Sir Neil, and Glengyle/Sir Neil, and Glengyle, The Highland Cheftans
SIR NEIL & GLENGYLE
THE HIGHLAND CHEFTAINS.
In yonder Isle beyond Argyle,
where flocks and herds were plenty,
Lived a rich Squire, whose sister fair
was the flower of all that country.
A Knight Sir Neil, had woo'd her long,
expecting soon to marry.
A young Highland Laird his suit profer'd,
young handsome, brisk and airy.
Long she respected brave Sir Neil,
because he woo'd sincerely,
But as soon as she saw the young Glengyle,
he won her most entirely;
Till lies of some to her brother came,
That Neil had boasted proudly.
Of favours from that Lady young,
which made him vow thus rudely.
I swear by all our friendship past,
before this hour next morning,
This Knight or me shall breathe our last,
he shall know who he's scorning.
To meet on the shore where the loud waves roar
in a challenge he defy'd him,
Ere the sun was up, these young men met,
no living creature nigh them.
What ails what ails my dearest friend?
Why want ye to destroy me?
I want no flattery base Sir Neil,
but draw your sword and try me.
Why should I fight with you M‘Van,
you ne'er have me offended;
And if I aught to you have done,
I’ll own my fault and mend it.
Is this your boasted courage knave?
Who would not now despise thee?
But if thou still refuse to fight,
I'll like a dog chastice thee.
Forbear fond fool tempt not thy fate;
presume not now to strike me;
There's not a man in all Scotland,
can wield the broad sword like me.
Combin'd with guilt, thy wondrous skill
from fate shall not defend thee,
My Sister's wrongs shall brace my arms
this stroke to death shall send thee.
But this and many a well aim'd blow,
the generous Baron warded,
Being loth to harm so dear a friend,
himself he only guarded.
Till mad at being so sore abus'd,
a furios push he darted,
Which pierc'd the brains of bold M‘Van,
who with a groan departed.
Curse on my skill!—What have I done!
Rash man but you would have it;
You have forc'd a friend to take thy life,
who would have bled to sav'd it.
Why should I mourn for this sad deed,
since now it can't be mended?
My happiness, that seem'd so nigh,
by one rash stroke I've ended.
An exile unto some strange land,
to fly I know not whether!
I must not see my lovely Ann,
since I have slain her brother.
But casting round his mournful eyes,
to see if none was nigh them;
There he espy'd the young Glengyle,
who like the wind came flying.
I'm come too late to stop the strife,
but since thou art victorious,
I‘ll be revenged or lose my life,
my honour bids me do this.
I know your bravery young Glengyle,
tho‘ of life I am regardless,
Why am I forced my friends to kill,
See brave M‘Van lies breathless,
Unhappy lad, put up thy blade,
tempt me no more I pray thee:
This sword that peirced the squire so rude,
soon in the dust will lay thee.
Does it become so brave a Knight,
Does blood so much affright thee?
Glengyle will ne'er disgrace thy sword,
unsheath it then and fight me.
Again with young Glengyle he closed,
intending not to harm him,
Three times with gentle wounds him peirced
yet never could disarm him.
Yield up your sword to me Glengyle,
What on is our quarrel grounded?
I could have pierced thy dauntles heart,
each time I have the wounded;
But if thou thinkest me to kill,
in faith thou art mistaken,
So if thou scorn to yield thy sword,
in pieces straight I‘ll break it.
While talking thus he quit his guard,
Glengyle in haste advanced,
And pierc‘d his generous manly breast,
the spear behind him glanc‘d!
Then down he fell and cries I'm slain!
Adieu to all things earthly,
Adieu Glengyle the day's thine own,
but thou hast won it basely,
When tidings came to Lady Ann,
time after time she fainted.
She ran and kiss‘d their clay cold lips,
and thus their fate lamented.
Illustrious brave but hapless men,
this horrid sight does move me!
My dearest friends roll‘d in their blood,
the men that best did love me.
O thou the guardian of my youth,
my dear and only brother,
For this thy most untimly fate,
I‘ll mourn till life is over.
And brave Sir Neil how art thou fall‘n,
and wither‘d in thy blossom!
No more I‘ll love the treacherous man,
that pierc‘d my hero's bosom.
A kind and tender heart was thine,
thy friendship was abused,
A braver man ne'er fac‘d a foe,
had thou been fairly used.
For thee a maid I'll live and die,
Glengyle shall ne‘er epouse me,
And for the space of seven long years
the dowy black shall clothe me.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse