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 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
375
THE WARNING.
[“The spirit of an ancient ancestor of the McLeans of Lochbury is heard to gallop along a stony bank, and then to ride thrice around the family residence ringing his fairy bridle, and thus intimating approaching calamity.”]—
Walter Scott.
The plaided Chief, with dog and gun
Strode forth from his castle old
When the first bright beams of the morning sun
Crowned the far-off hills with gold.
Through mist that wrapt the mountain-side
He tracked his dangerous way,
The red-deer, king of a desert wide!
In his heathery lair to slay;
But he came not back to his blushing bride,
At the clouded close of day.
Strode forth from his castle old
When the first bright beams of the morning sun
Crowned the far-off hills with gold.
Through mist that wrapt the mountain-side
He tracked his dangerous way,
The red-deer, king of a desert wide!
In his heathery lair to slay;
But he came not back to his blushing bride,
At the clouded close of day.
When heavy night began to lower,
And western skies were dim,
She looked abroad from the highest tower,
With an earnest gaze for him:
Dishevelled was her golden hair,
Her visage wan of hue,
And listened long that lady fair
For short or shrill halloo—
But no sound came on the wafting air,
And the darkness deeper grew.
And western skies were dim,
She looked abroad from the highest tower,
With an earnest gaze for him:
Dishevelled was her golden hair,
Her visage wan of hue,
And listened long that lady fair
For short or shrill halloo—
But no sound came on the wafting air,
And the darkness deeper grew.
“Why comes he not? why, comes he not?”
The weary watcher said;
Then started back,—for the night-wind brought
A barb's impatient tread;
She knew by the ring of the bridle-rein,
And a wailing sad and low,
That the soul of a famous chieftain slain
In battle long ago,
From the “Silent Land” had been called again,
A messenger of woe.
The weary watcher said;
Then started back,—for the night-wind brought
A barb's impatient tread;
She knew by the ring of the bridle-rein,
And a wailing sad and low,
376
In battle long ago,
From the “Silent Land” had been called again,
A messenger of woe.
Fear, bloodless fear, a hand of ice
Did on the lady lay,
For no mortal horseman galloped thrice
Around the castle gray;
And a horrid thrill through her bosom ran
While the blast this warning bore—
“Mourn! for the hounds of a hostile clan
Have drunk their fill of gore.”
Back to his home, a living man,
McLean returned no more.
Did on the lady lay,
For no mortal horseman galloped thrice
Around the castle gray;
And a horrid thrill through her bosom ran
While the blast this warning bore—
“Mourn! for the hounds of a hostile clan
Have drunk their fill of gore.”
Back to his home, a living man,
McLean returned no more.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |