Ossian Collection > Macdonald bards from mediaeval times

several illustrations for the Keppoch history—
" Alastair Carroch at Inverlochy," " Iain Aluinn,
the deposed chief," " The Escape of Sir Janes of
Islay from Edinburgh Castle," "A View of
Keppoch," one of " Tom Beag," of " Glen Roy,"
and tlie " Parallel Roads of Loch Treig," one for
Alice MacDonell's poem, " The Recovery of tlie
Tartan," when published in the Celtic Monthhj.
She also designed the invitation card for the
London banquet to Colonel Hector MacDonald,
and the Clan Donald illuminated address, both
in the Celtic style. Being still young and full
of Highland lore, we hope to see many more
illustrations from her fertile pen.
The following are samples of her poetic powers,
which are graceful and flowing and full of patriotic
sentiment : —
A MESSAGE TO THE BRAES OF LOCHABER.
Backward, backward, all my longings.
Thought and memory still must flee,
Waking, dreaming, ever turning,
Dear Lochaber, back to thee :
Back to days of childhood'.^^ gambols
On the sunny braes at home.
Dancing to the eltin music
Heard among the river's foam ;
Back to days when Kep])0ch echoed
To the music and the mirtli
Of loyal hearts, we learned to value
At their true and priceless worth :
Back to days when sorrows shadowed,
Stealing round us like a pall,
Hills and woods and rushing rivers,
'Twas the hour to leave them all.
Then the clansmen of Lochaber
Gathering round us as of old,
While false friendships were so worthless
Showed that they were sterling gold.
Proved their leal unbought devotion.
Proved our trust was not in vain,
Bringing sweetness to that parting
Far outweighing all the pain.
Oh ! sooner shall the raven's plumage
Change to white its swarthy hue,
Than we can e'er forget the friendship
That has proved so warm and true.
Dearer, nobler far, each peasant
Dwelling 'midst those lofty hills
Than e'en the mightiest men of Europe
Moulding nations to their wills.
And now there comes a loving message
From those bonnie heathery glens-
Homes of sweet pure-hearted maidens
And of staunch and trusty men-
Brightening o'er life's dreary pathway,
Like a gleam of sunny ray
Bursting through a wall of storm-cloud.
Chasing all the frowns away ;
Telling that the tie between us
Is not one of yesterday
And still the chain of friendship rivets
Links that bind our hearts for aye.
But even here there lurks a shadow,
Why so many voices stilled ?
Ah, day by day in Cille Choirrill
Some new grave is being filled.
Kindly hearts we've known and cherished ;
One by one are laid to rest ;
Alas ! will all have left Lochaber
Ere we see it— God knows best.
Her " Cry from Lochaber pleading for Gaelic "
is also very good, containing truth that cannot
be gainsaid.
THE HIGHLAND SOLDIER'S RETURN.
Well had thev fought in their country's cause,
On many a battle-fleld ;
Thev stepped in each gap where a comrade fell,
Till the foe was compelled to yield ;
In the posts of danger they ever stood
Like a rock that is lashed by the wave,
For under the tartan each heart that beat
Was a hero's— undaunted and brave :
It was they kept the Russian hordes at bay
Unbroken their " thin red line" ;
They made Britain's power on the Spanish plain
With unparalleled glory shine ;
Foremost their ranks in the deadly fight
Ere they conquered at Waterloo ;
They brouEfht rescue and hope to despairing hearts
In the power of the dark Hindoo.
The noblest laurels round Britain's crown
Have been gained by their trusty sword,
They were worthy a nations grateiul love.
Yet, what has been their reward 2
Homeward their longing footsteps turn,
Back to their hills again.
They think of the welcome that waits them there,
And they reck not of all their pain ;
The son will be held to the mother's heart,
As she blesses her noble boy,
An'i the girl he loves who has trusted long.
Will soon be his crowning joy ;
The heather ofc dreamed of in foreign linds,
Will bloom once again in their sight.
And each valley and wood and bubbling burn
Will bring them a new delight.
Then home— to Sutherland, Ross, Strathglass,
To Knoydart, the Western Isles ;
Their hearts were light tho' their steps were slow
As they travelled the weary miles.
What is the welcome that meets them there
A silent and desolate vale !
The blackened walls of their ruined homes
That tell tho pitiless tale.
Where is the father, the mother dear ?
In God's Acre among the dead ;
For thrust from their homes in the snow and hail
The wet ground was their only bed.
Their brothers, their sisters, the friends they loved
Thev were borne to their native shore
To live or die in the Western Wilds,
But their country shall see them no more ;
And the antlered monarchs are browsing there.
Heather shelters the nest of the bird.
The badger may hide 'neath their vacant hearth
But no human voice is heard.