History of the Clan MacLean from its first settlement at Duard Castle, in the Isle of Mull, to the present period

Poetry on or About the MacLeans.
413
No. 6. — Wild Revenge.
By Thomas Nimmo.
[This poem and the one following I find in a brochure published in 1884 by MacLcan ot Loehbuie.
account of Thomas Nimmo is given.]
No
'Tis morning. O'er Hebridean Isles,
Which dot the surface of the deep,
The orb of day returning smiles,
The spirits of the water sleep.
Oh ! sweet's the breath of early morn,
And bright the glow of eastern sky,
And fair the flowers whose tints adorn
Mull's wild and rugged scenery.
But brighter far than nature's light
Is woman's pure and pensive eye,
"While watching through the dreary night
The innocence of infancy.
And fairer than the fairest flower
That decks the mead or mountain wild
Are smiles, which, in a mother's bower.
Play o'er the features of her child.
The matins in Lochbuie's halls
Are said : MacLean, the doughty chief,
"With haughty mein his henchman calls.
And gives command in language brief.
"Go; let the pibroch of the clan
The gathering, both loud and clear.
Be sounded from the bartizan,
MacLean to-day will hunt the deer.
" His child, Lochbuie's son and heir,
His wife, the Lady Isabel,
"Will with himself be present there,
Hence ! Quickly go, thy message tell."
The henchman sped, the staghounds bay.
The fiery steeds impatient rear,
The vassals in their tartan gay,
With gladsome faces soon appear.
The chief with bow and buglehorn
Rides foremost with his island queen,
The nurse and child aloft are borne
Within their wicker palanquin.
The thrilling bagpipes gayly play
As from their drones the streamers fly.
The merry clansmen bound away
And shout in wildest eostacy.
And now they reach the forest green
Of pine trees with their scaly cone,
Where turning round the proud MacLean
Keen marks his followers every one.
Each gorge and pass he fenced with care,
And strictest vigilance enjoined
In order that the quarry there
No outlet for escape might find.
Twelve men of might and stature tall,
Well armed with lance and studded shield,
Form quickly at their chieftain's call
To tend their Lady on the field.
A little higher ground to gain
They onward mov'd, and many a prayer
Is muttered as they cross the plain.
For Isabel so bland and fair.
The bugles sound, the startled deer
Fly fleetly as the viewless wind,
The shaggy hounds in full career
Pursue and leave the woods behind.
The bowmen with their weapon bent
Concealed behind the rocks remain.
With sinews braced and eyes intent,
To lance the barb with deadly aim.
But quicker still the red deer flew,
The warders' shouts were given in vain.
As nearer to the pass they drew
Their course to change or speed restrain.
With bounding spring and antlers reared
In air this furious rush; anon
The hard and narrow gorge they've cleared,
The bunting of that day is donel
Exerted hope can i-arely brook
The sting of disappointment keen;
So told the dark and angry look
And flashing eye of proud MacLean.
"Seize, bind the slave! " he madly cried;
"A cur dog's death his doom shall be;
All hope of mercy is denied ;
Diavual: hang him on the nearest tree.
"But no! a refuge in the grave
From sneering scorn the coward finds;
Misfortune's bitter blast to brave
Belongs alone to noble minds.
"So let him live; the knotted lash —
Instead of death— his flesh shall tear
Till blood spurt out from every gash.
Which stains his craven shoulders bare."