Volume I Part 3 (1/2)

THE SEVEN SISTERS, OR THE SOLITUDE OF BINNORIE.

Seven Daughters had Lord Archibald, All Children of one Mother: I could not say in one short day What love they bore each other, A Garland of seven Lilies wrought!

Seven Sisters that together dwell; But he, bold Knight as ever fought, Their Father, took of them no thought, He loved the Wars so well.

Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, 10 The Solitude of Binnorie!

Fresh blows the wind, a western wind, And from the sh.o.r.es of Erin, Across the wave, a Rover brave To Binnorie is steering: Right onward to the Scottish strand The gallant s.h.i.+p is borne; The Warriors leap upon the land, And hark! the Leader of the Band Hath blown his bugle horn. 20 Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie.

Beside a Grotto of their own, With boughs above them closing, The Seven are laid, and in the shade They lie like Fawns reposing.

But now, upstarting with affright At noise of Man and Steed, Away they fly to left to right-- Of your fair household, Father Knight, 30 Methinks you take small heed!

Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie.

Away the seven fair Campbells fly, And, over Hill and Hollow, With menace proud, and insult loud, The youthful Rovers follow.

Cried they, ”Your Father loves to roam: Enough for him to find The empty House when he comes home; 40 For us your yellow ringlets comb, For us be fair and kind!”

Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie.

Some close behind, some side by side, Like clouds in stormy weather, They run, and cry, ”Nay let us die, And let us die together.”

A Lake was near; the sh.o.r.e was steep; There never Foot had been; 50 They ran, and with a desperate leap Together plung'd into the deep, Nor ever more were seen.

Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie.

The Stream that flows out of the Lake, As through the glen it rambles, Repeats a moan o'er moss and stone, For those seven lovely Campbells.

Seven little Islands, green and bare, 60 Have risen from out the deep: The Fishers say, those Sisters fair By Faeries are all buried there, And there together sleep.

Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully The Solitude of Binnorie.

To H. C.,

SIX YEARS OLD.

O Thou! whose fancies from afar are brought; Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel, And fittest to unutterable thought The breeze-like motion and the self-born carol; Thou Faery Voyager! that dost float In such clear water, that thy Boat May rather seem To brood on air than on an earthly stream; Suspended in a stream as clear as sky, Where earth and heaven do make one imagery; 10 O blessed Vision! happy Child!

That art so exquisitely wild, I think of thee with, many fears For what may be thy lot in future years.

I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest, Lord of thy house and hospitality; And grief, uneasy Lover! never rest But when she sate within the touch of thee.

Oh! too industrious folly!