turn'd and toss'd,
"I'll strike," cried he, "ere I'll be lost,"
For every living thing that cross'd
  Its path would tumble dead.

'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals—
  The man who ne'er took fright—
Would watch it bounding from the hills
  And o'er the moors in flight.
When it would leave the Uist shore,
Across the Minch he heard it roar—
Like yon black cloud it bounded o'er
  The Coolin Hills that night.

THE WATER-HORSE.

O the Water-Horse will come over the heath,
  With the foaming mouth and the flashing eyes,
He's black above and he's white beneath—
  The hills are hearing the awesome cries;
The sand lies thick in his dripping hair,
And his hoofs are twined with weeds and ware.

Alas! for the man who would clutch the mane—
  There's no spell to help and no charm to save!
Who rides him will never return again,
  Were he as strong, O were he as brave
As Fin-mac-Coul, of whom they'll tell—
He thrashed the devil and made him yell.

He'll gallop so fierce, he'll gallop so fast,
  So high he'll rear, and so swift he'll bound—
Like the lightning flash he'll go prancing past,
  Like the thunder-roll will his hoofs resound—
And the man perchance who sees and hears,
He would blind his eyes, he would close his ears.

The horse will bellow, the horse will snort,
  And the gasping rider will pant for breath—
Let the way be long, or the way be short,
  It will have one end, and the end is death;
In yon black loch, from off the shore,
The horse will splash, and be seen no more.

THE CHANGELING.

By night they came and from my bed
  They stole my babe, and left behind
A thing I hate, a thing I dread—
  A changeling who is old and blind;
He's moaning all the night and day
For those who took my babe away.

My little babe was sweet and fair,
  He crooned to sleep upon my breast—
But O the burden I must bear!
  This drinks all day and will not rest—
My little babe had hair so light—
And his is growing dark as night.

Yon evil day when I would leave
  My little babe the stook behind!—
The fairies coming home at eve
  Upon an eddy of the wind,
Would cast their eyes with envy deep
Upon my heart's-love in his sleep.

What holy woman will ye find
  To weave a spell and work a charm?
A holy woman, pure and kind,
  Who'll keep my little babe from harm—
Who'll make the evil changeling flee,
And bring my sweet one back to me?

MY FAIRY LOVER.

My fairy lover, my fairy lover,
  My fair, my rare one, come back to me—
All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying,
  I would be dying, my love, for thee.

Thine eyes were glowing like blue-bells blowing,
  With dew-drops twinkling their silvery fires;
Thine heart was panting with love enchanting,
  For mine was granting its fond desires.

    My fairy lover, my fairy lover,
      My fair, my rare one, come back to me—
    All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying,
      I would be dying, my love, for thee.

Thy brow had brightness and lily-whiteness,
  Thy cheeks were clear as yon crimson sea;
Like broom-buds gleaming, thy locks were streaming,
  As I lay dreaming, my love, of thee.

    My fairy lover, my fairy lover,
      My fair, my rare one, come back to me—
    All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying,
      I would be dying, my love, for thee.

Thy lips that often with love would soften,
  They beamed like blooms for the honey-bee;
Thy voice came ringing like some bird singing
  When thou wert bringing thy gifts to me.

    My fairy lover, my fairy lover,
      My fair, my rare one, come back to me—
    All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying,
      I would be dying, my love, for thee.

O thou'rt forgetting the hours we met in
  The Vale of Tears at the even-tide,
Or thou'd come near me to love and cheer me,
  And whisper clearly, "O be my bride!"

    My fairy lover, my fairy lover,
      My fair, my rare one, come back to me—
    All night I'm sighing, for thee I'm crying,
      I would be dying, my love, for thee.

What spell can bind thee? I search to find thee
  Around the knoll that thy home would be—
Where thou did'st hover, my fairy lover,
  The clods will cover and comfort me.

    My fairy lover, my fairy lover,
      My fair, my rare one, come back to me—
    All night I'm sighing, on thee I'm crying,
      I would be dying, my love, for thee.

THE FIANS OF KNOCKFARREL.

(A Ross-shire Legend.)

I.

On steep Knockfarrel had the Fians made,
For safe retreat, a high and strong stockade
Around their dwellings. And when winter fell
And o'er Strathpeffer laid its barren spell—
When days were bleak with storm, and nights were drear
And dark and lonesome, well they loved to hear
The songs of Ossian, peerless and sublime—
Their blind, grey bard, grown old before his time,
Lamenting for his son—the young, the brave
Oscar, who fell beside the western wave
In Gavra's bloody and unequal fight.

Round Ossian would they gather in the night,
Beseeching him for song … And when he took
His clarsach, from the magic strings he shook
A maze of trembling music, falling sweet
As mossy waters in the summer heat;
And soft as fainting moor-winds when they leave
The fume of myrtle, on a dewy eve,
Bound flush'd and teeming tarns that all night hear
Low elfin pipings in the woodlands near.

'Twas thus he sang of love, and in a dream
The fair maids sighed to hear. But when his theme
Was the long chase that Finn and all his men
Followed with lightsome heart from glen to glen—
His song was free as morn, and clear and loud
As skylarks carolling below a cloud
In sweet June weather … And they heard the fall
Of mountain streams, the huntsman's windy call
Across the heaving hills, the baying hound
Among the rocks, while echoes answered round—
They heard, and shared the gladness of the chase.

He sang the glories of the Fian race,
Whose fame is flashed through Alba far and wide—
Their valorous deeds he sang with joy and pride …
When their dark foemen from the west came o'er
The ragged hills, and when on Croumba's shore
The Viking hordes descending, fought and fled—
And when brave Conn, who would avenge the Red,
By one-eyed Goll was slain. Of Finn he sang,
And Dermaid, while the clash of conflict rang
In billowy music through the heroes' hall—
And many a Fian gave the battle-call
When Ossian sang.