n,
And the truant I call to the Lowlands in vain.

I know why it wanders,--it is to be treading
Where long I frequented the haunts of my dear,
The meadow so dewy, the glades so o'erspreading,
With the gowans to lean on, the mavis to cheer.

It is to be tending where heifers are wending,
And the birds, with the music of love, are contending;
And rapture, its passion to innocence lending,
Is a dance in my soul, and a song in my ear.

[50] This song was written in Edinburgh.

CORMAC'S CURE.

The following is a portion of the poet's "Lament for
his Lost Love," on her departure to England with her
husband. Cormac, an Irish harper, was long entertained
in his professional character by Macleod of Lewis; and
had the temerity to make love to the chief's daughter.
On the discovery, and its apprehended consequences to
his safety, he is said to have formed the desperate
resolution of slaying the father, and carrying away the
lady. His hand was stayed, as he raised the deadly
weapon, by the sudden appearance of Macleod's son; who,
with rare and commendable temper, advised him to look
for a love among the hundred maidens of his own degree
who were possessed of equal charms. With the same
uncommon self-command, poor Cormac formed the
resolution of drowning his love in the swell of his own
music. Ross applies the story to his own case.

Thus sung the minstrel Cormac, his anguish to beguile,
And laid his hand upon his harp, and struck the strings the while--
"Since they have taught my lady fair on her poet's gifts to frown,
In deeper swellings of the lay, I 'll learn my love to drown."

When Colin Cormac's guilty grasp was closing with the spear,
Rush'd in the chieftain's heir, and cried, "What frenzied mood is here!
Sure many a May of ruby ray, as blushful on the brow,
As rosy on the lip, is there--then, why so frantic thou?"

The heart-struck minstrel heard the word; and though his flame, uncured,
Still fired his soul, in haste the shores of danger he abjured:
But aye he rung his harp, though now it knew another strain,
And loud arose its warblings as the sounding of the main.

Yes! 'twas an organ peal that soar'd the vocal lift along,
As chorus'd to the high-strung harp his words of mightier song,
Lest, hapless chance! should rise,