_From the Gaelic._
Listen to me, as when ye heard our father
Sing, long ago, the song of other shores;
Listen to me, and then in chorus gather
All your deep voices, as ye pull your oars:
Fair these broad meads--these hoary woods are grand;
But we are exiles from our fathers' land!
From the lone shieling of the misty island
Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas;
Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland,
And we in dreams behold the Hebrides.
We ne'er shall tread the fancy-haunted valley,
Where, 'tween the dark hills, creeps the small clear stream,
In arms around the patriach-banner rally,
Nor see the moon on royal tombstones gleam.
* * * * *
Come, foreign rage!--let discord burst in slaughter!
Oh then for clansman true, and stern claymore!
The hearts that would have given their blood like water
Beat heavily beyond the Atlantic roar!
Fair these broad meads--these hoary woods are grand;
But we are exiles from our fathers' land!
[45] This simple and interesting lyric appears in No. XLVI. of the
"Noctes Ambrosianae," and has, we believe, on sufficient grounds, been
attributed to Lockhart.