For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight,
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight:
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and

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
[of war,

plain.

But hark! through the fast-flashing lightening
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far?
'Tis thine, oh Glenullin! whose bride shall
await,
[gate.
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the
A steed comes at morning: no rider is there;
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair.

scended from ancestors distinguished in their own sphere for great personal prowess, was a man worthy of a better cause and fate than that in which he embarked,-the enterprise of the young Chevaller. His memory is still fondly cherished among the Highlanders, by the appellation of the gentle Lochiel, for he was famed for his social virtues as much as for his martial and magnanimous (though mistaken) loyalty. His influence was so important among the Highland chiefs, that it depended on his joining with his clan whether the standard of Charles should be raised or not in 1745. Lochiel was himself too wise a man to be blind to the consequences of so hopeless an enterprise, but his sensibility to the point of honour overruled his wisdom. Charles appealed to his loyalty, and he could not brook the reproaches of his Prince. When Charles landed at Borradale, Lochiel went to meet him, but, on his way, called at his brother's house, (Cameron of Fassafern) and told him on what errand he was going; adding, however, that he meant to dissuade the Prince from his enterprise. Fassafern advised him in that case to communicate his mind by letter to Charles. "No," said Lochiel, "I think it due to my Prince to give him my reason in person for refusing to join his standard." "Brother," replied Fassafern, "I know you better than you know yourself; if the Prince once sets his eyes on you, he will make you do what he pleases." The interview accordingly took place, and Lochiel, with many arguments, but in vain, pressed the Pretender to return to France, and reserve himself and his friends for a more favourable occasion, as he had come, by his own acknowledgement, without arms, or money, or adherents; or, at all events, to remain concealed till his friends should meet and deliberate what was best to be done. Charles, whose mind was wound up to the utmost impatience, paid no regard to this pro

Weep, Albin! to death and captivity led!
Oh weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead:
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave,
Culloden! that reeks with the blood of the brave.

LOCHIEL.

Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer!
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear,
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight!
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright.

WIZARD.

Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn?
Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be

torn!

posal, but answered, "that he was determined to put all to the hazard." "In a few days," said he, "I will erect the royal standard, and proclaim to the people of Great Britain, that Charles Stuart is come over to claim the crown of his ancestors, and to win it or perish in the attempt. Lochiel, who (my father has often told me) was our firmest friend, may stay at home, and learn from the newspapers the fate of his Prince." "No," said Lochiel, "I will share the fate of my Prince, and so shall every man over whom nature or fortune hath given me any power."

The other chieftains who followed Charles embraced his cause with no better hopes; but their fear to be reproached with cowardice or disloyalty, impelled them to the desperate adventure. Of this we have an example in the interview of prince Charles with Clanronald, another leading chieftain in the rebel army.

"Charles," says Home," almost reduced to despair, in his dis course with Boisdale, addressed the two Highlanders with great emotion, and, summing up his arguments for taking arms, conjured them to assist their prince, their countryman, in his utmost need. Clanronald and his friend, though well inclined to the cause, positively refused, and told him that to take up arms without concert or support, was to pull down certain ruin on their own heads. Charles persisted, argued, and implored. During this conversation (they were on shipboard) the parties walked backwards and forwards on the deck; a Highlander stood near them, armed at all points, as was then the fashion of his country. He was a younger brother of Kinloch Moidart, and had come off to the ship to enquire for news, not

Say, rush'd the bold eagle exultingly forth,
From his home, in the dark rolling clouds of
the north?
[rode
Lo! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he
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,
[cast?

Those embers, like stars from the firmament
'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,
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height,
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to
burn;

Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return!
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it
stood,
[brood.
And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing

LOCHIEL.

clan :

False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled my [one! Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are

knowing who was aboard. When he gathered from their discourse that the stranger was the prince of Wales; when he heard his chief and his brother refuse to take arms with their prince; his colour went and came, his eyes sparkled, he shifted his place, and grasped his sword. Charles observed his demeanour, and turning briskly to him, called out, "Will you assist me ?" "I will, I will,” said Ronald, "though no other man in the Highlands should draw a sword, I am ready to die for you!" Charles, with a profusion of thanks to his champion, said, he wished all the Highlanders were like him. Without farther deliberation the two Macdonalds declared that they would also join, and use their utmost endeavours to engage their countrymen to take arms."

They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, [death. And like reapers descend to the harvest of 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 blood-hounds, that bark for thy fugitive king.

Lo! anointed by heaven with the vials of wrath, Behold, where he flies on his desolate path! Now, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight: [flight! Rise! rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his 'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors;

Culloden is lost, and my country deplores; But where is the iron-bound prisoner? Where? For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, forlorn, [torn? Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and

Ah no! for a darker departure is near;
The war drum is muffled, and black is the bier;
His death-bell is tolling; oh! mercy, dispel
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell!
Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs,
And his bloom-streaming nostril in agony swims.
Accursed be the faggots, that blaze at his feet,
Where his heart shall be thrown, ere it ceases
to beat,

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.
Though my perishing ranks should be strewed
in their gore,
[shore,
Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains,
While the kindling of life in his bosom remains,
Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low,
With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe!
And leaving in battle no blot on his name,
Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of
fame.

NOW CHARLES ASSERTS HIS FATHER'S RIGHT.*
Now Charles asserts his father's right,
And thus establishes his own,

* From the general strain of this production, it would appear to have been written immediately after the battle of Prestonpans. The Chevalier's partizans must then have been exceedingly sanguine of