13
Despairing and mad, to futurity blind,
The present to shun, and some respite to find,
⟨I⟩ swore, ere the shadow fell east from the pile,
To meet her alone by the brook of Glen-Gyle.
'She told me, and turn'd my chill'd heart to a stone,
The glory and name of Macgregor was gone;
That the pine, which for ages had shed a bright halo,
Afar on the mountains of Highland Glen-Falo,
⟨Should⟩ wither and fall ere the turn of yon moon,
⟨Smit⟩ through by the canker of hated Colquhoun:
That a feast on Macgregors each day should be common,
⟨For⟩ years, to the eagles of Lennox and Lomond.
'A parting embrace, in one moment, she gave,
Her breath was a furnace, her bosom the grave!
⟨Then⟩ flitting elusive, she said, with a frown,
The mighty Macgregor shall yet be my own!'
'Macgregor, thy fancies are wild as the wind;
⟨The⟩ dreams of the night have disorder'd thy mind.
⟨Come⟩, buckle thy panoply—march to the field—
(illegible text)e, brother, how hack'd are thy helmet and shield!
(illegible text)y, that was M'Nab, in the height of his pride,
When the lions of Dochart stood firm by his side,
⟨This⟩ night the proud chief his presumption shall rue;
⟨Arise⟩, brother, these chinks in his heart-blood will glue:
⟨Thy⟩ fantasies frightful shall flit on the wing,
⟨Then⟩ loud with thy bugle Glen-Lyon shall ring.'
