7
The frost wind soon shall sweep away,
That lustre deep from glen and brae;
Yet Nora ere its bloom be gone,
May blithely wed the earlie's son."
"The swan," she said, "the lake's clear breast,
May barter for the eagle's nest,
The Awe's fierce stream may backward run.
Ben-Cruaichan fall and crush K c ure,
Our kilted clans, when blood is high,
Before their foes may turn and fly;-
But I, were all these marvels done,
Would never wed the earlies son."
Still in the water-lily's shade,
Her wonted nest the wild swan made,
Ben-Cruaichan stands as fast as ever.
Still downward foams the Awe s fierce river;
To shun the clash of foeman's steel,
No Highland brogue e'er turn'd the heel;
But Nora's heart is lost and won,
—She's wedded to the earlie's son.
