Laurel · Thomas Campbell · The Pleasures of Hope, and Other Poems

The Pilgrim of Glencoe

iambic pentameter · heroic couplets · 507 lines · from The Pleasures of Hope, and Other Poems

The sunset sheds a horizontal smileO’er Highland frith and Hebridean isle,While, gay with gambols of its finny shoals,The glancing wave rejoices as it rollsWith streamered busses, that distinctly shineAll downward, pictured in the glassy brine;Whose crews, with faces brightening in the sun,Keep measure with their oars, and all in oneStrike up th’ old Gaelic song.—Sweep, rowers, sweep!The fisher’s glorious spoils are in the deep.

Day sinks—but twilight owes the traveller soon,To reach his bourne, a round unclouded moon,Bespeaking long undarkened hours of time;False hope—the Scots are stedfast—not their clime.A war-worn soldier from the western land,Seeks Cona’s vale by Ballihoula’s strand;The vale by eagle-haunted cliffs o’erhung,Where Fingal fought and Ossian’s harp was strung.—Our veteran’s forehead, bronzed on sultry plains,Had stood the brunt of thirty fought campaigns;He well could vouch the sad romance of wars,And count the dates of battles by his scars;For he had served where o’er and o’er againBritannia’s oriflamme had lit the plainOf glory—and victorious stamped her nameOn Oudenarde’s and Blenheim’s fields of fame.Nine times in battlefield his blood had streamed,Yet vivid still his veteran blue eye gleamed;Full well he bore his knapsack—unoppressed—And marched with soldier-like erected crest:Nor sign of ev’n loquacious age he wore,Save when he told his life’s adventures o’er;Some tired of these; for terms to him were dearToo tactical by far for vulgar ear;As when he talked of rampart and ravine,And trenches fenced with gabion and fascine—But when his theme possessed him all and whole,He scorned proud puzzling words and warmed the soul;Hushed groups hung on his lips with fond surprise,That sketched old scenes—like pictures to their eyes:—The wide war-plain, with banners glowing bright,And bayonets to the farthest stretch of sight;The pause, more dreadful than the peal to comeFrom volleys blazing at the beat of drum—Till all the field of thundering lines becameTwo level and confronted sheets of flame.Then to the charge, when Marlbro’s hot pursuitTrode France’s gilded lilies underfoot;He came and kindled—and with martial lungWould chant the very march their trumpets sung.—

The old soldier hoped, ere evening’s light should fail,To reach a home, south-east of Cona’s vale;But looking at Bennevis, capped with snow,He saw its mists come curling down below,And spread white darkness o’er the sunset glow;—Fast rolling like tempestuous Ocean’s spray,Or clouds from troops in battle’s fiery day—So dense, his quarry ’scaped the falcon’s sight,The owl alone exulted, hating light.

Benighted thus our pilgrim groped his ground,Half ’twixt the river’s and the cataract’s sound.At last a sheep-dog’s bark informed his earSome human habitation might be near;Anon sheep-bleatings rose from rock to rock,—’Twas Luath hounding to their fold the flock.Ere long the cock’s obstreperous clarion rang,And next, a maid’s sweet voice, that spinning sang:At last amidst the greensward (gladsome sight!)A cottage stood, with straw roof golden bright.

He knocked, was welcomed in; none asked his name,Nor whither he was bound, nor whence he came;But he was beckoned to the stranger’s seat,Right side the chimney fire of blazing peat.Blest Hospitality makes not her homeIn wallèd parks and castellated dome;She flies the city’s needy greedy crowd,And shuns still more the mansions of the proud;—The balm of savage or of simple life,A wild flower cut by culture’s polished knife!

The house, no common sordid shieling cot,Spoke inmates of a comfortable lot.The Jacobite white rose festooned their door;The windows sashed and glazed, the oaken floor,The chimney graced with antlers of the deer,The rafters hung with meat for winter cheer,And all the mansion indicated plainIts master a superior shepherd swain.

Their supper came—the table soon was spreadWith eggs and milk and cheese and barley bread.The family were three—a father hoar,Whose age you’d guess at seventy years or more,His son looked fifty—cheerful like her lord,His comely wife presided at the board;All three had that peculiar courteous graceWhich marks the meanest of the Highland race;Warm hearts that burn alike in weal and woe,As if the north wind fanned their bosoms’ glow!

But wide unlike their souls: old Norman’s eyeWas proudly savage ev’n in courtesy.His sinewy shoulders—each, though aged and lean,Broad as the curled Herculean head between,His scornful lip, his eyes of yellow fire,And nostrils that dilated quick with ire.With ever downward-slanting shaggy brows,Marked the old lion you would dread to rouse.Norman, in truth, had led his earlier lifeIn raids of red revenge and feudal strife;Religious duty in revenge he saw,Proud Honour’s right and Nature’s honest law.First in the charge and foremost in pursuit,Long-breathed, deep-chested, and in speed of footA match for stags—still fleeter when the preyWas man, in persecution’s evil day;Cheered to that chase by brutal bold Dundee,No Highland hound had lapped more blood than he.Oft had he changed the covenanter’s breathFrom howls of psalmody to howls of death:And though long bound to peace, it irked him stillHis dirk had ne’er one hated foe to kill.

Yet Norman had fierce virtues, that would mockCold-blooded tories of the modern stock,Who starve the breadless poor with fraud and cant;—He slew and saved them from the pangs of want.Nor was his solitary lawless charmMere dauntlessness of soul and strength of arm;He had his moods of kindness now and then,And feasted ev’n well-mannered lowland menWho blew not up his Jacobitish flame,Nor prefaced with “pretender” Charles’s name.Fierce, but by sense and kindness not unwon,He loved, respected ev’n his wiser son;And brooked from him expostulations sage,When all advisers else were spurned with rage.

Far happier times had moulded Ronald’s mind,By nature too of more sagacious kind.His breadth of brow, and Roman shape of chin,Squared well with the firm man that reigned within.Contemning strife as childishness, he stoodWith neighbours on kind terms of neighbourhood,And whilst his father’s anger nought availed,His rational remonstrance never failed.Full skilfully he managed farm and fold,Wrote, ciphered, profitably bought and sold:And, blessed with pastoral leisure, deeply tookDelight to be informed, by speech or book,Of that wide world beyond his mountain home,Where oft his curious fancy loved to roam.Oft while his faithful dog ran round his flock,He read long hours when summer warmed the rock:Guests who could tell him aught were welcomed warm,Even pedlars’ news had to his mind a charm;That like an intellectual magnet-stoneDrew truth from judgments simpler than his own.

His soul’s proud instinct sought not to enjoyRomantic fictions, like a minstrel boy;Truth, standing on her solid square, from youthHe worshipped—stern uncompromising truth.His goddess kindlier smiled on him, to findA votary of her light in land so blind;She bade majestic History unrollBroad views of public welfare to his soul,Until he looked on clannish feuds and foesWith scorn, as on the wars of kites and crows;Whilst doubts assailed him, o’er and o’er again,If men were made for kings or kings for men.At last, to Norman’s horror and dismay,He flat denied the Stuarts’ right to sway.

No blow-pipe ever whitened furnace fire,Quick as these words lit up his father’s ire;Who envied even old Abraham for his faith,Ordained to put his only son to death.He started up—in such a mood of soulThe white bear bites his showman’s stirring pole;He danced too, and brought out, with snarl and howl,“O Dia! Dia! and Dioul! Dioul!”

But sense foils fury—as the blowing whaleSpouts, bleeds, and dyes the waves without avail—Wears out the cable’s length that makes him fast,But, worn himself, comes up harpooned at last—E’en so, devoid of sense, succumbs at lengthMere strength of zeal to intellectual strength.His son’s close logic so perplexed his pate,Th’ old hero rather shunned than sought debate;Exhausting his vocabulary’s storeOf oaths and nicknames, he could say no more,But tapp’d his mull, rolled mutely in his chair,Or only whistled Killiecrankie’s air.

Witch legends Ronald scorned—ghost, kelpie, wraith,And all the trumpery of vulgar faith;Grave matrons ev’n were shocked to hear him slightAuthenticated facts of second-sight—Yet never flinched his mockery to confoundThe brutal superstition reigning round.

Reserved himself, still Ronald loved to scanMen’s natures—and he liked th’ old hearty man;So did the partner of his heart and life—Who pleased her Ronald, ne’er displeased his wife.His sense, ’tis true, compared with Norman’s son,Was commonplace—his tales too long outspun:Yet Allan Campbell’s sympathizing mindHad held large intercourse with human kind;Seen much, and gaily, graphically drewThe men of every country, clime, and hue;Nor ever stooped, though soldier-like his strain,To ribaldry of mirth or oath profane.

All went harmonious till the guest beganTo talk about his kindred, chief and clan,And, with his own biography engrossed,Marked not the changed demeanour of each host;Nor how old choleric Norman’s cheek becameFlushed at the Campbell and Breadalbane name.Assigning, heedless of impending harm,Their stedfast silence to his story’s charm,He touched a subject perilous to touch—Saying, “’Midst this well-known vale I wondered muchTo lose my way. In boyhood, long ago,I roamed and loved each pathway of Glencoe;Trapped leverets, plucked wild berries on its braes,And fished along its banks long summer days.But times grew stormy—bitter feuds arose,Our clan was merciless to prostrate foes.I never palliated my chieftain’s blame,But mourned the sin, and reddened for the shameOf that foul morn (Heaven blot it from the year!)Whose shapes and shrieks still haunt my dreaming ear.What could I do? a serf—Glenlyon’s page,A soldier sworn at nineteen years of age;T’ have breathed one grieved remonstrance to our chief,The pit or gallows would have cured my grief.Forced, passive as the musket in my hand,I marched—when, feigning royalty’s command,Against the clan Macdonald, Stairs’s lordSent forth exterminating fire and sword;And troops at midnight through the vale defiled,Enjoined to slaughter woman, man, and child.My clansmen many a year had cause to dreadThe curse that day entailed upon their head;Glenlyon’s self confessed the avenging spell—I saw it light on him.“It so befell:—A soldier from our ranks to death was brought,By sentence deemed too dreadful for his fault;All was prepared—the coffin and the cartStood near twelve muskets, levelled at his heart.The chief, whose breast for ruth had still some room,Obtained reprieve a day before his doom;—But of the awarded boon surmised no breath.The sufferer knelt, blindfolded, waiting death,—And met it. Though Glenlyon had desiredThe musketeers to watch before they fired;If from his pocket they should see he drewA handkerchief—their volley should ensue;But if he held a paper in its place,It should be hailed the sign of pardoning grace:—He, in a fatal moment’s absent fit,Drew forth the handkerchief, and not the writ;Wept o’er the corpse, and wrung his hands in woe,Crying ‘Here’s thy curse again—Glencoe! Glencoe!’”Though thus his guest spoke feelings just and clear,The cabin’s patriarch lent impatient ear;Wroth that, beneath his roof, a living manShould boast the swine-blood of the Campbell clan,He hastened to the door—called out his sonTo follow; walked a space, and thus begun:—“You have not, Ronald, at this day to learnThe oath I took beside my father’s cairn,When you were but a babe a twelvemonth born;Sworn on my dirk—by all that’s sacred, swornTo be revenged for blood that cries to Heaven—Blood unforgiveable, and unforgiven:But never power, since then, have I possessedTo plant my dagger in a Campbell’s breast.Now, here’s a self-accusing partisan,Steeped in the slaughter of Macdonald’s clan;I scorn his civil speech and sweet-lipped showOf pity—he is still our house’s foe:I’ll perjure not myself—but sacrificeThe caitiff ere to-morrow’s sun arise.Stand! hear me—you’re my son, the deed is just;And if I say—it must be done—it must:A debt of honour which my clansmen crave,Their very dead demand it from the grave.”Conjuring then their ghosts, he humbly prayedTheir patience till the blood-debt should be paid.

But Ronald stopped him.—“Sir, Sir, do not dimYour honour by a moment’s angry whim;Your soul’s too just and generous, were you cool,To act at once the assassin and the fool.Bring me the men on whom revenge is due,And I will dirk them willingly as you!But all the real authors of that blackOld deed are gone—you cannot bring them back.And this poor guest, ’tis palpable to judge,In all his life ne’er bore our clan a grudge;Dragged when a boy against his will to shareThat massacre, he loathed the foul affair.Think, if your hardened heart be conscience-proof,To stab a stranger underneath your roof!One who has broken bread within your gate—Reflect—before reflection comes too late,—Such ugly consequences there may beAs judge and jury, rope and gallows-tree.The days of dirking snugly are gone by,Where could you hide the body privily,When search is made for’t?”“Plunge it in yon flood,That Campbells crimsoned with our kindred blood.”“Ay, but the corpse may float—”“Pshaw! dead men tellNo tales—nor will it float if leaded well.I am determined!”—What could Ronald do?No house within ear-reach of his halloo,Though that would but have published household shameHe temporized with wrath he could not tame,And said, “Come in, till night put off the deed,And ask a few more questions ere he bleed.”

They entered; Norman with portentous airStrode to a nook behind the stranger’s chair,And, speaking nought, sat grimly in the shade,With dagger in his clutch beneath his plaid.His son’s own plaid, should Norman pounce his prey,Was coiled thick round his arm, to turn awayOr blunt the dirk. He purposed leaving freeThe door, and giving Allan time to flee,Whilst he should wrestle with (no safe emprise)His father’s maniac strength and giant size.Meanwhile he could nowise communicateThe impending peril to his anxious mate;But she, convinced no trifling matter nowDisturbed the wonted calm of Ronald’s brow,Divined too well the cause of gloom that lowered,And sat with speechless terror overpowered.Her face was pale, so lately blithe and bland,The stocking knitting-wire shook in her hand.But Ronald and the guest resumed their threadOf converse, still its theme that day of dread.“Much,” said the veteran, “much as I bemoanThat deed, when half a hundred years have flown,Still on one circumstance I can reflectThat mitigates the dreadful retrospect.A mother with her child before us flew,I had the hideous mandate to pursue;But swift of foot, outspeeding bloodier men,I chased, o’ertook her in the winding glen,And showed her palpitating, where to saveHerself and infant in a secret cave;Nor left them till I saw that they could mockPursuit and search within that sheltering rock.”

“Heavens!” Ronald cried, in accents gladly wild,“That woman was my mother—I the child!Of you unknown by name she late and air,Spoke, wept, and ever blessed you in her prayer,Ev’n to her death; describing you withalA well-looked florid youth, blue-eyed and tall.”They rose, exchanged embrace: the old lion thenUpstarted, metamorphosed, from his den;Saying, “Come and make thy home with us for life,Heaven-sent preserver of my child and wife.I fear thou’rt poor, that Hanoverian thingRewards his soldiers ill.”—“God save the king!”With hand upon his heart, old Allan said,“I wear his uniform, I eat his bread,And whilst I’ve tooth to bite a cartridge, allFor him and Britain’s fame I’ll stand or fall.”

“Bravo!” cried Ronald. “I commend your zeal,”Quoth Norman, “and I see your heart is leal;But I have prayed my soul may never thriveIf thou shouldst leave this house of ours alive.Nor shalt thou; in this home protract thy breathOf easy life, nor leave it till thy death.”

The following morn arose serene as glass,And red Bennevis shone like molten brass;While sunrise opened flowers with gentle force,The guest and Ronald walked in long discourse.“Words fail me,” Allan said, “to thank arightYour father’s kindness shown me yesternight;Yet scarce I’d wish my latest days to spendA fireside fixture with the dearest friend:Besides, I’ve but a fortnight’s furlough now,To reach Macallin More, beyond Lochawe.I’d fain memorialize the powers that be,To deign remembrance of my wounds and me;My life-long service never bore the brandOf sentence—lash—disgrace or reprimand.And so I’ve written, though in meagre style,A long petition to his Grace Argyle;I mean, on reaching Innerara’s shore,To leave it safe within his castle door.”“Nay,” Ronald said, “the letter that you bearEntrust it to no lying varlet’s care;But say a soldier of King George demandsAccess, to leave it in the Duke’s own hands.But show me, first, the epistle to your chief,’Tis nought, unless succinctly clear and brief;Great men have no great patience when they read,And long petitions spoil the cause they plead.”

That day saw Ronald from the field full soonReturn; and when they all had dined at noon,He conned th’ old man’s memorial—lopped its length,And gave it style, simplicity, and strength;’Twas finished in an hour—and in the nextTranscribed by Allan in perspicuous text.

At evening, he and Ronald shared once moreA long and pleasant walk by Cona’s shore.“I’d press you,” quoth his host—(“I need not sayHow warmly) ever more with us to stay;But Charles intends, ’tis said, in these same partsTo try the fealty of our Highland hearts.’Tis my belief, that he and all his lineHave—saving to be hanged—no right divine;From whose mad enterprise can only flowTo thousands slaughter, and to myriads woe.Yet have they stirred my father’s spirit sore,He flints his pistols—whets his old claymore—And longs as ardently to join the frayAs boy to dance who hears the bagpipe play.Though calm one day, the next, disdaining rule,He’d gore your red coat like an angry bull:I told him, and he owned it might be so,Your tempers never could in concert flow.But ‘Mark,’ he added, ‘Ronald! from our doorLet not this guest depart forlorn and poor;Let not your souls the niggardness evinceOf lowland pedlar, or of German prince;He gave you life—then feed him as you’d feedYour very father were he cast in need.’He gave—you’ll find it by your bed to-night,A leathern purse of crowns, all sterling bright:You see I do you kindness not by stealth.My wife—no advocate of squandering wealth—Vows that it would be parricide, or worse,Should we neglect you—here’s a silken purse,Some golden pieces through the network shine,’Tis proffered to you from her heart and mine.But come I no foolish delicacy, no!We own, but cannot cancel what we owe—This sum shall duly reach you once a year.”Poor Allan’s furrowed face, and flowing tear,Confessed sensations which he could not speak,Old Norman bade him farewell kindly meek.

At morn, the smiling dame rejoiced to packWith viands full th’ old soldier’s havresack.He feared not hungry grass with such a load,And Ronald saw him miles upon his road.

A march of three days brought him to Lochfyne.Argyle, struck with his manly look benign,And feeling interest in the veteran’s lot,Created him a sergeant on the spot—An invalid, to serve not—but with pay(A mighty sum to him), twelve-pence a day.“But have you heard not,” said Macallin More,“Charles Stuart’s landed on Eriska’s shore,And Jacobites are arming?”—“What! indeed!Arrived! then I’m no more an invalid;My new-got halbert I must straight employIn battle.”—“As you please, old gallant boy:Your grey hairs well might plead excuse, ’tis true,But now’s the time we want such men as you.”In brief, at Innerara Allan stayed,And joined the banners of Argyle’s brigade.

Meanwhile, th’ old choleric shepherd of GlencoeSpurned all advice, and girt himself to go.What was’t to him that foes would poind their fold,Their lease, their very beds beneath them sold!And firmly to his text he would have kept,Though Ronald argued and his daughter wept.But ’midst the impotence of tears and prayer,Chance snatched them from proscription and despairOld Norman’s blood was headward wont to mountToo rapid from his heart’s impetuous fount;And one day, whilst the German rats he cursed,An artery in his wise sensorium burst.The lancet saved him: but how changed, alas,From him who fought at Killiecrankie’s pass!Tame as a spaniel, timid as a child,He muttered incoherent words and smiled;He wept at kindness, rolled a vacant eye,And laughed full often when he meant to cry.Poor man! whilst in this lamentable state,Came Allan back one morning to his gate,Hale and unburdened by the woes of eild,And fresh with credit from Culloden’s field.’Twas feared at first, the sight of him might touchThe old Macdonald’s morbid mind too much;But no! though Norman knew him and disclosed,Ev’n rallying memory, he was still composed;Asked all particulars of the fatal fight,And only heaved a sigh for Charles’s flight;Then said, with but one moment’s pride of air,“It might not have been so had I been there!”Few days elapsed till he reposed beneathHis grey cairn, on the wild and lonely heath;Son, friends, and kindred of his dust took leave,And Allan, with the crape bound round his sleeve.

Old Allan now hung up his sergeant’s sword,And sat, a guest for life, at Ronald’s board.He waked no longer at the barrack’s drum,Yet still you’d see, when peep of day was come,Th’ erect tall red-coat, walking pastures round,Or delving with his spade the garden ground,Of cheerful temper, habits strict and sage,He reached, enjoyed a patriarchal age—Loved to the last by the Macdonalds. NearTheir house, his stone was placed with many a tear;And Ronald’s self, in stoic virtue brave,Scorned not to weep at Allan Campbell’s grave.God and the Devil—a favourite ejaculation of Highland saints.

Words in this poem 157

frith n.: A forest; a woody place. Drayton. [OE. frith peace, protection, land inclosed for hunting, park, forest, AS. fri peace; akin to freno peace, protection, asylum, G. friede peace, Icel. fri, and fr]
hebridean a.: Of or pertaining to the islands called Hebrides, west of Scotland.
isle v. t.: To cause to become an island, or like an island; to surround or encompass; to island.
finny a.: Having, or abounding in, fins, as fishes; pertaining to fishes.
glancing a.: Shooting, as light.
pictured a.: Furnished with pictures; represented by a picture or pictures; as, a pictured scene.
gaelic a.: Of or pertaining to the Gael, esp. to the Celtic Highlanders of Scotland; as, the Gaelic language. [Gael. Gàidhealach, Gaelach, from Gàidheal, Gael, a Scotch Highlander.]
glorious a.: Exhibiting attributes, qualities, or acts that are worthy of or receive glory; noble; praiseworthy; excellent; splendid; illustrious; inspiring admiration; as, glorious deeds. [OF. glorios, glorious, F. glorieux, fr. L. gloriosus. See Glory, n.]
bourne n.: A stream or rivulet; a burn. [OE. burne, borne, AS. burna; akin to OS. brunno spring, G. born, brunnen, OHG. prunno, Goth. brunna, Icel. brunnr, and perh. to Gr. burn, v., because the source]
clime n.: A climate; a tract or region of the earth. See Climate. [L. clima. See Climate.]
vale n.: A tract of low ground, or of land between hills; a valley. [OE. val, F. val, L. vallis; perhaps akin to Gr. Avalanche, Vail to lower, Valley.]
haunted a.: Inhabited by, or subject to the visits of, apparitions; frequented by a ghost.
brunt n.: The heat, or utmost violence, of an onset; the strength or greatest fury of any contention; as, the brunt of a battle. [OE. brunt, bront, fr. Icel. bruna to rush; cf. Icel. brenna to burn. Cf. Burn, v. t.]
vouch v. t.: To call; to summon. [OE. vouchen, OF. vochier to call, fr. L. vocare to call, fr. vox, vocis, voice. See Voice, and cf. Avouch.]
britannia n.: A white-metal alloy of tin, antimony, bismuth, copper, etc. It somewhat resembles silver, and isused for table ware. Called also Britannia metal. [From L. Britannia Great Britain.]
oriflamme n.: The ancient royal standard of France. [F. oriflamme, OF. oriflambe, LL. auriflamma; L. aurum gold + flamma flame; cf. L. flammula a little banner. So called because it was a flag of red silk, split i]
knapsack n.: A case of canvas or leather, for carrying on the back a soldier's necessaries, or the clothing, etc., of a traveler. [D. knapzak; knappen to eat + zak a bag. See Knap, v. t., and Sack.]
tactical a.: Of or pertaining to the art of military and naval tactics. [Gr. tactics.]
gabion n.: A hollow cylinder of wickerwork, like a basket without a bottom. Gabions are made of various sizes, and filled with earth in building fieldworks to shelter men from an enemy's fire. [F., from It. gabbione a large cage, gabion, from gabbia cage, L. cavea. See Cage.]
dreadful a.: Full of dread or terror; fearful.
peal v. i.: To appeal. Spencer.
thundering a.: Emitting thunder.
trode n.: Tread; footing. [AS. trod, fr. tredan to tread. See Tread.]
underfoot adv.: Under the feet; underneath; below. See Under foot, under Foot, n.
trumpets n.: A plant (Sarracenia flava) with long, hollow leaves.
informed a.: Unformed or ill-formed; deformed; shapeless.
anon adv.: Straightway; at once. [OE. anoon, anon, anan, lit., in one (moment), fr. AS. on in + an one. See On and One.]
hounding n.: The act of one who hounds.
obstreperous a.: Attended by, or making, a loud and tumultuous noise; clamorous; noisy; vociferous. [L. obstreperus, from obstrepere to make a noise at; ob (see Ob-) + strepere to make a noise.]
clarion n.: A kind of trumpet, whose note is clear and shrill. [OE. clarioun, OF. clarion, F. clairon, LL. clario, claro; so called from its clear tone, fr. L. clarus clear. See Clear.]
amidst prep.: In the midst or middle of; surrounded or encompassed by; among. [OE. amidde, amiddes, on midden, AS. on middan, in the middle, fr. midde the middle. The s is an adverbial ending, originally marking the genitive; the t is a la]
greensward n.: Turf green with grass.
gladsome a.: Pleased; joyful; cheerful.
whither adv.: To what place; -- used interrogatively; as, whither goest thou [OE. whider. AS. hwider; akin to E. where, who; cf. Goth. hvadre whither. See Who, and cf. Hither, Thither.]
chimney n.: A fireplace or hearth. Sir W. Raleigh.
castellated a.: Inclosed within a building; as, a fountain or cistern castellated. [LL. castellatus, fr. castellare. See Castle.]
sordid a.: Filthy; foul; dirty. [L. sordidus, fr. sordere to be filthy or dirty; probably akin to E. swart: cf. F. sordide. See Swart, a.]
shieling n.: A hut or shelter for shepherds of fishers. See Sheeling.
spoke n.: The radius or ray of a wheel; one of the small bars which are inserted in the hub, or nave, and which serve to support the rim or felly. [OE. spoke, spake, AS, spaca; akin to D. speek, LG. speke, OHG. speihha, G. speiche. sq. root170. Cf. Spike a nail.]
jacobite n.: A partisan or adherent of James the Second, after his abdication, or of his descendants, an opposer of the revolution in 1688 in favor of William and Mary. [L. Jacobus James: cf. F. Jacobite. See 2d Jack.]
oaken a.: Made or consisting of oaks or of the wood of oaks. [AS. acen.]
graced a.: Endowed with grace; beautiful; full of graces; honorable.
mansion n.: A dwelling place, -- whether a part or whole of a house or other shelter. [OF. mansion, F. maison, fr. L. mansio a staying, remaining, a dwelling, habitation, fr. manere, mansum, to stay, dwell; akin to Gr. Manse, Manor, Menagerie, Men]
hoar v. t.: To become moldy or musty. [AS. harian to grow gray.]
herculean a.: Requiring the strength of Hercules; hence, very great, difficult, or dangerous; as, an Herculean task. [L. herculeus, fr. Hercules: cf. F. herculéen. See Hercules.]
strife n.: The act of striving; earnest endeavor. [OF. estrif. See Strive.]
honour n.: Esteem due or paid to worth; high estimation; respect; consideration; reverence; veneration; manifestation of respect or reverence. [OE. honor, honour, onour, onur, OF. honor, onor, honur, onur, honour, onour, F. honneur, fr. L. honor, honos.]
psalmody n.: The act, practice, or art of singing psalms or sacred songs; also, psalms collectively, or a collection of psalms. [Gr. psalmodie, LL. psalmodia. See Psalm, and Ode.]
dirk n.: A kind of dagger or poniard; -- formerly much used by the Scottish Highlander. Dirk knife, a clasp knife having a large, dirklike blade. [Ir. duirc.]
breadless a.: Without bread; destitude of food.
lowland n.: Land which is low with respect to the neighboring country; a low or level country; -- opposed to highland. The Lowlands, Belgium and Holland; the Netherlands; also, the southern part of Scotland.
childishness n.: The state or quality of being childish; simplicity; harmlessness; weakness of intellect.
remonstrance n.: The act of remonstrating; as: (a) A pointing out; manifestation; proof; demonstration. [Cf. OF. remonstrance, F. remonstrance. See Remonstrate.]
wrote v. i.: To root with the snout. See 1st Root. [OE. wroten. See 1st Root.]
curious a.: Difficult to please or satisfy; solicitous to be correct; careful; scrupulous; nice; exact. [OF. curios, curius, F. curieux, L. curiosus careful, inquisitive, fr. cura care. See Cure.]
aught n.: Property; possession. [AS. , fr. agan to own, p. p. ahte.]
uncompromising a.: Not admitting of compromise; making no truce or concessions; obstinate; unyielding; inflexible.
bade: A form of the pat tense of Bid.
unroll v. t.: To open, as what is rolled or convolved; as, to unroll cloth; to unroll a banner. [1st pref. un- + roll.]
clannish a.: Of or pertaining to a clan; closely united, like a clan; disposed to associate only with one's clan or clique; actuated by the traditions, prejudices, habits, etc., of a clan.
pate n.: A pie. See Patty. [F. pâté.]
mutely adv.: Without uttering words or sounds; in a mute manner; silently.
ghost n.: The spirit; the soul of man. [OE. gast, gost, soul, spirit, AS. gast breath, spirit, soul; akin to OS. g spirit, soul, D. geest, G. geist, and prob. to E. gaze, ghastly.]
kelpie n.: An imaginary spirit of the waters, horselike in form, vulgarly believed to warn, by preternatural noises and lights, those who are to be drowned. Jamieson. [Cf. Gael. cailpeach, calpach, colpach, a heifer, steer, colt, colpa a cow or horse.]
wraith n.: An apparition of a person in his exact likeness, seen before death, or a little after; hence, an apparition; a specter; a vision; an unreal image. [Scot. wraith, warth; probably originally, a guardian angel, from Icel. vörthr a warden, guardian, akin to E. ward. See Ward a guard.]
trumpery n.: Deceit; fraud. Grenewey. [F. tromperie deceit, fr. tromper to deceive. See Trump to trick.]
scan v. t.: To mount by steps; to go through with step by step. [L. scandere, scansum, to climb, to scan, akin to Skr. skand to spring, leap: cf. F. scander. Cf. Ascend, Descend, Scale a ladder.]
gaily adv.: Merrily; showily. See gaily. [From Gay.]
ribaldry n.: The talk of a ribald; low, vulgar language; indecency; obscenity; lewdness; -- now chiefly applied to indecent language, but formerly, as by Chaucer, also to indecent acts or conduct. [OE. ribaldrie, ribaudrie, OF. ribalderie, ribauderie.]
went n.: Course; way; path; journey; direction.
demeanour n.: Management; treatment; conduct. [For demeanure, fr. demean. See Demean, v. t.]
wondered a.: Having performed wonders; able to perform wonderful things.
boyhood n.: The state of being a boy; the time during which one is a boy. [Boy + -hood.]
pathway n.: A footpath; a beaten track; any path or course. Also used figuratively.
morn n.: The first part of the day; the morning; -- used chiefly in poetry. [OE. morwen, morgen, AS. morgen; akin to D. morgen, OS. morgan, G. morgen, Icel. morginn, morgunn, Sw. morgon, Dan. morgen, Goth. maúrgins. Cf. Morrow, Morning.]
ruth n.: Sorrow for the misery of another; pity; tenderness. [From Rue, v.: cf. Icel. hryggedh, hrygedh.]
reprieve v. t.: To delay the punishment of; to suspend the execution of sentence on; to give a respite to; to respite; as, to reprieve a criminal for thirty days. [OE. repreven to reject, disallow, OF. reprover to blame, reproach, condemn (pres. il reprueve), F. réprouver to disapprove, fr. L. reprobare to reject, condemn;]
boon n.: A prayer or petition. [OE. bone, boin, a petition, fr. Icel. b; akin to Sw. & Dan. b, AS. b, and perh. to E. ban; but influenced by F. bon good, fr. L. bonus. Ban, Bounty.]
sufferer n.: One who suffers; one who endures or undergoes suffering; one who sustains inconvenience or loss; as, sufferers by poverty or sickness; men are sufferers by fire or by losses at sea.
ensue v. t.: To follow; to pursue; to follow and overtake. [OF. ensevre, OF. & F. ensuivre, fr. L. insequi; in + sequi to pursue. See Sue.]
corpse n.: A human body in general, whether living or dead; -- sometimes contemptuosly. [OF. cors (sometimes written corps), F. corps, L. corpus; akin to AS. hrif womb. See Midriff, and cf. Corse, Corselet, Corps, Cuerpo.]
wroth a.: Full of wrath; angry; incensed; much exasperated; wrathful. [OE. wroth, wrap, AS. wraedh wroth, crooked, bad; akin to wriedhan to writhe, and to OS. wreedhangry, D. wreed cruel, OHG. reid twisted, Icel. reiedhr angry, Dan]
cairn n.: A rounded or conical heap of stones erected by early inhabitants of the British Isles, apparently as a sepulchral monument. [Gael. carn, gen. cairn, a heap: cf. Ir. & W. carn.]
babe n.: An infant; a young child of either sex; a baby. [Cf. Ir. bab, baban, W. baban, maban.]
twelvemonth n.: A year which consists of twelve calendar months.
perjure n.: A perjured person. [L. perjurus: cf. OF. parjur, F. parjure.]
caitiff a.: Captive; wretched; unfortunate. [OE. caitif, cheitif, captive, miserable, OF. caitif, chaitif, captive, mean, wretched, F. chétif, fr. L. captivus captive, fr. capere to take, akin to E. heave.]
crave v. t.: To ask with earnestness or importunity; to ask with submission or humility; to beg; to entreat; to beseech; to implore. [AS. crafian; akin to Icel. krefia, Sw. kr, Dan. kr.]
humbly adv.: With humility; lowly.
angry a.: Troublesome; vexatious; rigorous. [See Anger.]
generous a.: Of honorable birth or origin; highborn. [F. généreux, fr. L. generous of noble birth, noble, excellent, magnanimous, fr. genus birth, race: cf. It. generoso. See 2d Gender.]
willingly adv.: In a willing manner; with free will; without reluctance; cheerfully.
massacre n.: The killing of a considerable number of human beings under circumstances of atrocity or cruelty, or contrary to the usages of civilized people; as, the massacre on St. Bartholomew's Day. [F., fr. LL. mazacrium; cf. Prov. G. metzgern, metzgen, to kill cattle, G. metzger a butcher, and LG. matsken to cut, hew, OHG. meizan to cut, Goth. máitan.]
conscience n.: Knowledge of one's own thoughts or actions; consciousness. [F. conscience, fr. L. conscientia, fr. consciens, p.pr. of conscire to know, to be conscious; con- + scire to know. See Science.]
snugly adv.: In a snug manner; closely; safely.
privily adv.: In a privy manner; privately; secretly. Chaucer. 2 Pet. ii. 1.
pshaw interj.: Pish! pooch! -- an exclamation used as an expression of contempt, disdain, dislike, etc. [Of imitative origin.]
leaded a.: Fitted with lead; set in lead; as, leaded windows.
portentous a.: Of the nature of a portent; containing portents; foreschadowing, esp. foreschadowing ill; ominous. [L. portentosus.]
nook n.: A narrow place formed by an angle in bodies or between bodies; a corner; a recess; a secluded retreat. [OE. nok; cf. Gael. & Ir. niuc.]
grimly a.: Grim; hideous; stern.
pounce n.: A fine powder, as of sandarac, or cuttlefish bone, -- formerly used to prevent ink from spreading on manuscript. [F. ponce pumice, pounce, fr. L. pumex, -icis, pumice. See Pumice.]
wrestle v. i.: To contend, by grappling with, and striving to trip or throw down, an opponent; as, they wrestled skillfully. [OE. wrestlen, wrastlen, AS. wr, freq. of wr to wrest; akin to OD. wrastelen to wrestle. See Wrest, v. t.]
emprise n.: An enterprise; endeavor; adventure. [OF. emprise, fr. emprendre to undertake; pref. em- (L. in) + F. prendre to take, L. prehendere, prendere; prae before + a verb akin to E. get. See Get, and cf. ]
maniac a.: Raving with madness; raging with disordered intellect; affected with mania; mad. [F. maniaque. See Mania.]
meanwhile n.: The intervening time; as, in the meantime (or mean time).
nowise adv.: Not in any manner or degree; in no way; noways. [For in no wise. See Wise, n.]
wonted a.: Accustomed; customary; usual.
speechless a.: Destitute or deprived of the faculty of speech.
blithe a.: Gay; merry; sprightly; joyous; glad; cheerful; as, a blithe spirit. [AS. bli blithe, kind; akin to Goth. blei kind, Icel. bli mild, gentle, Dan. & Sw. blid gentle, D. blijd blithe, OHG. blidi kind, blithe.]
shook v. t.: To pack, as staves, in a shook.
bemoan v. t.: To express deep grief for by moaning; to express sorrow for; to lament; to bewail; to pity or sympathize with. [OE. bimenen, AS. bem; pref. be- + m to moan. See Moan.]
flown a.: Flushed, inflated.
retrospect v. i.: To look backward; hence, to affect or concern what is past. [L. retrospicere; retro back + specere, spectum, to look. See Spy, and cf. Expect.]
gladly adv.: Preferably; by choice. [From Glad, a.]
withal adv.: With this; with that. [With + all.]
hanoverian a.: Of or pertaining to Hanover or its people, or to the House of Hanover in England.
bravo n.: A daring villain; a bandit; one who sets law at defiance; a professional assassin or murderer. [I. See Brave, a.]
quoth v. t.: Said; spoke; uttered; -- used only in the first and third persons in the past tenses, and always followed by its nominative, the word or words said being the object; as, quoth I. quoth he. [AS.cweedhan, imp cwæedh, pl. cwædon; akin to OS. queedhan, OHG. quethan, quedan, Icel. kveedha, Goth. qiþan. sq. root22. Cf. Bequeath.]
leal a.: Faithful; loyal; true. [OE. leial, another form of loial, F. loyal. See Loyal.]
shalt: 2d per. sing. of Shall.
thank n.: A expression of gratitude; an acknowledgment expressive of a sense of favor or kindness received; obligation, claim, or desert, or gratitude; -- now generally used in the plural. [AS. Þanc, Þonc, thanks, favor, thought; akin to OS. thank favor, pleasure, thanks, D. & G. dank thanks, Icel. Þ\'94kk, Dan. tak, Sw. tack, Goth. Þagks thanks; -]
aright adv.: Rightly; correctly; in a right way or form; without mistake or crime; as, to worship God aright. [Pref. a- + right.]
yesternight n.: The last night; the night last past.
scarce a.: Not plentiful or abundant; in small quantity in proportion to the demand; not easily to be procured; rare; uncommon. [OE. scars, OF. escars, eschars, LL. scarpsus, for L. excerptus, p. p. of excerpere to pick out, and hence to contract, to shorten; ex (see Ex-) + carpere. See C]
fireside n.: A place near the fire or hearth; home; domestic life or retirement.
fortnight n.: The space of fourteen days; two weeks. [Contr. fr. fourteen nights, our ancestors reckoning time by nights and winters; so, also, seven nights, sennight, a week.]
furlough n.: Leave of abserice; especially, leave given to an offcer or soldier to be absent from service for a certain time; also, the document granting leave of absence. [Prob. fr. D. verlof, fr. a prefix akin to E. for + the root of E. lief, and akin to Dan. forlov, Sw. förlof, G. verlaub permission. See Life, a.]
fain v. t.: To be glad ; to wish or desire.
memorialize v. t.: To address or petition by a memorial; to present a memorial to; as, to memorialize the legislature. T. Hook.
deign v. t.: To esteem worthy; to consider worth notice; -- opposed to disdain. [OE. deinen, deignen, OF. degner, deigner, daigner, F. daigner, fr. L. dignari to deem worthy, deign, fr. dignus worthy; akin to decere to be fitting. See Decent]
meagre a.: Destitue of, or having little, flesh; lean. [OE. merge, F. maigre, L. macer; akin to D. & G. mager, Icel. magr, and prob. to Gr. Emaciate, Maigre.]
duke n.: A leader; a chief; a prince. [F. duc, fr. L. dux, ducis, leader, commander, fr. ducere to lead; akin to AS. teón to draw; cf. AS. heretoga (here army) an army leader, general, G. herzog duke]
perspicuous a.: Capable of being through; transparent; translucent; not opaque. [L. perspicuus, from perspicere to look through. See Perspective.]
warmly adv.: In a warm manner; ardently.
claymore n.: A large two-handed sword used formerly by the Scottish Highlanders. [Gael. claidheamhmor a broadsword; Gael. claidheamh sword + mor great, large. Cf. Claymore.]
depart v. i.: To part; to divide; to separate. [OE. departen to divide, part, depart, F. départir to divide, distribute, se départir to separate one's self, depart; pref. dé- (L. de) + partir to part, depart,]
forlorn a.: Deserted abandoned; lost. [OE., p.p. of forlesen to lose utterly, AS. forleósan (p.p. forloren); pref. for- + leósan (in comp.) to lose; cf. D. verliezen to lose, G. verlieren, Sw. förlor]
niggardness n.: Niggardliness. Sir P. Sidney.
evince v. t.: To conquer; to subdue. [L. evincere vanquish completely, prevail, succeed in proving; e out + vincere to vanquish. See Victor, and cf. Evict.]
leathern a.: Made of leather; consisting of. leather; as, a leathern purse.
stealth n.: The act of stealing; theft. [OE. staple. See Steal, v. t.]
wealth n.: Weal; welfare; prosperity; good. [OE. welthe, from wele; cf. D. weelde luxury. See Weal prosperity.]
parricide n.: Properly, one who murders one's own father; in a wider sense, one who murders one's father or mother or any ancestor. [F., fr. L. parricida; pater father + caedere to kill. See Father, Homicide, and cf. Patricide.]
shall v. i.: To owe; to be under obligation for. [OE. shal, schal, imp. sholde, scholde, AS. scal, sceal, I am obliged, imp. scolde, sceolde, inf. sculan; akin to OS. skulan, pres. skal, imp. skolda, D. zullen,]
dame n.: A mistress of a family, who is a lady; a womam in authority; especially, a lady. [F. dame, LL. domna, fr. L. domina mistress, lady, fem. of dominus master, ruler, lord; akin to domare to tame, subdue. See Tame, and cf. Dam mother, Dan, Danger]
arming n.: The act of furnishing with, or taking, arms.
stayed a.: Staid; fixed; settled; sober; -- now written staid. See Staid.
brigade n.: A body of troops, whether cavalry, artillery, infantry, or mixed, consisting of two or more regiments, under the command of a brigadier general. [F. brigade, fr. It. brigata troop, crew, brigade, originally, a contending troop, fr. briga trouble, quarrel. See Brigand.]
girt v. t.: To gird; to encircle; to invest by means of a girdle; to measure the girth of; as, to girt a tree. [From Girt, n., cf. Girth, v.]
poind v. t.: To impound, as cattle. Flavel. [See Pound to confine.]
impotence n.: The quality or condition of being impotent; want of strength or power, animal, intellectual, or moral; weakness; feebleness; inability; imbecility. [L. impotenia inability, poverty, want of moderation. See Impotent.]
cursed a.: Deserving a curse; execrable; hateful; detestable; abominable.
lancet n.: A surgical instrument of various forms, commonly sharp-pointed and two-edged, used in venesection, and in opening abscesses, etc. [F. lancette, dim. of lance lance. See Lance.]
spaniel n.: One of a breed of small dogs having long and thick hair and large drooping ears. The legs are usually strongly feathered, and the tail bushy. See Illust. under Clumber, and Cocker. [OF. espagneul, F. épagneul, espagnol Spanish, Sp. españnol, fr. España Spain, from L. Hispania.]
reposed a.: Composed; calm; tranquil; at rest.
ejaculation n.: The act of throwing or darting out with a sudden force and rapid flight. [Cf. F. éjaculation.]

Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.

About this text

The Pilgrim of Glencoe is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poetical Works of Thomas Campbell, Project Gutenberg ebook #59788; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.

Cite as: Thomas Campbell, The Pilgrim of Glencoe, in The Pleasures of Hope, and Other Poems (1824), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #59788, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/campbell-poems/the-pilgrim-of-glencoe.html, id L24471.

Form and metre

The Pilgrim of Glencoe is 507 lines in 27 verse paragraphs. It is in rhyming couplets, 84% of the lines: heroic couplets. The metre is iambic pentameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 90%).

See other poems in heroic couplets, other poems in iambic pentameter.

Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.

Rhyme words, stanza by stanza

The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.

1 AABBCCDDEE smile^A · isle^A · shoals^B · rolls^B · shine^C · brine^C · sun^D · one^D · sweep^E · deep^E
2 AABBCCDDEE----FFGGHH--IIJJKKLLMMNNOO--PP soon^A · moon^A · time^B · clime^B · land^C · strand^C · o'erhung^D · strung^D · plains^E · campaigns^E · wars · scars · again · plain · name^F · fame^F · streamed^G · gleamed^G · unoppressed^H · crest^H · wore · o'er · dear^I · ear^I · ravine^J · fascine^J · whole^K · soul^K · surprise^L · eyes^L · bright^M · sight^M · come^N · drum^N · became^O · flame^O · pursuit · underfoot · lung^P · sung^P
3 AABBBCCDD fail^A · vale^A · snow^B · below^B · glow^B · spray^C · day^C · sight^D · light^D
4 AABBCCDDEE ground^A · sound^A · ear^B · near^B · rock^C · flock^C · rang^D · sang^D · sight^E · bright^E
5 AABBCCDDEE name^A · came^A · seat^B · peat^B · home^C · dome^C · crowd^D · proud^D · life^E · knife^E
6 AABBCCDD cot^A · lot^A · door^B · floor^B · deer^C · cheer^C · plain^D · swain^D
7 AABBCCDDEE spread^A · bread^A · hoar^B · more^B · lord^C · board^C · grace^D · race^D · woe^E · glow^E
8 --AABBCCDDEE--FFGGHHII eye · courtesy · lean^A · between^A · fire^B · ire^B · brows^C · rouse^C · life^D · strife^D · saw^E · law^E · pursuit · foot · prey^F · day^F · dundee^G · he^G · breath^H · death^H · still^I · kill^I
9 AA--BBCCDD--EE mock^A · stock^A · cant · want · charm^B · arm^B · then^C · men^C · flame^D · name^D · unwon · son · sage^E · rage^E
10 AABBCCDDEEFFGGHH--II mind^A · kind^A · chin^B · within^B · stood^C · neighbourhood^C · availed^D · failed^D · fold^E · sold^E · took^F · book^F · home^G · roam^G · flock^H · rock^H · warm · charm · stone^I · own^I
11 AABBCCDDEEFFGG enjoy^A · boy^A · youth^B · truth^B · find^C · blind^C · unroll^D · soul^D · foes^E · crows^E · again^F · men^F · dismay^G · sway^G
12 AA--BB-- fire^A · ire^A · faith · death · soul^B · pole^B · howl · dioul
13 AABBCCDDEEFF whale^A · avail^A · fast^B · last^B · length^C · strength^C · pate^D · debate^D · store^E · more^E · chair^F · air^F
14 AABBCC wraith^A · faith^A · slight^B · sight^B · confound^C · round^C
15 AABBCCDDEEFF scan^A · man^A · life^B · wife^B · son^C · outspun^C · mind^D · kind^D · drew^E · hue^E · strain^F · profane^F
16 AABBCCDDEEFFGGHHIIJJKKLLMMNNOOPPQ-Q--RRSSTTUUVVWWXXYYZZaabbc-ddceffeegg--hhiijj began^A · clan^A · engrossed^B · host^B · became^C · name^C · harm^D · charm^D · touch^E · much^E · ago^F · glencoe^F · braes^G · days^G · arose^H · foes^H · blame^I · shame^I · year^J · ear^J · page^K · age^K · chief^L · grief^L · hand^M · command^M · lord^N · sword^N · defiled^O · child^O · dread^P · head^P · spell^Q · him · befell^Q · brought · fault · cart^R · heart^R · room^S · doom^S · breath^T · death^T · desired^U · fired^U · drew^V · ensue^V · place^W · grace^W · fit^X · writ^X · woe^Y · glencoe^Y · clear^Z · ear^Z · man^a · clan^a · son^b · begun^b · learn^c · cairn · born^d · sworn^d · heaven^c · unforgiven^e · possessed^f · breast^f · partisan^e · clan^e · show^g · foe^g · sacrifice · arise · just^h · must^h · craveⁱ · graveⁱ · prayed^j · paid^j
17 AABBCCDDEEFFGGHHIII--JJ-KKLLMMNN dim^A · whim^A · cool^B · fool^B · due^C · you^C · black^D · back^D · judge^E · grudge^E · share^F · affair^F · proof^G · roof^G · gate^H · late^H · be^I · tree^I · by^I · privily · for't · flood^J · blood^J · float · tell^K · well^K · do^L · halloo^L · shame^M · tame^M · deed^N · bleed^N
18 AA--BBCCDDEEFFGGHHGGIIJJKKLLMMNN air^A · chair^A · shade · plaid · prey^B · away^B · free^C · flee^C · emprise^D · size^D · communicate^E · mate^E · now^F · brow^F · lowered^G · overpowered^G · bland^H · hand^H · thread^G · dread^G · bemoan^I · flown^I · reflect^J · retrospect^J · flew^K · pursue^K · men^L · glen^L · save^M · cave^M · mock^N · rock^N
19 AABBCCDDEEFFGGCC wild^A · child^A · air^B · prayer^B · withal^C · tall^C · then^D · den^D · life^E · wife^E · thing^F · king^F · said^G · bread^G · all^C · fall^C
20 AABBCC zeal^A · leal^A · thrive^B · alive^B · breath^C · death^C
21 AABBCCDD--EEFFGGHHIIJJKKLL glass^A · brass^A · force^B · discourse^B · aright^C · yesternight^C · spend^D · friend^D · now · lochawe · be^E · me^E · brand^F · reprimand^F · style^G · argyle^G · shore^H · door^H · bear^I · care^I · demands^J · hands^J · chief^K · brief^K · read^L · plead^L
22 AABBCC soon^A · noon^A · length^B · strength^B · next^C · text^C
23 AABBCCDDEEFFGG--HH--IIJJKKLLMMNNOOPPQQ more^A · shore^A · say^B · stay^B · parts^C · hearts^C · line^D · divine^D · flow^E · woe^E · sore^F · claymore^F · fray^G · play^G · rule · bull · so^H · flow^H · door · poor · evince^I · prince^I · feed^J · need^J · night^K · bright^K · stealth^L · wealth^L · worse^M · purse^M · shine^N · mine^N · no^O · owe^O · year^P · tear^P · speak^Q · meek^Q
24 AABB pack^A · havresack^A · load^B · road^B
25 AABBCCDDEEFFGGHH lochfyne^A · benign^A · lot^B · spot^B · pay^C · day^C · more^D · shore^D · indeed^E · invalid^E · employ^F · boy^F · true^G · you^G · stayed^H · brigade^H
26 AABBCCDDEEFFGGHHIIJJKKLLMMNNOOPPQQ glencoe^A · go^A · fold^B · sold^B · kept^C · wept^C · prayer^D · despair^D · mount^E · fount^E · cursed^F · burst^F · alas^G · pass^G · child^H · smiled^H · eye^I · cry^I · state^J · gate^J · eild^K · field^K · touch^L · much^L · disclosed^M · composed^M · fight^N · flight^N · air^O · there^O · beneath^P · heath^P · leave^Q · sleeve^Q
27 AABBCCDDEEFF- sword^A · board^A · drum^B · come^B · round^C · ground^C · sage^D · age^D · near^E · tear^E · brave^F · grave^F · saints

Scansion, line by line

Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic pentameter. How this is done.

Line	Syl.	Stress
The sunset sheds a horizontal smile	10	·/····˘/˘·
O’er Highland frith and Hebridean isle,	9	·/˘······
While, gay with gambols of its finny shoals,	10	·······/˘·
The glancing wave rejoices as it rolls	10	·/˘·˘/˘···
With streamered busses, that distinctly shine	10	·/˘/˘·˘/˘·
All downward, pictured in the glassy brine;	10	·/˘/˘··/˘·
Whose crews, with faces brightening in the sun,	10	···/˘/˘···
Keep measure with their oars, and all in one	10	·/˘·······
Strike up th’ old Gaelic song.—Sweep, rowers, sweep!	10	···/˘··/˘·
The fisher’s glorious spoils are in the deep.	10	·/˘/˘·····
Day sinks—but twilight owes the traveller soon,	10	···/···/˘·
To reach his bourne, a round unclouded moon,	10	··········
Bespeaking long undarkened hours of time;	10	˘/˘····/··
False hope—the Scots are stedfast—not their clime.	10	··········
A war-worn soldier from the western land,	10	···/˘··/˘·
Seeks Cona’s vale by Ballihoula’s strand;	10	·/˘·······
The vale by eagle-haunted cliffs o’erhung,	10	···/˘/˘···
Where Fingal fought and Ossian’s harp was strung.—	10	··········
Our veteran’s forehead, bronzed on sultry plains,	10	//˘/˘··/˘·
Had stood the brunt of thirty fought campaigns;	10	·····/˘·˘/
He well could vouch the sad romance of wars,	10	······˘/··
And count the dates of battles by his scars;	10	·····/˘···
For he had served where o’er and o’er again	10	········˘/
Britannia’s oriflamme had lit the plain	10	˘/˘·······
Of glory—and victorious stamped her name	10	·/˘·˘/˘···
On Oudenarde’s and Blenheim’s fields of fame.	10	·····/····
Nine times in battlefield his blood had streamed,	10	···/˘·····
Yet vivid still his veteran blue eye gleamed;	10	·/˘··/˘···
Full well he bore his knapsack—unoppressed—	10	·····/····
And marched with soldier-like erected crest:	10	···/˘·˘/˘·
Nor sign of ev’n loquacious age he wore,	10	····˘/˘···
Save when he told his life’s adventures o’er;	10	······˘/˘·
Some tired of these; for terms to him were dear	10	·/········
Too tactical by far for vulgar ear;	10	·/˘˘···/˘·
As when he talked of rampart and ravine,	10	·····/˘·˘/
And trenches fenced with gabion and fascine—	11	·/˘··/˘˘·˘/
But when his theme possessed him all and whole,	10	····˘/····
He scorned proud puzzling words and warmed the soul;	10	···/˘·····
Hushed groups hung on his lips with fond surprise,	10	········˘/
That sketched old scenes—like pictures to their eyes:—	10	·····/˘···
The wide war-plain, with banners glowing bright,	10	·····/˘/˘·
And bayonets to the farthest stretch of sight;	11	·/˘···/˘···
The pause, more dreadful than the peal to come	10	···/˘·····
From volleys blazing at the beat of drum—	10	·/˘/˘·····
Till all the field of thundering lines became	10	·····/˘·˘/
Two level and confronted sheets of flame.	10	·/˘·˘/˘···
Then to the charge, when Marlbro’s hot pursuit	10	········˘/
Trode France’s gilded lilies underfoot;	10	·/˘/˘/˘·˘/
He came and kindled—and with martial lung	10	···/˘··/˘·
Would chant the very march their trumpets sung.—	10	···/˘··/˘·
The old soldier hoped, ere evening’s light should fail,	11	··/˘··/˘···
To reach a home, south-east of Cona’s vale;	10	·······/˘·
But looking at Bennevis, capped with snow,	10	·/˘·······
He saw its mists come curling down below,	10	·····/˘···
And spread white darkness o’er the sunset glow;—	10	···/˘··/··
Fast rolling like tempestuous Ocean’s spray,	10	·/˘··/˘/˘·
Or clouds from troops in battle’s fiery day—	10	·····/˘/˘·
So dense, his quarry ’scaped the falcon’s sight,	10	···/˘··/˘·
The owl alone exulted, hating light.	10	··˘/˘/˘/˘·
Benighted thus our pilgrim groped his ground,	10	˘/˘·//˘···
Half ’twixt the river’s and the cataract’s sound.	11	···/˘··/˘··
At last a sheep-dog’s bark informed his ear	10	······˘/··
Some human habitation might be near;	10	·/˘·˘/˘···
Anon sheep-bleatings rose from rock to rock,—	10	˘/········
’Twas Luath hounding to their fold the flock.	9	··/˘·····
Ere long the cock’s obstreperous clarion rang,	10	····˘/˘/˘·
And next, a maid’s sweet voice, that spinning sang:	10	·······/˘·
At last amidst the greensward (gladsome sight!)	10	··˘/·/˘/˘·
A cottage stood, with straw roof golden bright.	10	·/˘····/˘·
He knocked, was welcomed in; none asked his name,	10	···/˘·····
Nor whither he was bound, nor whence he came;	10	·/˘·······
But he was beckoned to the stranger’s seat,	10	···/˘··/˘·
Right side the chimney fire of blazing peat.	10	···/˘/·/˘·
Blest Hospitality makes not her home	10	··˘/˘˘····
In wallèd parks and castellated dome;	8	····/˘˘·
She flies the city’s needy greedy crowd,	10	···/˘/˘/˘·
And shuns still more the mansions of the proud;—	10	·····/˘···
The balm of savage or of simple life,	10	···/˘··/˘·
A wild flower cut by culture’s polished knife!	10	··/··/˘/˘·
The house, no common sordid shieling cot,	10	···/˘/˘/˘·
Spoke inmates of a comfortable lot.	10	·/···/˘˘˘·
The Jacobite white rose festooned their door;	10	·/˘····/··
The windows sashed and glazed, the oaken floor,	10	·/˘····/˘·
The chimney graced with antlers of the deer,	10	·/˘··/˘···
The rafters hung with meat for winter cheer,	10	·/˘····/˘·
And all the mansion indicated plain	10	···/˘/˘·˘·
Its master a superior shepherd swain.	10	·/˘·˘/˘/˘·
Their supper came—the table soon was spread	10	·/˘··/˘···
With eggs and milk and cheese and barley bread.	10	·······/˘·
The family were three—a father hoar,	10	·/˘˘···/˘·
Whose age you’d guess at seventy years or more,	10	·····/˘···
His son looked fifty—cheerful like her lord,	10	···/˘/˘···
His comely wife presided at the board;	10	·/˘·˘/˘···
All three had that peculiar courteous grace	10	····˘/˘/˘·
Which marks the meanest of the Highland race;	10	···/˘··/˘·
Warm hearts that burn alike in weal and woe,	10	····˘/····
As if the north wind fanned their bosoms’ glow!	10	··········
But wide unlike their souls: old Norman’s eye	10	··˘/···/˘·
Was proudly savage ev’n in courtesy.	10	·/˘/˘··/˘˘
His sinewy shoulders—each, though aged and lean,	10	·/˘/˘·····
Broad as the curled Herculean head between,	10	····˘/˘···
His scornful lip, his eyes of yellow fire,	11	·/˘····/˘/˘
And nostrils that dilated quick with ire.	10	·/˘·˘/˘···
With ever downward-slanting shaggy brows,	10	·/˘/˘/˘/˘·
Marked the old lion you would dread to rouse.	10	···/˘·····
Norman, in truth, had led his earlier life	10	/˘·····/˘·
In raids of red revenge and feudal strife;	10	····˘/·/˘·
Religious duty in revenge he saw,	10	˘/˘/˘·˘/··
Proud Honour’s right and Nature’s honest law.	10	·/˘··/˘/˘·
First in the charge and foremost in pursuit,	10	·····/··˘/
Long-breathed, deep-chested, and in speed of foot	10	···/˘·····
A match for stags—still fleeter when the prey	10	··········
Was man, in persecution’s evil day;	10	····˘/˘/˘·
Cheered to that chase by brutal bold Dundee,	10	·····/˘·˘/
No Highland hound had lapped more blood than he.	10	·/˘·······
Oft had he changed the covenanter’s breath	10	·····/˘˘˘·
From howls of psalmody to howls of death:	10	···/˘˘····
And though long bound to peace, it irked him still	10	··········
His dirk had ne’er one hated foe to kill.	10	·····/˘···
Yet Norman had fierce virtues, that would mock	10	·/˘··/˘···
Cold-blooded tories of the modern stock,	10	·/˘/˘··/˘·
Who starve the breadless poor with fraud and cant;—	10	···/˘·····
He slew and saved them from the pangs of want.	10	··········
Nor was his solitary lawless charm	10	···/˘·˘/˘·
Mere dauntlessness of soul and strength of arm;	10	··········
He had his moods of kindness now and then,	10	·····/˘···
And feasted ev’n well-mannered lowland men	10	·/˘··/˘/··
Who blew not up his Jacobitish flame,	10	··········
Nor prefaced with “pretender” Charles’s name.	10	·/˘·˘/˘/˘·
Fierce, but by sense and kindness not unwon,	10	·····/˘···
He loved, respected ev’n his wiser son;	10	··˘/˘··/˘·
And brooked from him expostulations sage,	10	··········
When all advisers else were spurned with rage.	10	··˘/˘·····
Far happier times had moulded Ronald’s mind,	10	·/˘··/˘/˘·
By nature too of more sagacious kind.	10	·/˘···˘/˘·
His breadth of brow, and Roman shape of chin,	10	·····/˘···
Squared well with the firm man that reigned within.	10	··········
Contemning strife as childishness, he stood	10	·····/˘˘··
With neighbours on kind terms of neighbourhood,	10	·/˘·······
And whilst his father’s anger nought availed,	10	···/˘/˘·˘/
His rational remonstrance never failed.	10	·/˘˘˘/˘/˘·
Full skilfully he managed farm and fold,	10	·····/˘···
Wrote, ciphered, profitably bought and sold:	10	·/˘/˘˘˘···
And, blessed with pastoral leisure, deeply took	10	···/˘/˘/˘·
Delight to be informed, by speech or book,	10	˘/··˘/····
Of that wide world beyond his mountain home,	10	·······/˘·
Where oft his curious fancy loved to roam.	10	···/˘/˘···
Oft while his faithful dog ran round his flock,	10	···/˘·····
He read long hours when summer warmed the rock:	10	···/·/˘···
Guests who could tell him aught were welcomed warm,	10	·······/˘·
Even pedlars’ news had to his mind a charm;	10	/·········
That like an intellectual magnet-stone	10	····˘/˘/˘·
Drew truth from judgments simpler than his own.	10	···/˘/˘···
His soul’s proud instinct sought not to enjoy	10	···/˘···˘/
Romantic fictions, like a minstrel boy;	10	˘/˘/˘··/˘·
Truth, standing on her solid square, from youth	10	·/˘··/˘···
He worshipped—stern uncompromising truth.	10	·/˘·˘/˘˘˘·
His goddess kindlier smiled on him, to find	10	·/˘·······
A votary of her light in land so blind;	11	·/˘˘·······
She bade majestic History unroll	10	··˘/˘/˘˘˘/
Broad views of public welfare to his soul,	10	···/˘/····
Until he looked on clannish feuds and foes	10	·····/˘···
With scorn, as on the wars of kites and crows;	10	··········
Whilst doubts assailed him, o’er and o’er again,	10	··˘/····˘/
If men were made for kings or kings for men.	10	··········
At last, to Norman’s horror and dismay,	10	···/˘/˘·˘/
He flat denied the Stuarts’ right to sway.	10	··˘/·/˘···
No blow-pipe ever whitened furnace fire,	11	···/˘/˘/˘/˘
Quick as these words lit up his father’s ire;	10	·······/˘·
Who envied even old Abraham for his faith,	11	·/˘/·/˘····
Ordained to put his only son to death.	10	˘/···/˘···
He started up—in such a mood of soul	10	·/˘·······
The white bear bites his showman’s stirring pole;	10	·····/˘/˘·
He danced too, and brought out, with snarl and howl,	10	··········
“O Dia! Dia! and Dioul! Dioul!”	8	·/˘/˘···
But sense foils fury—as the blowing whale	10	···/˘··/˘·
Spouts, bleeds, and dyes the waves without avail—	10	········˘/
Wears out the cable’s length that makes him fast,	10	···/˘·····
But, worn himself, comes up harpooned at last—	10	··˘/··˘/··
E’en so, devoid of sense, succumbs at length	10	··˘/··˘/··
Mere strength of zeal to intellectual strength.	10	······˘/˘·
His son’s close logic so perplexed his pate,	10	···/˘·˘/··
Th’ old hero rather shunned than sought debate;	10	·/˘/˘···˘/
Exhausting his vocabulary’s store	10	˘/˘·˘/˘·˘·
Of oaths and nicknames, he could say no more,	10	···/······
But tapp’d his mull, rolled mutely in his chair,	10	·····/˘···
Or only whistled Killiecrankie’s air.	10	·/˘/˘˘····
Witch legends Ronald scorned—ghost, kelpie, wraith,	10	·/˘/˘·····
And all the trumpery of vulgar faith;	10	···/˘˘·/˘·
Grave matrons ev’n were shocked to hear him slight	10	·/˘·······
Authenticated facts of second-sight—	10	˘/˘·˘··/˘·
Yet never flinched his mockery to confound	10	·/··/˘˘·˘/
The brutal superstition reigning round.	10	·/˘·˘/˘/˘·
Reserved himself, still Ronald loved to scan	10	˘/˘/·/˘···
Men’s natures—and he liked th’ old hearty man;	10	·/˘····/˘·
So did the partner of his heart and life—	10	···/˘·····
Who pleased her Ronald, ne’er displeased his wife.	10	···/˘·˘/··
His sense, ’tis true, compared with Norman’s son,	10	····˘/·/˘·
Was commonplace—his tales too long outspun:	10	·/˘·······
Yet Allan Campbell’s sympathizing mind	10	·/˘/˘/˘·˘·
Had held large intercourse with human kind;	10	···/˘··/˘·
Seen much, and gaily, graphically drew	9	···/˘/˘˘·
The men of every country, clime, and hue;	10	···/˘/˘···
Nor ever stooped, though soldier-like his strain,	10	·/˘··/˘···
To ribaldry of mirth or oath profane.	10	·/˘˘····˘/
All went harmonious till the guest began	10	··˘/˘···˘/
To talk about his kindred, chief and clan,	10	·····/˘···
And, with his own biography engrossed,	10	····˘/˘˘˘/
Marked not the changed demeanour of each host;	10	····˘/˘···
Nor how old choleric Norman’s cheek became	10	···/˘/˘·˘/
Flushed at the Campbell and Breadalbane name.	10	···/˘·····
Assigning, heedless of impending harm,	10	˘/˘/˘·˘/˘·
Their stedfast silence to his story’s charm,	10	···/˘··/˘·
He touched a subject perilous to touch—	10	···/˘/˘˘··
Saying, “’Midst this well-known vale I wondered much	11	/˘······/˘·
To lose my way. In boyhood, long ago,	10	·····/··˘/
I roamed and loved each pathway of Glencoe;	10	·····/····
Trapped leverets, plucked wild berries on its braes,	11	······/˘···
And fished along its banks long summer days.	10	··˘/···/˘·
But times grew stormy—bitter feuds arose,	10	···/˘/˘·˘/
Our clan was merciless to prostrate foes.	10	/··/˘˘·/˘·
I never palliated my chieftain’s blame,	10	·/˘····/˘·
But mourned the sin, and reddened for the shame	10	·····/˘···
Of that foul morn (Heaven blot it from the year!)	10	····/·····
Whose shapes and shrieks still haunt my dreaming ear.	10	·······/˘·
What could I do? a serf—Glenlyon’s page,	9	·········
A soldier sworn at nineteen years of age;	10	·/˘··//···
T’ have breathed one grieved remonstrance to our chief,	11	·····˘/˘·/·
The pit or gallows would have cured my grief.	10	···/˘·····
Forced, passive as the musket in my hand,	10	·/˘··/˘···
I marched—when, feigning royalty’s command,	10	···/˘/˘˘˘/
Against the clan Macdonald, Stairs’s lord	10	····˘/˘/˘·
Sent forth exterminating fire and sword;	10	··˘/˘·˘/··
And troops at midnight through the vale defiled,	10	···/······
Enjoined to slaughter woman, man, and child.	10	˘/·/˘/˘···
My clansmen many a year had cause to dread	10	···/······
The curse that day entailed upon their head;	10	····˘/····
Glenlyon’s self confessed the avenging spell—	10	···˘/·˘/˘·
I saw it light on him.	6	······
“It so befell:—	4	··˘/
A soldier from our ranks to death was brought,	10	·/˘·/·····
By sentence deemed too dreadful for his fault;	10	·/˘··/˘···
All was prepared—the coffin and the cart	10	··˘/·/˘···
Stood near twelve muskets, levelled at his heart.	10	···/˘/˘···
The chief, whose breast for ruth had still some room,	10	··········
Obtained reprieve a day before his doom;—	10	˘/˘/······
But of the awarded boon surmised no breath.	11	···˘/˘·˘/··
The sufferer knelt, blindfolded, waiting death,—	10	·/˘·/·˘/˘·
And met it. Though Glenlyon had desired	10	·······˘/˘
The musketeers to watch before they fired;	11	··˘/·····/˘
If from his pocket they should see he drew	10	···/˘·····
A handkerchief—their volley should ensue;	10	·/˘˘·/˘·˘/
But if he held a paper in its place,	10	·····/˘···
It should be hailed the sign of pardoning grace:—	10	·······/˘·
He, in a fatal moment’s absent fit,	10	···/˘/˘/˘·
Drew forth the handkerchief, and not the writ;	10	···/˘˘····
Wept o’er the corpse, and wrung his hands in woe,	10	··········
Crying ‘Here’s thy curse again—Glencoe! Glencoe!’”	11	/˘···˘/····
Though thus his guest spoke feelings just and clear,	10	·····/˘···
The cabin’s patriarch lent impatient ear;	11	·/˘/˘··˘/˘·
Wroth that, beneath his roof, a living man	10	·······/˘·
Should boast the swine-blood of the Campbell clan,	10	·······/˘·
He hastened to the door—called out his son	10	·/˘·······
To follow; walked a space, and thus begun:—	10	·/˘·····˘/
“You have not, Ronald, at this day to learn	10	···/˘·····
The oath I took beside my father’s cairn,	10	····˘/·/˘·
When you were but a babe a twelvemonth born;	10	·······/˘·
Sworn on my dirk—by all that’s sacred, sworn	10	·······/˘·
To be revenged for blood that cries to Heaven—	11	··˘/·····/˘
Blood unforgiveable, and unforgiven:	11	········˘/˘
But never power, since then, have I possessed	10	·//˘····˘/
To plant my dagger in a Campbell’s breast.	10	···/˘··/˘·
Now, here’s a self-accusing partisan,	10	····˘/˘/˘˘
Steeped in the slaughter of Macdonald’s clan;	10	···/˘·˘/˘·
I scorn his civil speech and sweet-lipped show	10	···/˘·····
Of pity—he is still our house’s foe:	10	·/˘···//˘·
I’ll perjure not myself—but sacrifice	10	·/˘··/·/˘·
The caitiff ere to-morrow’s sun arise.	10	·/˘··/˘·˘/
Stand! hear me—you’re my son, the deed is just;	10	··········
And if I say—it must be done—it must:	10	··········
A debt of honour which my clansmen crave,	10	···/˘·····
Their very dead demand it from the grave.”	10	·/˘·˘/····
Conjuring then their ghosts, he humbly prayed	10	/˘˘····/˘·
Their patience till the blood-debt should be paid.	10	·/˘·······
But Ronald stopped him.—“Sir, Sir, do not dim	10	·/˘·······
Your honour by a moment’s angry whim;	10	·/˘··/˘/˘·
Your soul’s too just and generous, were you cool,	10	·····/˘···
To act at once the assassin and the fool.	11	·····˘/˘···
Bring me the men on whom revenge is due,	10	······˘/··
And I will dirk them willingly as you!	10	·····/˘˘··
But all the real authors of that black	9	····/˘···
Old deed are gone—you cannot bring them back.	10	·····/˘···
And this poor guest, ’tis palpable to judge,	10	·····/˘˘··
In all his life ne’er bore our clan a grudge;	10	······/···
Dragged when a boy against his will to share	10	··········
That massacre, he loathed the foul affair.	10	·/˘˘····˘/
Think, if your hardened heart be conscience-proof,	10	···/˘··/˘·
To stab a stranger underneath your roof!	10	···/˘·˘/··
One who has broken bread within your gate—	10	···/˘·····
Reflect—before reflection comes too late,—	10	˘/··˘/˘···
Such ugly consequences there may be	10	·/˘/˘·˘···
As judge and jury, rope and gallows-tree.	10	···/˘··/˘·
The days of dirking snugly are gone by,	10	···/˘/˘···
Where could you hide the body privily,	10	·····/˘/˘˘
When search is made for’t?”	5	·····
“Plunge it in yon flood,	5	·····
That Campbells crimsoned with our kindred blood.”	10	·/˘/˘·//˘·
“Ay, but the corpse may float—”	6	······
“Pshaw! dead men tell	4	····
No tales—nor will it float if leaded well.	10	·······/˘·
I am determined!”—What could Ronald do?	10	··˘/˘··/˘·
No house within ear-reach of his halloo,	10	········˘/
Though that would but have published household shame	10	·····/˘/··
He temporized with wrath he could not tame,	10	·/˘·······
And said, “Come in, till night put off the deed,	10	··········
And ask a few more questions ere he bleed.”	10	·····/˘···
They entered; Norman with portentous air	10	·/˘/˘·˘/˘·
Strode to a nook behind the stranger’s chair,	10	·······/˘·
And, speaking nought, sat grimly in the shade,	10	·/˘··/˘···
With dagger in his clutch beneath his plaid.	10	·/˘·······
His son’s own plaid, should Norman pounce his prey,	10	·····/˘···
Was coiled thick round his arm, to turn away	10	········˘/
Or blunt the dirk. He purposed leaving free	10	·····/˘/˘·
The door, and giving Allan time to flee,	10	···/˘/˘···
Whilst he should wrestle with (no safe emprise)	10	···/˘···˘/
His father’s maniac strength and giant size.	11	·/˘/˘···/˘·
Meanwhile he could nowise communicate	10	/···/˘˘/˘·
The impending peril to his anxious mate;	11	·˘/˘/˘··/˘·
But she, convinced no trifling matter now	10	··˘/·/˘/˘·
Disturbed the wonted calm of Ronald’s brow,	10	˘/·/˘··/˘·
Divined too well the cause of gloom that lowered,	11	˘/·······/˘
And sat with speechless terror overpowered.	11	···/˘/˘·˘/˘
Her face was pale, so lately blithe and bland,	10	·····/˘···
The stocking knitting-wire shook in her hand.	10	·/˘/˘/····
But Ronald and the guest resumed their thread	10	·/˘···˘/··
Of converse, still its theme that day of dread.	10	·/˘·······
“Much,” said the veteran, “much as I bemoan	10	···/˘···˘/
That deed, when half a hundred years have flown,	10	·····/˘···
Still on one circumstance I can reflect	10	···/˘···˘/
That mitigates the dreadful retrospect.	10	·/˘··/˘/˘·
A mother with her child before us flew,	10	·/˘·······
I had the hideous mandate to pursue;	10	···/˘/··˘/
But swift of foot, outspeeding bloodier men,	10	·······/˘·
I chased, o’ertook her in the winding glen,	10	·······/˘·
And showed her palpitating, where to save	10	···/˘˘˘···
Herself and infant in a secret cave;	10	˘/·/˘··/˘·
Nor left them till I saw that they could mock	10	··········
Pursuit and search within that sheltering rock.”	10	˘/·····/˘·
“Heavens!” Ronald cried, in accents gladly wild,	11	/˘/˘··/˘/˘·
“That woman was my mother—I the child!	10	·/˘··/˘···
Of you unknown by name she late and air,	10	··˘/······
Spoke, wept, and ever blessed you in her prayer,	10	···/˘·····
Ev’n to her death; describing you withal	10	····˘/˘·˘/
A well-looked florid youth, blue-eyed and tall.”	10	···/˘·····
They rose, exchanged embrace: the old lion then	10	··˘/˘/··/·
Upstarted, metamorphosed, from his den;	10	/·˘·˘/˘···
Saying, “Come and make thy home with us for life,	11	/˘·········
Heaven-sent preserver of my child and wife.	10	/·˘/˘·····
I fear thou’rt poor, that Hanoverian thing	10	······˘/˘·
Rewards his soldiers ill.”—“God save the king!”	10	˘/·/˘·····
With hand upon his heart, old Allan said,	10	·······/˘·
“I wear his uniform, I eat his bread,	10	···/˘·····
And whilst I’ve tooth to bite a cartridge, all	10	·······/˘·
For him and Britain’s fame I’ll stand or fall.”	10	···/˘·····
“Bravo!” cried Ronald. “I commend your zeal,”	10	/˘·/˘·˘/··
Quoth Norman, “and I see your heart is leal;	10	·/˘·······
But I have prayed my soul may never thrive	10	·······/˘·
If thou shouldst leave this house of ours alive.	10	·······/˘/
Nor shalt thou; in this home protract thy breath	10	······˘/··
Of easy life, nor leave it till thy death.”	10	·/˘·······
The following morn arose serene as glass,	10	·/˘·˘/˘/··
And red Bennevis shone like molten brass;	10	·······/˘·
While sunrise opened flowers with gentle force,	10	·/·/˘/·/˘·
The guest and Ronald walked in long discourse.	10	···/˘···/˘
“Words fail me,” Allan said, “to thank aright	10	···/˘···˘/
Your father’s kindness shown me yesternight;	10	·/˘/˘··/˘˘
Yet scarce I’d wish my latest days to spend	10	·····/˘···
A fireside fixture with the dearest friend:	11	·/˘·/˘··/˘·
Besides, I’ve but a fortnight’s furlough now,	10	˘/···/·/˘·
To reach Macallin More, beyond Lochawe.	10	··········
I’d fain memorialize the powers that be,	10	··˘/˘··/··
To deign remembrance of my wounds and me;	10	··˘/˘·····
My life-long service never bore the brand	10	···/˘/˘···
Of sentence—lash—disgrace or reprimand.	10	·/˘·˘/·/˘·
And so I’ve written, though in meagre style,	10	···/˘··/˘·
A long petition to his Grace Argyle;	10	··˘/˘···/·
I mean, on reaching Innerara’s shore,	10	···/˘·····
To leave it safe within his castle door.”	10	·······/˘·
“Nay,” Ronald said, “the letter that you bear	10	·/˘··/˘···
Entrust it to no lying varlet’s care;	10	˘/···/˘···
But say a soldier of King George demands	10	···/˘···˘/
Access, to leave it in the Duke’s own hands.	10	/·········
But show me, first, the epistle to your chief,	11	·····˘/˘···
’Tis nought, unless succinctly clear and brief;	10	····˘/˘···
Great men have no great patience when they read,	10	·····/˘···
And long petitions spoil the cause they plead.”	10	··˘/˘·····
That day saw Ronald from the field full soon	10	···/˘·····
Return; and when they all had dined at noon,	10	˘/········
He conned th’ old man’s memorial—lopped its length,	10	····˘/˘···
And gave it style, simplicity, and strength;	10	····˘/˘˘··

The first 400 of 507 lines; the reader marks them all.

Notes from the edition 6

The editorial notes to The Poetical Works of Thomas Campbell (Project Gutenberg #59788), 106 bracket-numbered notes.

Stanza 12, line 8 God and the Devil—a favourite ejaculation of Highland saints.
Stanza 13, line 11 Snuff-horn.
Stanza 16, line 24 To hang their vassals, or starve them to death in a dungeon, was a privilege of the Highland chiefs who had hereditary jurisdictions.
Stanza 19, line 3 Scotch for late and early.
Stanza 21, line 10 The Duke of Argyle.
Stanza 24, line 3 When the hospitable Highlanders load a parting guest with provisions, they tell him he will need them, as he has to go over a great deal of hungry grass.

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