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.
415
"And am I then so abject now
As not to dare her smiles to greet?
Yes ! I absolve her from her vow; —
Revenge alone to me is sweet !
"Yet listen! If on bended knee
You do now publicly confess
How deeply you have injured me
And sorrow and regret express: —
"And farther, if you shall consent
To bare your shoulders to the scourge
And suffer what I underwent,
These, these, perhaps, the stain may purge.'
"Yes! yes 1 thy purpose to recall,
I here confess on bended knee.
In presence of my vassals all,
That I have deeply injured thee.
"Stripes, torture, death itself I dare,"
Exclaimed aloud the stricken chief,
" So that mjf only child you spare,
And thus assuage his mother's grief."
Th' astonished clansmen murmured loud,
But quailed as them their chieftain eyed,
AVho in the center of the crowd.
The agonizing lash defied.
'Twas over, tho' he could not speak, .
He, breathing deep, look'd wistfully
Toward the cold and dreary peak
Which topped the rugged cliff so high.
Oh! horror! with outstretched arm
The desp'rate man held up the child
As if he meditated harm ;
His looks were haggard, dark, and wild.
One moment more! With demon glare.
He bent his arm the child to kiss.
Then vaulting into empty air.
Both sank into the dark abyss !
Oh I who can paint a scene so dread.
The howling and the dismal yell
Enough to rouse the sleeping dead
. And scare the very fiends of hell?
But whence those other sounds of woe
Which now assail the wearied ear.
So mournful, plaintive, wailing low.
Like moaning winds in autumn sere?
Has some illusion of the mind.
Some airy phantom of the brain,
A dream of fancy undefin'd.
Awakened up such doleful strains?
Ah, no! the accents sad of grief;
The passini; knell have mournful knolled
And warned the childless, widowed chief.
That Isabel in death lies cold.
How vain, alas! is human pride —
In youth, impatient of control ;
It swells like ocean's raging tide.
And saps the barriers of the soul.
In after years, as death draws near.
Its waves begin to retrograde;
While we lament with many a tear.
And mourn the mocks which they have
made.
The morn had seen Lochbuie proud
Kide forth, the idol of his clan;
The evening hears him sob aloud,
A lone and broken-hearted man.
Por closed in dullness is that ear
Which mercy never sued in vain ;
And dim's that eye which wont to cheer.
And make the wretch forget his pain.
No longer shall the infant gem
Of innocence enduaring smile;
Cut off before its beauteous stem
It sleeps beside Mull's mournful isle.
Poor Flora in fantastic weeds
Wild wanders on the lonely shore.
And muttering mournful tells her beads
She ne'er shall see her Galium more !
t
Lochbuie's halls are silent now;
Within lona's cloister'd pile
The chief to heaven his life did vow.
And never more was seen to smile.