"LOCHABAR NO MORE."
["The Scotch are celebrated for their attachment to their national airs. I have somewhere read an incident of a couple of Scotchmen, who being wrecked on the shores of South America, were compelled to remain there some length of time, owing to their not being able to obtain a passage home. When, at length, this difficulty was obviated, one of them, having become captivated by the people of the country and their indolent manner of living, determined on remaining. His companion made no effort to persuade him from this decision. Seating himself by his side, he began, in a low and plaintive tone, that most touching of all their native melodies, "Lochabar no more." As the song proceeded, the listener became evidently much affected, and by the time it was concluded, his face was bathed in tears. It was enough—he left the Eldorado of his dreams, and returned to lay his bones beside those of his kindred."]
That would not rest again,
Till all unclosed his spirit's eyes:
Came with that sudden strain
The echo of returning feet,
Voice of familiar song,
The hearth-stone, the accustomed seat,
And friends remembered long.
Call at the eventide;
He saw the white clouds, fringed with gold,
Move on in fleecy pride.
And, bright as those which monarchs wear,
Tinged with a sun-set glow,
Upon the head of Loch-na-gair,
He saw his crown of snow.
When evening skies were dim,
The song of birds amidst the trees
Came pleasantly to him.
And the sound of gushing waters fell
On his attentive ear.
The same his boyhood loved so well
In woodland haunts to hear.
The stately fir-tree rose,
Like a proud chief triumphantly,
Amidst admiring foes.
He trod the precipice's brow,
Where oft in wayward mood,
He gazed into the depths below,
At the down-rushing flood.
Towards the o'er arching blue,
And on his father's humble shed
A friendly shadow threw;
And humble flowers looked up to him
With tearful, earnest eyes,
When tremblingly the evening hymn
Swelled upward towards the skies
That knew no name nor place,
Like friends with tearful, downcast eyes,
And hesitating pace,
Came to his heart reproachfully.
And told of former hours,
When vows were made beneath the sky,
And witnessed by the flowers.
Of many a deed of fame,
Of the land that Wallace loved so well,
That sung the Bruce's name.
And he saw their plaided hosts upstart,
In menacing array,
As old tradition o'er his heart,
Resumed her ancient sway.
He thought upon the graves,
Of those whose lot it was to die,
Beyond the dark blue waves.
And the sky above was bright no more,
The flowers no longer fair,
The dreams that filled his heart were o'er,
And memory only there.
Upon his country's breast,
To lie, where kindred eyes might weep
Above his place of rest.
Where he once more, in life, might hear
That soul-subduing strain—
Beloved lips breathe in his ear,
"Lochabar" once again.
