Blair Collection > Treatise on the language, poetry, and music of the Highland clans

OF THE HIGHLAND CLANS.
169
No Machiavel has j-et propounded
The means to make the throne secure,
Save when the people's rights are founded
On a just basis, broad and sure.
But leniency is not now wanted ;
A wise severity were just :
Let those who are already sainted,
E'en go where they have placed their
trust.
Why should we grudge these men to
Heaven
That have their treasure hoarded
there ?
Since they have made their road so even,
Dismiss them while accounts are
square !
Thou subjects hast of high condition,
Whose hearts are not more true than
That will with many a sage petition,
Crave boons, and laud thy right
divine :
But right divine did not defend thee.
When thou and Cromwell were at
blows ;
Then try what force wise rule may
lend thee,
And make thy people friends — not
foes.
No doubt, thy nobles would defend
thee.
At cost of all their lands and lives,
But, och ! it would not do, to 'tend
thee.
And leave their children and their
But I must stop. The royal bard, as stated elsewhere, believed that the
feudal nobility only wanted to limit the power of the king, that they might lord
it over the people. Hence a severity which I think they do not as an order
deserve, and which I will not repeat. Iain Lom kept a poetical journal of
Dundee's route from Keppoch to Killiecraukie, of which the following is an
imitation — a true imitation, in so far as the royal Celtic bard's thoughts, feelings,
style, and spirit is concerned, but without any regard to the order of the w^ords
and lines even of the version I took down of it from an old Lochaber man, many
years ago, and which is essentially difierent from and superior to the versions
of it published by the common collectors. I have the less regret that I cannot
submit this version, from having learned that my old friend and school-fellow,
Mr James Munro, than whom no man living is better qualified, is engaged in
preparing for publication the interesting poems of this eminent modern bard,
with a memoir of the bard himself, which will, if possible be still more
interesting even than his poems.
'S MITHICH DHUIN MAKSA. — IT IS TIME TO MARCH.
'Tis time to march, 'tis time indeed.
For we have ate our beeves and
marts !
Necessity will sometimes breed
Thoughts that touch the coldest
hearts.
But would Fionn of glorious fame
For six weeks lie upon his oars.
While Lochlin's plundering war-chiefs
came.
And poured their hordes upon his
shores ?