LOCHIEL'S WARNING. WIZARD-LOCHIEL. WIZARD. LOCHIEL, Lochiel! beware of the day crown; Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down! Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? LOCHIEL. Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer! Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight WIZARD. Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be Say, rush'd the bold eagle exultingly forth, [torn! From his home, in the dark rolling clouds of the north? Lo! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode Companionless, bearing destruction abroad; But down let him stoop from his havoc on high! Ah! home let him speed,-for the spoiler is nigh. Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? 'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. Oh, crested Lochiel! the peerless in might, stood, LOCHIEL. False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshall'd my clan, Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one! They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock! Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock! But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, When Albin her claymore indignantly draws; When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, All plaided and plumed in their tartan array— WIZARD. Lochiel, Lochiel! beware of the day; For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, But man cannot cover what God would reveal; "Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king. Lo! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath, sight: Rise, rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight! 'Tis finish'd. Their thunders are hush'd on the With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale LOCHIEL. Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale : For never shall Albin a destiny meet, So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat. gore, Like ocean-weeds heap'd on the surf-beaten shore, While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND: A NAVAL ODE. I. YE Mariners of England! That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, The battle and the breeze! Your glorious standard launch again To match another foe! And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, II. The spirits of your fathers Shall start from every wave!— For the deck it was their field of fame, And Ocean was their grave: Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, Your manly hearts shall glow, |