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THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE.
O tell me, Harper, wherefore flow,
The wayward, notes of wail and woe
Far lown the desert of Glencoe,
Where none may list their melody?
Say harp at thou to the mists that fly.
Or to the dun deer glancing by,
O to the eagle that from high
Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy.
"No, not to these, for they have rest—
To mist wreath has the mountain crest,
The stag, his lair the erne her nest;
Abode of lone security.
But those for whom I pour the lay,
Not wild wood deep nor mountain gray,
Not this heap dell that shrouds from day,
Could screen from treacherous cruelty.
"Their flag was furl'd, and mute their drum,
The very household dogs were dumb,
Unwont to bay of guesta that come
