have trod I 
 Pale visitant ! dread messenger of God ! 
 Eain would we flee — fain from thy touch would shrink, 
 That leadeth far o'er this known planet's brink. 
 The shadow of thy presence falls upon 
 Our dearest, and its mien they sadly don, 
 As hour by hour thy coming draws more near, 
 And those who watch await in awe and fear. 
 
40 MAIRI 0¥ CALTiAIRD. 
 
 What doth this darkening nearness hide from sight ? 
 No light, no shadow — then if shadow, light — 
 Thy mighty gloom need not affright the mind, 
 For everlasting glory shines behind. 
 Faith hears thy call, and gives the trembling hand, 
 The eye is closed on all life could command, 
 The soul is wafted on a parting sigh. 
 The mortal lost in Immortality. 
 
 But how, the while, had time with Mairi sped, 
 So near, yet sundered from such danger dread ? 
 The prank in frolic played, her safeguard proved. 
 Long in her chamber lone she heard unmoved 
 The usual sounds of life and stir below. 
 Which loudly told the party had retuimed 
 From ploy it cost her little to forego. 
 She sighed not for mere pleasure, but she yearned 
 For sympathy, and this she could not find 
 Within her home. Though not devoid of love, 
 
MAIRI OF CALLAIEB. 41 
 
 Her kindred uncongenial were in mind, 
 By motives swayed, lier spirit soared above. 
 Thus locked within herself, for ever dumb 
 On one dear name — so used had she become 
 To thoughts and occupations all her own, 
 That solitude to her had pleasing grown. 
 Yet of such isolation she would tire 
 At times, and sweet companionship desire. 
 Therefore much more from weariness of heart 
 Than of the body, minding scarce to touch 
 The evening fare prepared with simple art 
 And at her hand, she early sought her couch. 
 
 Not then until the morn was far advanced 
 Did she in part discover what had chanced. 
 Her wonderment at finding egress barred 
 First filled her with alarm, then rudely jarred 
 Against her sense of justice. Why was 'this ? 
 What did it mean ? Was it with grave intent 
 
42 MAIRI OP CALLAIKD. 
 
 Or but in miscliief done? On freedom bent 
 
 Sbe called, but called in vain. Ah, when they miss 
 
 Her presence, some one surely will come near 
 
 To seek her out, and mystery make clear. 
 
 So gently turning from the door again, 
 
 In hope perchance the notice to obtain 
 
 Of passer-by, she placed herself beside 
 
 The open casement, whence might be descried 
 
 The narrow track that up the mountain led. 
 
 It was but seldom strangers' foot would tread 
 
 That rugged path, and labourers of the soil 
 
 As rarely took that road to seek their toil. 
 
 Th' ascent just there was rougher and more steep ; 
 
 Pursuing huntsman must with caution creep. 
 
 Though lightly might the roe o'er hindrance leap. 
 
 About the foot would lime and chesnut lend 
 
 Much fragrant shade, and upward in the bend 
 
 Did fir with ash and birch its foliage blend. 
 
 Tho' bounded, 'twas a scene in sunshine fair 
 
 To look upon, and now when sitting there. 
 
J^^mi Of OALLAIED. 43 
 
 She mentally retraceii the steps she to,o,k 
 The day when, haunted by that angry look, 
 She sadly trod the mountain path alone, 
 And such extremes of pain and joy had known. 
 How changed to her had life and all things been 
 Since that last day when she had Diarmid seen. 
 As they were wont, her musings fondly dwelt 
 Upon his words, his looks — for him she felt 
 Affection daily more engrossing still, 
 Which adverse circumstances could not chill. 
 Ah ! lowering seemed the future, dark with fear, 
 With scarce a ray of light the gloom to cheer. 
 But he had bid her hope, and in him trust — 
 She would do both, believe in him she must ; 
 And in that faith she wandered far away 
 By fantasy beguiled, nor did she stay 
 Her fingers from the wheel. So passed the day 
 Till evening came upon her unaware, 
 Lost in sweet reveries, forgetting care. 
 A soft delicious melancholy stole 
 
44 MAIRI OP CALLAIRD. 
 
 Upon her senses and enwrapped her soul : 
 
 It seemed as though a crisis in her fate 
 
 Were near — and one than others thought of less. 
 
 What might not mean those feelings that of late 
 
 Had so oppressed her ; languor, weariness, 
 
 Those piercing thrills, those tremors of the heart ? 
 
 Might not these warnings be that she must part 
 
 From earthly hopes, and e'en the firmest ties 
 
 Must loosen, and from human weakness rise ? 
 
 And were it so — were she indeed to die. 
 
 Would he forget, or would he sometimes sigh 
 
 In soft remembrance of her love for him ? 
 
 A.t memory's picture would his eye grow dim — 
 
 She strove to think of him with one beside, 
 
 As walking with that other, nobler bride. 
 
 His father so desired to see him wed : 
 
 One who seemed fitter far with him to tread 
 
 Life's devious course — who would as equal meet 
 
 His people, nor their favour need entreat. 
 
 Her fancy painted him in future years 
 
MAIBl OP CALLAIUU. 45 
 
 The centre of affection's hopes and fears, 
 
 And with such brightness and such good endowed 
 
 As scarce permitted fleeting grief to cloud 
 
 The sunshine of his days. Yet might thro' all 
 
 At times a sigh be breathed, a tear let fall 
 
 For Mairi dead — well did her heart aver 
 
 That Heaven itself could not be Heaven for her 
 
 If consciousness of him ne'er entered there ; 
 
 Or entering, showed that she forgotten were. 
 
 But why torment the mind with futile strife, 
 
 Is not our love immortal as our life ! 
 
 To doubt such soothing hope were agony. 
 
 A voice and ear attuned to harmony 
 
 In truest measure did to her belong, 
 
 And now her thoughts broke forth in plaintive song. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 When voices glad make gay the hall 
 
 And fairy forms are flitting past 
 With smiling lip and merry call, 
 
 And kindly looks around are cast ; 
 
46 MAlRl OF CALLA1B.D. 
 
 Wlien climbing on thy knee, 
 Thy baby heir looks fondly up 
 
 And clasps thy neck with tiny power, 
 And mutual love fills full thy cup 
 Of happiness — ia that sweet hour, 
 A moment think of me. 
 
 When storm is past, and clear the sky 
 
 Serenely shows as daylight fades, 
 And zephyr fans with faintest sigh 
 Caressingly; when lengthening shad^ 
 Come creeping o'er the lea, 
 And mavis on its leafy perch 
 
 Sits carolling sweet notes aloft. 
 From chesnut bough or slender birch. 
 The listening ear beguiling oft — 
 Then sometimes think of me. 
 
 When shining high, the Queen of Night 
 
 Pale splendour casts o'er glade and hill. 
 And marks a path of silver light 
 
 O'er ocean waves all hushed and still ; 
 When falls her power on thee. 
 And calmness steals into thine heart, 
 
 And griefs and cares as nothiag seem — 
 So great is felt His wondrous part, 
 
 A world who formed and did redeem — 
 Then think, oh, think of me. 
 
MAIBI OP CALLAIED. 47 
 
 Sleep gives new vigour — with I'eturniHg light 
 She rose more cheerful ; youthful hopes were stronger 
 And gone the shadows of the previous night. 
 Prisoning so strange can scarcely last much longer, 
 Since likely it was causfed, so she supposedj 
 By childish folly ; still is firmly closed 
 All power of exit ; she will wait unmoved, 
 And thus shdlild patience from withiii wear dut 
 The irritating teasing from without : 
 So best unruly spirits he reproved. 
 She had no lack of food, for there was stored 
 In a well-shelved recess, a simple hoard 
 Of meal, of honey, and of rUstic fare 
 Which she was used with poverty to sharfe. 
 She sat her down to her accustomed wheel. 
 And busy at her work, soon ceased to feel 
 Uneasy, nay, ere long, forgot annoyance. 
 Lulled by the whirring sound her labour caused^ 
 The hours went calmly by until she paused. 
 Boused by some signs below of dire disturbance. 
 
48 MAIRI OP CALIiAIRD. 
 
 She listens — wonted noises sure had changed, 
 
 And seemed domestic order disarranged ; 
 
 An anxious call, a hurried step, a moan, 
 
 Confusion more — and now a louder groan ! 
 
 " What turmoil strange is this ? and ah, that shriek ! 
 
 " Another, and yet more ! Oh, some one speak ! 
 
 " Undo this door that bars me in so strong, 
 
 " I would go help — there must be grievous wrong — 
 
 " Will no one hear 1 " Again the door she tries, 
 
 And calls, but words are lost in shriller cries. 
 
 In hearing thus of mortal agony 
 
 The wail, in wild suspense the night crept by. 
 
 And with the dawn fresh efforts made she still 
 
 Imprisonment to break — with frantic will, 
 
 Though strength all-impotent. Pausing she leans 
 
 And looks around. That iron bar a means 
 
 Suggests by which escape may be attained — 
 
 If rightly she but use the force thus gained. 
 
 She takes it and inserts the narrow end 
 
 In crevice of the door she hopes to rend ; 
 
MAIEI OF CALLAIKD. 49 
 
 Oh why, why not have thought of this before 1 
 The panel yields — another wrench — one more, 
 And lo, the staple falls, the way is free, 
 The weary prisoner is at liberty. 
 Wherefore this silence in the house below ? 
 Stillness her ear had ne'er been used to know. 
 The narrow winding stair in nameless dread 
 She hurries down, to where it stopped and led 
 To the main portion of the dwelling quaint ; 
 She hears no sound, no murmur of complaint. 
 The angle past, oh, horror to behold. 
 Before her lay her father, stiff and cold ! 
 Death in the livid face, the half-closed eyes. 
 The rigid form that all distorted lies ; 
 Death in most hideous aspect loathsome seen. 
 With startled gaze and terror-stricken mien. 
 As petrified, she stands a moment there, 
 Unable to descend the further stair : 
 That prostrate body never can she pass. 
 A rush of thoughts come crowding on her brain : 
 
50 MAIRI or CALLAIRD. 
 
 Where now the iron will she had been fain 
 In all humility to fear — alas ! 
 Alas I when living he had thrust her forth ; 
 Now dead, he held her ia — with silent power 
 Which awed her more than animated wrath. 
 Tho' dark was that still darker is this hour. 
 Let come what may, she must endure her doom ; 
 She turned and fled up to her turret room. 
 With trembling hand shut close the riven door. 
 Then tottering, fell in swoon upon the floor. 
 
 When on that morn no sign of life, no stir 
 Was seen within the house or round about, 
 Some few approached, whom fear could not deter, 
 And questioning terror spread the land throughout. 
 " All dead within — how then was heard that cry ? 
 " But faint the sound. We dare not go to see, 
 " Por blackening corpses near the threshold lie. 
 " What can be done to stay this misery 1 " 
 
SlAtEI Ol^ callaiUd. 51 
 
 All horror-stricken, quick, with hurried feet 
 
 The tenants of the land in council meet. 
 
 " Por burial then, if none will lend a hand — 
 
 " And such a service we can scarce demand 
 
 " Of any man — some other method we 
 
 " Must straight devise, and this our firm decree- - 
 
 " The house must be burnt down, and cleansing fire 
 
 " Shall all consume on one funereal pyre ; 
 
 " And to ensure contagion shall not spread 
 
 " Beyond that doomed abode of many dead, 
 
 " All boats which now upon Glencoe side lie 
 
 " Shall on Lochaber shore be hauled up high ; 
 
 " So no one can to Callaird pass meantime : 
 
 " Such act forbidden shall be deemed a crime. 
 
 " Great watch-fires must be lit around by night 
 
 " On 'Piper's,' 'Carnaich' Point, on Callaird's height, 
 
 " On Kenneth's Isle, Port Eachin, head of lake, 
 
 " At ' Strait of hounds '—thus all approaches make 
 
 " Impassable. And further we ordain — 
 
 " Whoso shall to the house set fire-, by lot 
 
52 MAIRI OF CAliLAIBD. 
 
 " Shall chosen be ; nor leave that loathsome spot 
 " Within a given time, on certain pain 
 " Of instant death. By measures these preventing 
 " Worse harm, and with all prudence circumventing ; 
 " We hope to master and stamp out, the ill. 
 " Now cast the lots, and see who must fulfil 
 " This act of duty to his fellow-men." 
 'Tis done. It falls on Iain of the Glen, 
 On Iain Mdr, in Oallaird bravest, best, 
 The " piper's man's wee laddie " called in jest. 
 " I will in all fidelity obey 
 " Your wise behest. But let me first, I pray, 
 " Make sure that no one breathes those walls within ; 
 * " So may not on'my conscience lie the sin 
 " Of murder." " It is well. None long can live 
 " In that dread charnel-house : this scarce need give 
 " Thy troubled thoughts much anguish, for the deed 
 " Is righteous — in which true belief we plead 
 " With Heaven for help to crown it with success. 
 " May that just Heaven protect thee aye and bless. 
 
MAIRI OF CALLAlED. 
 
 " Thus armed, go forth, and when no answering call, 
 •' No wailing sound upon thine ear shall fall, 
 " Then quickly do thy part. Now all away, 
 " Eor each has work admits of no delay." . 
 
 The shades of coming night were gathering fast 
 When Iain neared the house, and quickly passed 
 The entrance by ; with watchful eye and ear 
 And caution moved he, not unmixed with fear. 
 As by the northern side he wandered round. 
 There still no sign of life, no slightest sound ; 
 But at the further end a casement high 
 Was open wide — and on the sill did lie, 
 Prone on the folded arms all white and bare, 
 A head bowed down as tho' in mute despair. 
 He calls " Ho, there ! Oh speak, if any live !" 
 The hills in mocking echoes answer give. 
 With fixed gaze, in breathless awe he waits. 
 Half startled at the clamour he creates. 
 
54 JtAIEl OJ* CALLAiED. 
 
 His voice has roused the strong life-seeking will 
 
 "Which in that frame exhausted lingers still : 
 
 Yes, there is movement, and the head is raised. 
 
 " Oh Iain, is it thou ? Great Heaven be praised ! 
 
 " A friend at last ! Help and deliverance now 
 
 " Are surely come. Oh tell me, tell me how 
 
 " Has all this 'wildering horror come about ? 
 
 " I faint with fear ; beseech thee, help me out." 
 
 " Alack the day, dost thou not see and know 
 
 " That death abideth in the house below ? 
 
 " Art thou alon.e ?" " Alone thfese four long days; 
 
 " And all last night, with anguish and ama^e, 
 
 " I heard but groans and shrieks, and sounds of pain 
 
 " I'd fain have soothed, but strove to reach in vain, 
 
 " Eor by some hazard rare or strange forecast, 
 
 " My chamber door was from without made fast ; 
 
 " And 'spite endeavours wild the bolt to break, 
 
 " Resisted every effort I could make, 
 
 " Till morning light a way suggesting, brought 
 
 " Release at length. The liberty I thought ■ 
 
MAIRI OP CALLAIRD. 55 
 
 " Thus to have gained, did but augment my woe. 
 " With headlong haste I rushed me down, when lo ! 
 " Across the stair and barring me the way, 
 " My father's lifeless body prostrate lay. 
 " Ah, horrible the sight— aghast I fled, 
 " And here forsaken bide in trembling dread. 
 " I dare not go to look upon that face, 
 " Nor can I pass to get me from the place ; 
 " I call, but no one comes— there is no sound, 
 " Nought but a silence awful and profound ; 
 " What has befallen, say, oh say." " Alas ! 
 " The hand of God hath ruin brought to pass 
 " Upon the house of Callaird. Eell disease 
 " Hath swept it through, in manner as doth freeze 
 " The blood to think on. Of ' the Black Death ' they died," 
 ■ " And in thy veins, as is most like, doth hide 
 " The same destroying taint." " Ah, woe is me ! 
 " In all its hideous peril now I see 
 " My dread position— still I faia would live, 
 " And be at large. Though none dare house-room give, 
 
56 
 
 MAIRI OF OALLAIRD. 
 
 " I'd shelter in the woods and have no fear. 
 
 " In mercy sure some angel sent thee here." 
 
 " Poor prisoner, I am here intent to do 
 
 " A fearful duty such as man ne'er knew. 
 
 " 'Twas thought no life within these walls remained. 
 
 " Or long could linger— therefore all contained 
 
 " Therein, with them, the rulers have ordained 
 
 " Be burnt with fire— laid level with the ground. 
 
 " Command is laid on me, by lot thus bound 
 
 " To do the deed, whene'er no answering sound 
 
 " Shall reach mine ear; nor leave the place till done." 
 
 "■ And what the penalty if left undone ?" 
 
 " The penalty of death." " And must I die? 
 
 " Must all my hopes end in a shrieking sigh ? 
 
 " This breathing body soon in ashes lie ? 
 
 " Oh horror past belief ! Oh, Iain Mor, 
 
 " Befriend me still. Thy pity I implore. 
 
 " Could Diarmid of Lochawe but knowledge have 
 
 " Of this my dire distress, perchance to save 
 
 " He'd find the way. I do entreat thee, seek 
 
MAIRI OP CALLAIRD. 57 
 
 " Him out, and howsoe'er this ends, oh speak 
 
 " With him, and tell of all this misery. 
 
 " A farewell blessing take to him from me. 
 
 " I know his truth and courage would not fail 
 
 " If o'er my piteous lot they could prevail. 
 
 " Ah me, were he but here !" " The place around 
 
 " A watch is stationed : none dare pass that bound. 
 
 " But these wide-set precautions may prove vain 
 
 " Against a bold resolve its end to gain ; 
 
 " For much a loyal heart can dare and do, 
 
 " If armed with motive strong to bear it through. 
 
 " Lochawe is far — if there my foot but reach 
 
 " I scarce can fail with Diarmid to get speech. 
 
 " Then bravely rest thee in this patient trust, 
 
 " For now through Night's enwrapping veil I must 
 
 " With prudence haste. If Heaven my purpose bless 
 
 " The morrow's night may bring thee happiness. 
 
 " Then pray for me : thy mind in calmness keep, 
 
 " In hope and courage, so let terrors sleep." 
 
58 MAIRI OF CALLAIBD. 
 
 That very hour the watch his post forsook, 
 And, iinohserved, the speediest way he took 
 To Inverawe, but whether o'er the hill, 
 By boat or by the glen, is unknown still. 
 Howbeit that through night he went is true, 
 So Highland thews and Highland will could do. 
 
 Lochawe's young Knight has dreamed a horrid dream, 
 Wherein did Mairi sad and tearful seem ; 
 By dangers wild and terrible beset. 
 Long weeks had slowly passed since last they met. 
 And now strange fears for her disturb repose. 
 "With restless and uneasy mind he rose. 
 Then with intention quick his horse he sought, 
 And straightway sallied forth in anxious thought. 
 The hour was early— few were yet astir. 
 As up the river's course he went his way 
 By mingled groups of chesnut, beech, and fir, 
 Which, either side adorning, scattered lay, 
 
Maim of callaiUd. 59 
 
 Their foliage heavy with the glistening dew. 
 Short time Lochawe's fair surface brought to view, 
 Half hid in morning mist ; of sombre hue 
 The scene appeared, by reason of the deep 
 Par-reaching shadow thrown around by steep 
 And rugged hills — a curtain flung o'er sleep 
 Of waters which the growing power of light 
 Will gently lift, and beauty bring to sight. 
 And stir of life. On rocky islet near, 
 Two mighty birds stood forth in outline clear ; 
 Huge eagles, fiercest of the feathered race, 
 Presiding seemed like monarchs of the place. 
 As though the treading of his horse's feet 
 Disturbed the wonted quiet of their seat. 
 They rose, and with a steady, measured flight. 
 Slow winged their way towards Cruachan's stony height. 
 Anon the tired pedestrian, Iain Mdr, 
 With look of haste the rider comes before, 
 . And each, unknowing of the other, made 
 Such courteous salutation as was paid 
 
60 MAIRI OF CALLAIRD. 
 
 Whilome by every Celt, " All hail to thee 
 
 " Good stranger : sight unwonted 'f is to see 
 
 " One of such hurried step and air distraught. 
 
 " Say, whither goest thou 1" " Through Night I've sought, 
 
 " Spite hindrance frequent, Inverawe to gain, 
 
 " With young Lochawe short parlance to obtain ; 
 
 " Erom far Lochaber's side in pressing need 
 
 " I come, help seeking." " Thither with all speed 
 
 " My way I take. Prithee thy purpose tell." 
 
 " Pair sir, I fain would in thy favour dwell, 
 
 " But words like mine must be for Diarmid's ear 
 
 " And his alone." " Nay, speak man, without fear, 
 
 " For I am he." " Events of crushing grief 
 
 " Have come to pass— a message sad and brief 
 
 " I bear to thee from one who hapless lies 
 
 " In utmost peril. Callaird's daughter sighs 
 
 " Her lonely life away." " Oh, cruel fate ! 
 
 " Whate'er they be, thy tidings quick relate." 
 
 Then did that trusty emissary tell 
 
 His tale of woe, and how it all befel ; 
 
MAIRI OF CALIAIRD. 61 
 
 How Mairi was in loathsome durance fast 
 
 And long imprisoned, durance tliat must last 
 
 Till freed therefrom by death of fearful kind, 
 
 Unless some fertile brain could means devise 
 
 Which daring hand should promptly realise. 
 
 And win her freedom : How a watch was set 
 
 Approaches to secure, and make outlet 
 
 Scarce possible ; how stern the penalty 
 
 Awaiting any who should wilfully 
 
 The edict break. " Now by the Heaven above, 
 
 '' I'll venture all to free my 'prisoned love, 
 
 " Or perish in the attempt ! Say, new-found friend, 
 
 " Unto my project wilt thou furtherance lend 
 
 " To save this luckless girl 1" " With heart and hand 
 
 " I'll do that same — my every nerve command." 
 
 " Then part we here — first rest thee for a space 
 
 " While we concert a plan requiring skill 
 
 " And hardihood. When I my steps retrace 
 
 " For instant work, do thou across the hill 
 
 " Betake thee quick ; none art thou like to meet 
 
62 MAlRl 01* CAtiLAIliD. 
 
 " Upon its rugged track. At niglitfall greet 
 " The poor tinliappy captive's waiting ear 
 " "With words of hope the sinking heart to cheer 
 " Tell her, God willing, Diarmid will be near, 
 " And with him means of rescue. Bid her not 
 " Despond ; she shall from such appalling lot 
 " Be saved in way that ne'er shall be forgot." 
 
 Soon fiery Diarmid on his homeward way 
 Is urging fast his sure and willing grey. 
 Of such unusual trampling at the sound 
 Peep prying heads from humble dwellings round : 
 The slow unskilful tiller of the soil. 
 The gillie hastening to his morning toil, 
 Turn them in silent wonderment, at sight 
 Of the demeanour strange of their young Knight. 
 " Ho, Hamish, is it thou? Come hither, lad, 
 " To meet thee thus I am in truth right glad. 
 " I know thou well canst pull an oar. I need 
 
MAIM OF CALLAIRD. 63 
 
 " Some gallant help to do a daring deed. 
 
 " Wilt come with me 1" " Full willingly I go." 
 
 " Then find me Duncan, Neil, Macdougal, Lowe, 
 
 " And other three, for I have work for all. 
 
 " Haste, hid them meet me at the Boathouse Tall, 
 
 " Their lahour leave at once, nor douhting halt ; 
 
 " I'll be their surety, should they prove in fault." 
 
 Onward the grey, and off the gillie sped. 
 
 When gained the precincts of the lordly tower 
 
 The rider left his horse within a shed 
 
 And by a postern passing, sought the bower 
 
 Where was his sister wont her flowers to tend, 
 
 Or with her feathered pets such time to spend ; 
 
 And as he neared, he heard her voice in song. 
 
 She stops, " What is it, Diarmid, what is wrong ?" 
 
 " Oh, Clare, I am in sore distress of mind, 
 
 " And hither come thy gentle help to find. 
 
 " Give me, I pray thee, a full wearing suit 
 
 " Of thine apparel." " 'lis a strange request." 
 
 " And wouldst thou too my Venice lace and lute, 
 
64 MAIRI OF CALLAIUD. 
 
 " Or will my simplest home-gear serve thee best? 
 " This seemeth like some foolish prank of thine, 
 " In borrowed plumes to make some lassie shine. 
 " Think, Diarmid, what thou dost : I know 'tis said 
 " A certain Cameron damsel thou wouldst wed." 
 " To bandy words I have no will, no power ; 
 " I tell thee. Life and Death hang on the hour. 
 " Help if thou wilt what thou dost call my freak, 
 " Or what I need perforce I'll elsewhere seek." 
 " I was but jesting, frown not, brother dear ; 
 " All thou dost need I'll bring, so wait thou here," 
 And with a smile she vanished as she spoke. 
 The minutes passed in silence all unbroke 
 Save for the hurried steps with which he paced 
 The pretty sunny room that southward faced. 
 He threw a glance impatiently around. 
 If haply aught of interest might be found. 
 Wandering it fell upon a heavy tome 
 Wherein, it would appear, had been whilome 
 His sister reading — not unknown the book, 
 
MAIBI OF CALLAIBD. 65 
 
 And drawing near, a reverential look 
 
 He cast upon the wide and open page, 
 
 In humble trust thus sorrows to assuage. 
 
 Did any ever gaze thereon in vain ? 
 
 " Thou shalt not be afraid" of killing pain, 
 
 Nor of the pestilence that walks by night. — 
 
 This the assurance strong that met his sight. 
 
 It calmed him, and when Clare returned right soon. 
 
 And with her brought the strangely-needed boon, 
 
 He thanked her with a gentle kindly word. 
 
 Which yet with anxious fear her heart bestirred. 
 
 " Oh, Diarmid, what art thou about to do ? 
 
 " Sadly this day my thoughts will thee pursue." 
 
 " Then let them follow me with loving prayer 
 
 " That full success may crown the deed I dare 
 
 " Forthwith to do. In peril of her life, 
 
 " In woe, lies one I fain -would make my wife." 
 
 " Ah, do not rashly what thou mayst too late 
 
 " Eepent. Thy father's son should never mate 
 
 " With one of humble birth." " I tell thee, Clare, 
 
66 MAIRI OF CALLA.IRD. 
 
 " She's nature's gentlewoman, good as fair; 
 
 " And if I bring her safe from every harm, 
 
 " Confiding in her worth and simple charm, 
 
 " Could' st thou not rise all prejudice above, 
 
 " And greet this stranger with a sister' ti love ? " 
 
 " Oh, loth were I to think that to such act 
 
 " Mere beauty's magnet could thy love attract. 
 
 " Or e'er that thou could'st link with lower mind, 
 
 " And in its fellowship contentment find. 
 
 " Therefore I take on trust right willingly 
 
 " This maid as worthy of thyself; if be 
 
 " In very truth thy happiness at stake, 
 
 " Then, Diarmid, I will love her for thy sake." 
 
 " There spoke my own sweet sister. Ask me not 
 
 " What means I try to save her from hard lot ; 
 
 " I cannot wait to tell, but must away, 
 
 " Por much have I to do ere close of dav." 
 
 Then by the hazel bank and brackens tall 
 He hasted, till he reached the Boathouse Fall, 
 
MAIBI OF CALLAIED, 67 
 
 Where, to Ms joy, he found assembled all ; 
 
 Eight stalwart gillies, by his summons brought. 
 
 His lead to follow with no questioning thought, 
 
 " Brave lads, well know I ye'll my bidding do : 
 
 " My scheme I'll tell while we our course pursue. 
 
 " Launch now the birlinn light, and quick prepare 
 
 '■ Ye for some roughish work; and for our fare, 
 
 " Let him of fleetest foot go, hither bring 
 
 " Provision that will last a two days' trip. 
 
 " See there — these wrappers by the tiller fling, 
 
 " And trim the boat, the bow needs deeper dip." 
 
 Brief space is needed when men work with will, 
 
 And each his different part performs with skill. 
 
 " All ready," and the widening stream along, 
 
 The birlinn flies, impelled by rowers strong. 
 
 Whose oars soon Etive cleave. " How serves the tide ? '' 
 
 " It suiteth well, once Rudha Eionn outside, 
 
 " A northward run will quick and easy be." 
 
 " Then all hands pull until the narrows through, 
 
 " And passed the points, we gain the fav'ring sea; 
 
6S MAtRI of CAIiLAlRD. 
 
 " There we may slacken speed — one-half my crew 
 " Awhile should from their willing labour rest, 
 " Not to exhaust their strength — thus may we best 
 " Our scene of enterprise by nightfall reach." 
 
 The oars are plied with telling might, for, each 
 Is wielded by a practised arm of force. 
 The Connal Palls are passed, and on its course 
 The boat speeds sure, and breasts the briny deep. 
 Upon the left hand shore Dunstaffnage Keep 
 On rocky point stands boldly forth and clear 
 Against the sky. " Pull steady, lads, for here 
 " A jabble we shall have of crossing sea, 
 " Which we must face, till under Lismore Lea 
 " We row with ease, helped onward by the tide.'" 
 In silence buffet they the billows' play 
 Until, the headland rounded, soon they glide 
 In smoother waters, and make rapid way; 
 " Now, easy all, and take the work in turn, 
 
Maim oJ cAiLAlBD. 69 
 
 " "While from your leader ye his project learn." 
 They hear with interest, and with zeal accede 
 To hazard life, so be the prisoner freed. 
 
 Poor captive — how with her doth creep the hour! 
 Oh for magnetic or volition's power 
 To whisper hope, and tell help cometh fast ! 
 The boat moves on-^-now Appin rocks are past, 
 And Shuna's Isle aye clearer shows ahead. 
 Where freely is the eye on beauty fed. 
 The midday sun pours in unclouded might 
 On the reflecting waters — dazzling sight, 
 "Which finds relief along the changing shore, 
 "Where nature lavishes so rich a store 
 Of forms and hues ; the loitering wanderer there 
 Hears in the balmy and untroubled air 
 The sound of straining oars, which measure keep, 
 Borne o'er the rippling wavelets' noontide sleep. 
 He casts a look of calm inquiiy o'er 
 The shining surface, and he marks where soar 
 
70 MAIRI OF CALLAIUD. 
 
 Those sea-mews startled from their rocky perch 
 By passing of yon distant boat — in search 
 Most like of finny prey, though an advance 
 So steady, graver purpose had, perchance. 
 Onward it speeds —the birds returning, flock 
 Around, resettling on their favourite rock ; 
 And those within the boat small heed bestow 
 On objects which, if erstwhile seen, would glow 
 Of pleasure bring into their sportsman's eye. 
 The slumbering seals all disregarded lie 
 In far-off whiteness on the dark low line 
 That breaks the gleaming plain — some instinct fine 
 Wakes apprehension's sense at faintest sound. 
 And sliding from the rock in sudden fear, 
 A sure retreat is instantaneous found 
 Within the depths of watery covert near. 
 At varying intervals black heads uprise 
 And gaze with large and melancholy eyes 
 On the receding cause of fancied harm 
 Which their siesta broke with vague alarm. 
 
MAIRI OP OALLAIRD. 71 
 
 Unswervingly the birlinn thus pursues 
 Her even course — the rowers' vigorous thews 
 At length are conscious of opposing power 
 More taxing strength, which marks the turning hour 
 Of Linnhe's tide. It ebbs. A weary spell 
 Of heavy work must come, they know full well. 
 Courage, stout hearts, and prove your metal true ; 
 The way is long, but nerve will bear ye through. 
 
 The sun was low ere rose Ardsheal to view, 
 The spirits cheering of the patient crew. 
 Yet doth it seem that point they ne'er could round, 
 Por here the current is e'en stronger found. 
 Stanchly these brave ones toil the waves upon, 
 And daylight wanes, while still the boat creeps on. 
 One half-hour more, and soon the tide will turn — 
 The headland passing, thence they can discern 
 The light on Piper's point. '* In sight at last ! 
 " If but that guarded entrance can be passed. 
 
72 MAIRI OF CAIiLAIRD. 
 
 " Now land we at the first convenient spot 
 " Where 'tis most like some hayropes may be got 
 " With which to bind our oars and muffle sound." 
 Macdougal speaks " By Leitir's Farm, the ground 
 " I know right well ; could we up yonder creek 
 " But run, then Neil and I would fodder seek." 
 They row to shore — those on the foray sent 
 Return full soon, 'neath bulky burdens bent, 
 Which in the boat they stow, and quick arrange 
 The order of their work ; as, how to change 
 The rowers, when the bindings worn out grew. 
 Which those not pulling, should with care renew. 
 And thus prepared — in cover of the night 
 They stealthily approach the point where bright 
 The beacon shines, and as they nearer gain. 
 They voices hear of noisy loiterers, fain 
 To stay with those who watch beside the fire ; 
 And all discourse with tongues that never tire. 
 If sounds there are, these idlers hear them not, 
 And their eyes, dazzled by the blazing spot 
 
MAIM OF CALLAIED. 73 
 
 Of brightness near — amid the darkness round, 
 
 Perceive not the mysterious darker line 
 
 Aye stealing on, until its way has wound 
 
 Beneath the rock whereon they lounge supine. 
 
 To breathe the bold intruders scarcely dare, 
 
 But keeping close, beyond the spreading glare. 
 
 They face the Carnuis point, where also glows 
 
 A warning light which further danger shows. 
 
 In ghostly silence they advance — the brave 
 
 Win ^Fortune's smile, denied to faltering slave. 
 
 Yet nearer drift they — little need to row, 
 
 Por favoured by the fast incoming flow 
 
 Of waters, skill is most required to guide 
 
 The birlinn so she clear the rocky side. 
 
 She touches, and tho' slight the sound, 'tis heard 
 
 By some above, for here too is a crowd 
 
 Of flitting forms, although in talk less loud. 
 
 "What noise was that below ? Sure something stirred, 
 
 " Oh hearken well !" " Nay, friend, I nothing hear, 
 
 " Maybe 'twas but some otter loosed a stone 
 
74i MAIRI OF CALLAIRD. 
 
 " Whicli rolling fell. The flow has stronger grown 
 " And ripples more. In night so calm and clear, 
 " Oft trifling sounds into importance swell, 
 " And fancy heareth more than they would tell. 
 " Methinks the fire doth somewhat feebly glow 
 " And fuel needs — then pine-logs bring, and throw 
 " More furze thereon." The unseen listeners wait 
 Breathless, and marvel what may be their fate. 
 All motionless, with throbbing pulse, and tongue 
 So parched that speech therefrom could ill be wrung. 
 They watch the moments as they pass, so brief, 
 Yet long to them. With sense of quick relief, 
 They hear the steps retreating from the bank. 
 And with an earnest, voiceless prayer, they thank 
 The Power protecting — Diarmid prompt has laid 
 His hand on the projecting rock, that made 
 Risk imminent — he stays their further move 
 Till is withdrawn attention from above ; 
 Then with a push — through darkness on they glide 
 Safe past ! 'Tis easier now, the loch more wide, 
 
MAIEI OP CALLAIRi). 75 
 
 Still is a fire on Kenneth's Isle descried, 
 So cautiously the muflled oars are plied, 
 While for the Ferry's landing place they make. 
 How faint soe'er the sounds that softly break 
 The perfect stillness of the midnight air. 
 They reach the ear of lonely watcher there : 
 And when on shore they would attempt to land, 
 He meets them with repelling stern demand 
 " Who are ye, Sirs ? None here may step on shore 
 " It is debarred, for cause we all deplore." 
 " Good man, thy prohibition need'st not speak, 
 " For I am Diarmid of Lochawe, and seek 
 " To save a life from out yon dwelling foul. 
 " Were all the fiends' of pestilence to howl 
 " With living tongues defiance to my will, 
 " Yet would I on— and dauntless, dare them still." 
 " Sir knight, I honour much thy gallant heart 
 "And ne'er to such will play betrayer's part; 
 *' But I am set a duty here to do ; 
 And should I fail, sad mischief may ensue. 
 
16 MAIEI Oi* CALLAtRD. 
 
 " I but entreat that thou wilt land alone, 
 
 " And suffer these may in the boat remain 
 
 " While thou thy venture bold dost strive to gain : 
 
 " Thus much I ask for my compliance shown." 
 
 " Agreed, so friends, push off, and wait my call; 
 
 " I will return accompanied, or fall 
 
 " In Love's sweet service." And alone he speeds 
 
 By the shore path that to the dwelling leads. 
 
 By rocky turnings, and then upwards wending, 
 
 The slope where blooms the yellow whin ascending ; 
 
 When one advances whom he joys to know, 
 
 For Iain's voice he hears in challenge low. 
 
 " Who is it comes?" " 'Tis I, our entrance won; 
 
 " Seemed it as tho' the day would ne'er be done, 
 
 " Such hours we've had of weariness and toil, 
 
 " To reach this place from which all men recoil. 
 
 " But Mairi 1" " Lives, and prays for sight of thee! 
 
 " Low bends my heart, altho' not now my knee 
 
 " In deepest gratitude. Quick, let us haste, 
 
 " Nor longer these too precious moments waste." 
 
MAIEt OF CALLAiRl). 11 
 
 We vary in our estimate of time 
 As widely as we range in roving thought 
 Between the frivolous and the suhlime ; 
 As strangely as our thread of life is wrought 
 Into a web of hues contrasting strong, 
 Tet which the richest tints are found among, 
 When deeper tracings with them interlace. 
 The moments, as the years, in even pace 
 Move on — so fixed, they bring us good or hurt, 
 In course we cannot hasten or avert. 
 To ardent youth, though day by day flies fast, 
 A round of seasons seems a long forecast ; 
 And middle life a period so removed 
 We cannot think thereon until 'tis proved. 
 That epoch passed, then shows in saddening truth 
 Each decade less than seemed a year in youth. 
 Unto the gay and happy, rosy hours 
 nit by unmarked, in safe and sunny bowers; 
 But to the weak, the troubled and the sad, 
 Not so — with them the minutes scarce are glad ; 
 
78 MAIRi 0^ CALLAIllD. 
 
 And hours creep by, and days, yet is their measure 
 Stern and unchanged, alike in pain and pleasure. 
 The weary heart on hope deferred long fed ; 
 The suffering sick, the dying on their bed ; 
 The wounded hero on the battle-field 
 In dread of foeman's thrust, bereft of shield ; 
 Th' enduring brare, awaiting surgeon's knife ; 
 The criminal condemned within his cell, 
 Knowing the morn must bring the fatal knell ; — 
 These in such hours must lire an age of life. 
 And, realised the vanity of Earth, 
 Will look on Death but as a second birth. 
 
 Or soon or late there comes a ruling hour 
 To all, when grave reflection claims her power. 
 Such came there now unto the captive maid, 
 Who still to loneliness and woe consigned. 
 Long for endurance and for rescue prayed. 
 As gentle Hope beguiled the tortured mind, 
 
MAim OF CALLAIRD. 79 
 
 Short slumber visited her aching brain, 
 
 And in oblivion's calm it lulled the pain. 
 
 Thus with repose, her strength renewing, blest, 
 
 She lay till dawn broke in upon her rest. 
 
 "Ah, has he found him?" was her waking thought, 
 
 Which with it rushing all her miseries brought. 
 
 But what her fate should Diarmid absent be — 
 
 Such dread mischance she will not dare foresee. 
 
 She tries to calculate the time would need 
 
 Her messenger, that toilsome length to gain 
 
 Which, obstacles apart, the utmost speed 
 
 Of active manhood must severely strain. 
 
 Imagination set before her all 
 
 The course of incidents that might befal ; 
 
 The seeking, meeting, telling of her woe, 
 
 — Some way to help would Diarmid surely know ; 
 
 It conjured up his sorrow for her sake 
 
 And pictured every step that he might take. 
 
 Could she but meet again and with him fly — 
 
 Jl'en might she only see him once and die. 
 
80 MAIRI OP CALLAIRD. 
 
 But should she bring him. harm — that fever taint 
 
 Which may be in her veins owns no restraint. 
 
 Would she his love and courage thus requite? 
 
 With touch of death his youthful beauty blight? 
 
 — That beauty aye had gladdened so her sight. 
 
 Oh hideous thought ! on that she will not dwell, 
 
 And yet the horror cannot all repel. 
 
 She thinks upon the dead that near her lie, 
 
 Recals their sinking wail of agony ; 
 
 Brings back the morn, seems now so long ago, 
 
 When, jubilant with life, and in the glow 
 
 Of blithe expectancy, the party gay, 
 
 Intent on pleasure, started on their way ; 
 
 She wanders to the previous bitter past. 
 
 The chill neglect that had so long o'ercast 
 
 Her days with gloom, and sorrows for the deep 
 
 Resentful feeling she had suffered creep 
 
 Into her heart — she cannot now atone, 
 
 She can but mourn for wrong she may have done. 
 
 At such an hour the self-accusing mind 
 
MAIRI OF CAIiLAIRD. 81 
 
 In molehill faults reviewed will mountains find, 
 And magnify eacli small remissness in 
 Affection's service to a grievous sin ; 
 Nor comfort know, save in the fond belief 
 That those so dear have knowledge of our grief. 
 But can they know this in those realms of joy 
 "Where Paith is promised bliss without alloy? 
 
 At length the daylight fades, and falls the dew. 
 While o'er the landscape spreads a softened hue. 
 Familiar birds have ceased their choral song, 
 And Mavis now, his solo clear and strong 
 Concluded, shelters 'mid the beechen leaves 
 Close laced with gossamer the insect weaves. 
 The crescent moon arises pale and low 
 And but short time her silver edge will show. 
 While in the darkling canopy aloft 
 The stars shine out in growing radiance soft. 
 
82 MAIRI OF CALLAIKD. 
 
 Scarce stirs the air, nor breaks with any sound 
 The deep oppressiye stillness reigning round. 
 She w^atches with a straining eye and ear 
 Acute, that must the slightest movement hear ; 
 There is no sign of what her heart would crave- 
 His coming — nothing hears she, nothing save 
 Her own sad sigh of long-suspended breath ! 
 She is alone — alone with sleep and death. 
 
 How hard on eager spirits is the strain 
 When forced in dull inaction to remain. 
 -Man has his share of labour to fulfil — 
 'Tis Woman's part to suffer and be still. 
 Against this numb increasing fear she prays, 
 And with the thought the eye doth upward raise 
 It readeth there of worlds around, above ; 
 Of might illimitable as of love. 
 Those countless orbs deep mysteries present; 
 Labyrinths of skill, to which slight clue is lent. 
 
Mairi of CALLAint). 83 
 
 The mind athirst for knowledge, asks again, 
 Where is that Heaven we do not seek in vain ? 
 Are those the " many mansions '' He hath said 
 He would prepare for those for whom He bled? 
 And is our little world the only one 
 Wherein Redemption's wondrous work was done? 
 Oh glorious deed ! soul- stirring act of Grace ! 
 Eternal gift! What matters where the place? 
 The Heaven we seek, how long soe'er we roam, 
 May be within, beyond that radiant dome ; 
 Faith centres it with Him, our God, our Home. 
 Thus is mortality's too restless sigh 
 Oft soothed by readings of the quiet sky ; 
 By silent eloquence of tongues on high. 
 
 There is a cry — again — and nearer now! 
 'Tis but the night-jar calling from a bough — 
 And sinks her heart with disappointed pang, 
 As out, afar, again those hootings rang. 
 
84t MAlfil OF CALLAIUD. 
 
 But now, yes, surely, comes another sound ; 
 
 A footfall weary on the broken ground 
 
 Is drawing near, "Speak, lady, dost thou live?" 
 
 " Once more that voice to me doth comfort give I 
 
 " Hast Diarmid seen?" " He comes with loving speed 
 
 " Thy rescue to achieve — a daring deed 
 
 " Devised with prudence, meriting success." 
 
 " May him and thee kind Heaven for ever bless ! 
 
 " By which way comes he ?" " The long round by sea 
 
 "He thought the surest route, altho' there be 
 
 " Three points of danger, watchfires, to be passed, 
 
 " At risk of life : the flowing tide will last, 
 
 " And serve him yet some hours ; I go to wait 
 
 " His landing. Soon then hope, should adverse Fate 
 
 " Not intervene, that thou may'st be set free, 
 
 " And stand beside him on the heathery lea." 
 
 He l^t her. Softly then some teardrops fell 
 
 From the quick-rising and o'erflowing well 
 
 Of long-suppressed inquietude of heart. 
 
 And will he come — nor ever from her part 
 
MAIBI OP CAiiliAtBD. 85 
 
 Till death dissolve the bond ! " Oh grant him true 
 
 Through life's long course, so she may never rue 
 
 The hour when from these fire-doomed walls she fled, 
 
 Which, though her life were numbered with the dead, 
 
 Did her unsullied maiden fame protect. 
 
 She cannot long on such dark thought reflect, 
 
 Eor comes a tender voice, of love which tells. 
 
 And every doubt and every fear dispels. 
 
 " Oh Diarmid, brave as true, thou bring' st me life." 
 
 " My soul's joy, art thou not my plighted wife ? 
 
 " To whom but me should' st thou in danger cling ? 
 
 " Our faithful Iain doth a ladder bring 
 
 "Which thou with nerve and caution must descend 
 
 " When firm 'tis placed against the turret's bend ; 
 
 "My boat is waiting in the shallows near, 
 
 •' To bear us safely from this place of fear." 
 
 " And dost thou then not shrink from touch of me 'i 
 
 " I would not harm thee, Diarmid. Set me free 
 
 " Upon the grassy sward, I but entreat, 
 
 " With power to guide at will my wandering feet ; 
 
§6 MAIRI OP CALLAIRD. 
 
 " The sheltering woods and rocks will me befriend, 
 
 " And Providence its sure protection lend. 
 
 " I do not fear in freedom thus to wait 
 
 " Until the panic, though inordinate, 
 
 " Be overpast." " Henceforth I leave thee not, 
 
 " And whatsoe'er it he, will share thy lot: 
 
 " But for the safety and the just content 
 
 " Of those now aiding me, do thou assent 
 
 " Unto some prudent measures — I have brought 
 
 " Apparel of my sister's, in the thought 
 
 " 'Twere better here thou shouldst thy garments leave, 
 
 " That thus from them no taint to thee may cleave ; 
 
 " And for the moment's need, this plaid mayhap 
 
 " Within its ample folds will thee enwrap. 
 
 •' Disrobe thee quick." " Oh Diarmid, must this be ?" 
 
 " All risk to shun no other way I see. 
 
 " So I beseech thee, do this for my sake." 
 
 " Eor that dear sake I every care will take." 
 
 The ladder is adjusted firm — anon 
 
 A muffled form sure footing gains thereon 
 
MAIRI OP CALLAIRD. 87 
 
 And by the narrow way descends with care, 
 While those below from speech or sign forbear ; 
 Till love's enfolding arms around her press, 
 And broken words are heard of tenderness. 
 Oh throbbing hearts ! In what an hour to meet ! 
 What wild triumphant joy! Yes — life is sweet. 
 *' Now with all speed betake us to the shore ; 
 " But first our thanks to thee, brave Iain Mbr, 
 " Are largely due, nor can thy Heaven-blessed aid 
 " Be but with life long gratitude repaid ; 
 " We leave thee here, for thou hast that to do, 
 " Will show its mark, while we our flight pursue ; 
 " When troubles well are past, come o'er the brae, 
 " With lighter heart than when thou didst essay 
 " Thine arduous task; the Awe will cease to flow 
 " Ere we forgetfulness of thee can know." 
 And hurriedly their different ways they seek. 
 '• Now, Mairi, tarry by this sandy creek, 
 " That here thou may'st in quiet waters bathe 
 " 'Neath veil of night ; this covering plaid unswathe 
 
88 MAIM OP CALLAIRD. 
 
 " And thy fair self from chance of danger free 
 
 " By safeguard of ablution cool : and see, 
 
 " In passing up I laid on this broad stone 
 
 " Thy new habiliments ; so now alone 
 
 " I leave thee, safe from observation all, 
 
 " Though hearing not beyond — when ready, call." 
 
 With grateful sense of duty to fulfil — 
 
 In newly-felt obedience to his will — 
 
 She entering, hides below the rippling waves, 
 
 And in their limpid freshness long she laves. 
 
 Till sure, if water could all taint remove. 
 
 Of hurt to others she must guiltless prove; 
 
 Then by the sheltering stone proceeds 
 
 Her garments new to don — and little heeds 
 
 Their richer stuff, and of their costlier make 
 
 Doth in the twilight but small notice take. 
 
 On Diarmid soon she calls in timid tones ; 
 
 Their soft appeal his ear attentive owns. 
 
 And coming steps are answering heard apace ; 
 
 A passing clasp — a hurried fond embrace — 
 
MAIBl OP CAIiLAERD. 89 
 
 And to the water's edge he hastens on. 
 
 That none henceforth the plaid condemned may don, 
 
 He ties it firmly round a stone of weight, 
 
 And cast into the loch, 'tis left to fate. 
 
 To Mairi then returning, on they haste. 
 
 And in soft words of re-united love. 
 
 The sweets of hope in life recovered, taste. 
 
 Ere long they reach the sheltered landing cove; 
 There signal low upon his horn he blew, 
 Soon mutely answered by the waiting crew 
 Who near th« boat to the appointed place; 
 Quick enters the light form with shrouded face, 
 And Diarmid soon is seated by her side ; 
 Then thrusting off into the broader tide, 
 Young Hamish speaks, " The dawn will soon be here, 
 " E'en now. Sir Knight, see where yon streaks appear ; 
 " We dare not venture past the points again, 
 " AH hope discovery to escape were vain ; 
 
90 MAIRI OP CALLAIRD. 
 
 " But higher up the loch there is an isle 
 ' Where we may sure concealment find awhile ; 
 " Save for some moss-grown ruins, where of old 
 " Veiled devotees their heads securely told, 
 " Of human habitation it is bare, 
 " Though much with birch and hazel overgrown ; 
 " And but in quest of sport, none goeth there. 
 " "Within its narrow limits all unknown 
 " We for a time may hide." " Thou sayest well : 
 " That haven should we reach ere coming day 
 " Discover us, and all our work betray. 
 " The rising song of lark might be the knell 
 " Of shattered hopes for us, which Heaven forbid." 
 Then to the oars they bend, in gloom still hid ; 
 The minutes pass, with strenuous efforts fraught 
 Unto the rowers, while in tender thought — 
 Shown but in furtive pressure of the hand — 
 In mutual trust the lover's hearts expand. 
 Now Diarmid sees his oarsmen heed bestow 
 Upon some object that on shore doth show : 
 
Mairi of callaird. 9i 
 
 He turns him, and behold, a lurid spot 
 
 Which, as he looks, bursts forth in flames upshot. 
 
 In strength increasing, brighter yet the glare 
 
 Illumines fitfully Maam Oallaird's height, 
 
 Till far around that red light gleameth there. 
 
 •' Nay, Mairi, gaze not on such grievous sight," 
 
 But gaze she will, till tears her eyes o'erflow. 
 
 Oh what a pang for tender heart — to know 
 
 That the still forms of brotherhood and sire 
 
 Are fuel for that sure-devouring fire! 
 
 No longer from his arm withdraws she, coy. 
 
 Her all on Earth, deliverer, guide and joy ! 
 
 They linger not, though awestruck looks are cast 
 
 Upon the raging flame, which hours will last, 
 
 And in the annals of that West Countrie 
 
 As an event unmatched recorded be. 
 
 The gentle spirit quiet sighs doth heave. 
 
 As passing on, that haunting scene they leave ; 
 
 And eastward turns an anxious troubled eye 
 
 Where mountain forms loom clearer 'gainst the sky 
 
92 MAIEI of CAliLAIEli. 
 
 As spreads a cold grey light arising thence. 
 
 It touches heights, and falls upon the dense 
 
 Pir-covered slopes, then on the surface still 
 
 Of the dark loch, revealing fear of ill 
 
 Depicted in the faces of the crew ; 
 
 Disquietude that in himself each knew, 
 
 Tho* none expressed — their leader too betrays 
 
 Uneasy thoughts; his restless searching gaze 
 
 Swift wandering round, peers into every nook 
 
 As lifts the mist, then turns with tender look 
 
 On the slight form Fidelity may claim 
 
 As snatched from Death, and rescued in her name. 
 
 But rose-tints soft the fleeting grey pursue. 
 
 And with the cold light blends a brighter hue. 
 
 It shines upon the weary pallid girl. 
 
 In languor leaning, all emotion hushed ; 
 
 Recovered scarce from the bewildering whirl 
 
 Of past events, she shows like flower storm-crushed. 
 
 Her inborn ease and grace befit right well 
 
 The richer garments that new clanship tell ; 
 
MAJEl Of CALLAtRD. 93 
 
 Por Diarmid's tartan she will henceforth wear 
 And with the fairest of his race compare. 
 Discarding sorrows with thy rohes of yore, 
 Look up, sweet Mairi: Eate has yet in store 
 Much good for thee, tho' chequered it may be 
 With ill, 'tis best that thou canst not foresee. 
 The present hour is thine — enough to feel 
 That all thine aching wounds 'twill surely heal; 
 Enough to know that whatsoe'er betide, 
 'Twill find thee thus contented at his side ; 
 Enough his hand to touch in clasp so dear ; 
 His voice, still more his whispered words to hear ; 
 Enough his meeting eye — oh joy to see, 
 Doth turn so oft and lovingly on thee. 
 Old fears, old doubts are gone, like darkness past; 
 New life begins with dawn now breaking fast. 
 
 At length the lonely, leafy isle they reach— 
 The wished-for haven gladly hailed by each. 
 
94. MAlBI OF CALLAniD. 
 
 Not this the first time it protection gave 
 To hapless maid bereaved, who, life to save. 
 Unto its sacred precincts fled of yore : 
 Hence "Woman's Isle" the simple name it bore. 
 They shelter as they can throughout the day, 
 And with returning night retrace their way 
 With little risk, for nowhere now is found 
 The watch so strict; the warning fires around 
 Have faded in the great funereal blazie 
 That published wide, with horror and amaze. 
 The dread catastrophe enacting there. 
 Light friendly waves the travellers onward bear, 
 Till up the Awe with flagging strength they wind. 
 Past doubts new-rising, chill the timid mind, 
 As landing, Hamish is sent on before. 
 Their tale to tell and welcome to implore ; 
 And following slow with Mairi, Diarmid tries 
 To win some smiles of hope, which fear denies. 
 
MA.IRI OP CALLAIBD. 95 
 
 Their path led by the birch and hazel bank 
 Where heather, interspersed with grasses dank, 
 In purple patches grew ; by beechen grove 
 And avenue, where branching arms above 
 Met, and commingling, flung luxuriant shade 
 Upon the space beneath, save where there strayed ' 
 
 Some prying sunbeam through the leafy screen — 
 Now here, now there, the foliage between, 
 As breezes light would shift the dancing ray 
 Which broader fell athwart the turfy way. 
 It gleamed upon the smooth-barked, stately forms 
 That passing generations will outlast 
 Of human hopes ; and long will shadows cast 
 In proud defiance of the western storms, 
 Though these their symmetry may oft-times mar 
 By rude destroying force. In ancient far 
 Cathedral fane, no aisle than this more grand, 
 Whereof the architect's is Nature's hand. 
 Here, then, the pair moved slowly on — each filled 
 With thoughts their early training had instilled : 
 
96 MAIEI OF OALIAIRD. 
 
 The one to stain not his ancestral name, 
 The other trembling for her maiden fame ; 
 Both by unselfish true affection stirred, 
 Regretting that had been so long deferred 
 Their love's avowal — striving to conceal 
 Mistrust of answer to their late appeal ; 
 Through all, impressed by calmness of the scene, 
 In contrast with the terrors that had been. 
 
 "Winged Rumour far and wide has noised abroad 
 The direful facts that food will long afford 
 Eor marvel-loving tongues ; and news has come 
 Of the doomed house and of the ruined home, 
 But nought of the escape — that still unknown, 
 Small wonder then discomfiture was shown 
 At Inverawe, when Hamish did relate 
 To ears perturbed, the deed heroic done ; 
 And how that Diarmid did e'en now await 
 A greeting kind for the poor rescued one. 
 
MAIRI OF CALLAIRD. 97 
 
 " Go, tell my son. that with him I would speak 
 " From off the Terrace steps. He must not seek 
 " To enter here, until such course may seem 
 " Less hazardous for us than, we esteem 
 " It now to he." The messenger hath sped, 
 And fear with curiosity is read 
 In faces round. Yes, they are coming now. 
 And clears the good old Knight his ruffled hrow 
 As Diarmid leads his shrinking partner on. 
 Their forms seen moving lithe the sward upon ; 
 And Clare looks forth with scrutinising eye 
 Which softens soon in tender sympathy, 
 And glistens when it meets the anxious glance 
 That claims from her a sister's countenance. 
 " Father, much heedless wrong I may have done 
 " But meanness never — pardon now thy son." 
 " My son, the brave and faithful merit bear, 
 " And though I not deny I would mine heir 
 " Had elsewhere sought than in unfriendly clan 
 " A helpmeet in our home to dwell — no man 
 
98 MAIM OF CALLAIRD. 
 
 " Shall cast reproacli upon tliy heart's free choice ; 
 
 " For Love is wayward, and with dulcet voice, 
 
 " In tones unheard maybe 'midst courtly din, 
 
 " Doth steal into the citadel within, 
 
 " And secret bind with fine magnetic chains 
 
 " The conscious will that subjugate remains ; 
 
 " But if in fault, good reason canst thou plead, 
 
 " For in that fair and modest face I read 
 
 " All purity and truth. Daughter, I grieve 
 
 " I cannot thee with safety yet receive ; 
 
 " But in our bothy up Ben-Cruachan's side, 
 
 " I pray ye both a brief space to abide, 
 
 " Attended but by these devoted few 
 
 " Who would, if need were, peril life anew. 
 
 " Then, when the panic well is overpast, 
 
 " So men no longer look at thee aghast, 
 
 " Return : and that no scorn on thee may wait, 
 
 " We will entreat, in all befitting state, 
 
 " The Church's sanction on thy union fond 
 
 *' Which now I do pronounce a legal bond ; 
 
MAIRI OP CALLAIRD. 99 
 
 '"■ Your mutual vows exchanged declaring this. 
 
 " Thus, then, the nuptial tie I freely bless, 
 
 *' Although I can but waft the father's kiss 
 
 " I dare not give thee yet. In happiness, 
 
 " Forgetting not the way that thou hast trod, 
 
 " As honoured wife and loved, long may'st thou live." 
 
 " Oh joy unlooked for and unhoped ! Oh God, 
 
 -" My coward heart and feeble trust forgive." 
 
 So said, so done — and Time went calmly by 
 Till summons came from Inverawe, to meet 
 The welcome waiting there. Thus happily 
 They left the eagle's haunt, their wild retreat. 
 Their due espousals then to celebrate, 
 In pomp assembled all the country side ; 
 And long the clansmen proudly would relate 
 How noble Diarmid won his Cameron bride. 
 
 K. I. 0.