Massacre of Glencoe (5)/The Massacre of Glencoe

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THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE.

Tune,—‘ Scots wha ha'e,’ &c.

Broad set the sun o'er wild Glencoe,
Red gleam'd the heights of drifted snow,
And loud and hoarse the torrent's flow
⁠Dash'd thro' the drear domain,
Bright shines the hearth's domestic blaze,
The dancers bound in wanton maze,
And merry minstrels tune their lays
⁠Blythe o'er the mountain reign.

Yon level sun sinks down in blood,
Low'ring o'er dark ingratitude;
It warns the guileless and the good,
⁠Glencoe's wo-fated clan.
Each smiling host salutes his guests,
‘Good night,'-that hand so kindly prest
Shall plunge the dagger in thy breast,
⁠Long ere the orient dawn.

All's still!-but hark! from height to height,
Come's rushing on the breeze of night,
The startling shriek of wild affright,
⁠The hoarse assassin yell

Is there no arm on high to save
From foulest death the trustful brave!
Each by his threshold found a grave,
⁠Or where he slumber'd fell!

Red rose the sun o'er lone Glencoe;
What eye shall mark that crimson'd snow,
What ear shall list the torrent's flow
⁠Dashing the dreary wild.
Round sheal and hamlet's shelt'ring rock
High soars destruction's volum'd smoke,
But hush'd the shriek which maddening broke
⁠From mother, maiden, child.

All's still!-save round yon mountain's head,
Where men of blood the snow-path tread,
Startling lest voices from the dead
⁠A deed of hell proclaim.
Wo for thy clan, thou wild Glencoe!
Whose blood dyes deep the mountain snow
But deadlier bale, and deeper wo,
⁠Glenorchy, on thy name.