Blair Collection > Celtic monthly > Volume 6, 1898

THE CELTIC MONTHLY.
la
England or any other nation, if they believed
tbat they could thereby preserve or recover
their birthright.
J. A. LOVAT FUASER.
THE PHANTOM DOE.
A West Highland Legend.
CjrTllHE milk-white doe speeds o'er the hills,
^mjj The fleetest deer on Scottish land,
With eyes of flame that nought can tame,
And coat as soft as lady's hand.
No foot has tracked her to her lair
In mountain fastnesses unknown,
No hunter's knife can touch her life.
Unscathed she roams the heights alone.
The corn has withered on the stalk.
In the once-fruitful sea is dearth.
The board is bare, and black despair
Sits with the children by the hearth ;
And o'er the clansmen broods a spell,
No jest is heard, no smile is seen,
An awful gloom of coming doom
Folds round them all its sable screen.
Lord Hugh has vowed a solemn vow,
" By cross, and book, and blessed wine,"
To find the doe, to lay her low,
And bear her corse to Mary's shrine.
" No earthly beast is this I wot,
A wicked, wandering witch is she,
A silver shot shall be her lot,
To lift the curse from land and sea."
O'er misty heights, through corries dim
He searched, but found not what he sought
A maiden fair, with flowing hair.
Home to the castle he has brought.
" Behold, my clansmen ! this, my bride,
I, wandering, saw in glen alone,
Forsaken, strayed, and sore afraid,
Therefore I claim her for my own."
Within the castle all was mirth.
Among the clansmen dire dismay ;
Lord Hugh was blind, upon his mind
A darksome shadow fell, and lay.
He heard as though he listened not.
He heeded not the woes he saw,
His lady's look his only book.
His lady's wish his only law.
An angel's face, a heart of stone,
The clansmen writhed beneath her rule,
In vain they pled, her soul was dead
To pity, misery's cup was full.
" Oh ! who shall save us from her hate (
She holds ouv chief in bitter thrall,
And well we know, the milk-white doe
Lurks oft beside the castle wall."
The wintry sun was sinking down,
On sea and land his glory fell,
Beside the gate a Palmer sate
With staff, and scrip, and scallop-shell.
" What wantest thou, oh, holy man >. "
" But little, for my head this night
Shelter and rest, to be thy guest.
And leave to see thy lady bright."
Red glowed the sun with angry glare,
Blood-red the sea gleamed in its ray,
When by the stair the lady fair
Led to the tower that Palmer grey.
He gazed around, he looked beneath,
Dark grew his face so pale and worn ;
With haughty mien, and look serene
The lady smiled with lofty scorn.
" What are those shadows, shrunk and pale.
That linger by the dreary waves?
Be these. Lord Hugh, thy clansmen true,
Or spirits come from umpiiet graves ! "
Then groaned Lord Hugh, his eyes grew wide
As one who wakes trom slumber deep.
The lady frowned, and glanced around,
" Sir Palmer, these are but my sheep."
" And what are these that tottering move
Like women laden, old, and bent ! "
" These too, are mine, they are but kine
My lord to me a season lent."
Black grew the Palmer's brow, he turned
And closer to the lady prest,
Then, ere she knew, unerring, true.
He signed the cross upon her breast.
" Avaunt thee, witch, thy triumph's o'er,"
With yell of wrath she owned his might,
Short was her shrift, with action swift
He hurled her from the giddy height.
Lord Hugh drew near with ashen face,
" Palmer, this is strange recompense
For food and rest I " but lo ! his guest
Was gone, he knew not how nor whence.
The evening wind went moaning by.
And as it touched his throbbing brovv
Like scorching flame, with grief and shame
Remembered he his solemn vow.
"God save us all '' quoth good Lord Hugh,
And shudderingly he gazed below,
" The curse must cease, our souls find peace.
For there lies slain the milk-white doe."
Fair plenty fills both land and sea.
Another bride holds gracious sway.
But ne'er again may eyes of men
Behold that Palmer gaunt and grey.
When foaming waves crash on the strand,
When shrieks the wild Atlantic blast,
A shadowy form flits through the storm.
The milk-white doe speeds swiftly past.
J.4NET A. M'CULLOCH.
We regret to intimate the death of Mrs. D. R.
Macgregor of Melbourne, a lady greatly respected
among the Scotch residents in Victoria. She was
a daughter of the late John Mackintosh of Balnain.