The Scottish Celtic review

—;;The Wi4i of the Af/eil Bard. 1 47Mcthinks I see the faithful houndThat followed nie at eve and inorn,The moors o'er wliich I loved to bound,The rocks that echoed back my horn,The cave where we reposed, when nightO'ertook us in our wild employ,Where by the wood-fire blazing bright.The hunter's cup inspired our joy.The smoking deer, Treig's sounding wave,Gave food and music for our feastAnd in that cave, though ghosts should rave,And mountains roar, deep was our rest.I see Ben-Ard's sky-piercing rocksAbove a thousand mountains rise ;The dreams of stags ai-e in his locks,The dark cloud on his summit lies.Scur-Eilt's broad shoulders loom in view,And the gi-een hill with fir trees crowned.Where first is heard the lone cuckoo.And elk and roe unharmed abound.A pine-fringed tarn lies in its cup.O'er which the wild ducks swiftly swimBeyond, a dark strath' opens up,With rowans dipping in its stream.'Oh let the swan that left her homeIn that cold realm where tempests rave,Where never sail can mock the foam,Or oaken prow divide the waveGlide gi-aceful o'er the loch at rest.Or soar the summer clouds among.And pour forth from her wounded breastThe mournful music of her song !I love to hear the plaintive wail.That tells the story of her woe,Borne by the echoes on the gale,In soothing sadness round me flow.' In the original the plira.se means " strath of dark green firs," but, as the sameepithet is used in thf previous ver.se, I liare altered it to avoid repetition.