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
