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قراءة كتاب The Celtic Magazine, Vol. I No. V A Monthly Periodical Devoted to the Literature, History, Antiquities, Folk Lore, Traditions, and the Social and Material Interests of the Celt at Home and Abroad

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‏اللغة: English
The Celtic Magazine, Vol. I No. V
A Monthly Periodical Devoted to the Literature, History, Antiquities, Folk Lore, Traditions, and the Social and Material Interests of the Celt at Home and Abroad

The Celtic Magazine, Vol. I No. V A Monthly Periodical Devoted to the Literature, History, Antiquities, Folk Lore, Traditions, and the Social and Material Interests of the Celt at Home and Abroad

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
الصفحة رقم: 5

wont to rise
Like incense to the opening skies:
In broken and unhallowed dreams
He laughs amid the roar of flames.
Ha! see he starts, afar is heard
The war-cry wild of "Tullach Ard."
Away Mhicranuil! with thy band,
Away, Clanchonich is at hand,
Scale rock and ravine, hill, and dale,
Plunge through the depths of Urquhart's vale,
And spread thy followers one by one,
'Tis meet that thou should'st be alone.

It boots not for the jerkin red,
Fit emblem of the man of blood,
Is singled still, and still pursued
Through open moor and tangled wood.
High bounding as the hunted stag
He scales the wild and broken crag,
And with one desperate look behind
Again his steps are on the wind.
Why does he pause? means he to yield?
He casts aside his ponderous shield,
His plaid is flung upon the heath,
More firm he grasps the blade of death,
And springing wildly through the air
The dark gulf of Altsigh is clear!
Unhesitating, bold, and young,
Across the gulf Mackenzie sprung;
But ah! too short one fatal step,
He clears, but barely clears the leap,
When slipping on the further side
He hung suspended o'er the tide;
A tender twig sustained his weight,
Above the wild and horrid height.
One fearful moment whilst he strove
To grasp the stronger boughs above.
But all too late, Macranuil turns
With fiendish joy his bosom burns,
"Go, I have given you much," he said,
"The twig is cut—the debt is paid."

"Notwithstanding the hideousness of this double crime of sacrilege and murder, which certainly in magnitude of atrocity was rarely, if ever, equalled in this quarter; it is strange that many will be found at no great distance from the scene of horror referred to in the poem who are not only ignorant of the cause of the fearful catastrophe, but even of the perpetrators of it. It is, therefore, the intention of the author to accompany the printed copy[B] with a copious note.

"Inverness, 4th Dec. 1839."

"Ah," says Domhnull a Bhuidhe, another of the bard's sons, "these men of Glengarry were a fine race. For real courage and bravery few in the Highlands could excel them. I remember once hearing a story of young 'Glen,' in which, perhaps, is exhibited the finest example of daring ever recorded in the annals of our country. Once upon a time Old Glengarry was very unpopular with all the northern chiefs in consequence of his many raids and spoliations among the surrounding tribes; but although he was now advanced in years and unable to lead his clan in person none of the neighbouring chiefs could muster courage to beard him in his den single-handed. There was never much love lost between him and the chief of the Mackenzies, and about this time some special offence was given to the latter by the Macdonnels, which the chief of Eilean-donnan swore would have to be revenged; and the insult must be wiped out at whatever cost. His clan was at the time very much subdivided, and he felt himself quite unable to cope with Glengarry in arms. Mackenzie, however, far excelled his enemy in ready invention, and possessed a degree of subtlety which usually more than made up for his enemy's superior physical power.

"'Kintail' managed to impress his neighbouring chiefs with the belief that Glengarry purposed, and was making arrangements to take them all by surprise and annihilate them by one fell swoop, and that in these circumstances it was imperative for their mutual safety to make arrangements forthwith by which the danger would be obviated and the hateful author of such a diabolical scheme extinguished root and branch. By this means he managed to produce the most bitter prejudice against Glengarry and his clan; but all of them being convinced of the folly and futility of meeting the 'Black Raven,' as he was called, man to man and clan to clan, Mackenzie invited them to meet him at a great council in Eilean-donnan Castle the following week to discuss the best means of protecting their mutual interests, and to enter into a solemn league, and swear on the 'raven's cross' to exterminate the hated Glengarry and his race, and to raze, burn, and plunder everything belonging to them.

"Old Glengarry, whom the ravages of war had already reduced to one son out of several, and he, only a youth of immature years, heard of the confederacy formed against him with great and serious concern. He well knew the impossibility of holding out against the combined influence and power of the Western Chiefs. His whole affections were concentrated on his only surviving son, and, on realizing the common danger, he bedewed him with tears, and strongly urged upon him the dire necessity of fleeing from the land of his fathers to some foreign land until the danger had passed away. He, at the same time, called his clan together, absolved them from their allegiance, and implored them also to save themselves by flight; and to their honour be it said, one and all spurned the idea of leaving their chief, in his old age, alone to his fate, exclaiming—'that death itself was preferable to shame and dishonour.' To the surprise of all, however, the son, dressed in his best garb, and armed to the teeth, after taking a formal and affectionate farewell of his father, took to the hills amidst the contemptuous sneers of his brave retainers. But he was no sooner out of sight than he directed his course to Lochduich, determined to attend the great council at Eilean-donnan Castle, at which his father's fate was to be sealed. He arrived in the district on the appointed day and carefully habilitating himself in a fine Mackenzie tartan plaid with which he had provided himself, he made for the stronghold and passed the outer gate with the usual salutation—'Who is welcome here?' and passed by unheeded, the guard replying in the most unsuspicious manner—'Any, any but a Macdonnell.' On being admitted to the great hall he carefully scanned the brilliant assembly. The Mackenzie plaid put the company completely off their guard; for in those days no one would ever dream of wearing the tartan of any but that of his own leader. The chiefs had already, as they entered the great hall, drawn their dirks and stuck them in the tables before them as an earnest of their unswerving resolution to rid the world of their hated enemy. The brave and intrepid stranger coolly walked up to the head of the table where the Chief of Kintail presided over the great council, threw off his disguise, seized Mackenzie by the throat, drew out his glittering dagger, held it against his enemy's heart, and exclaimed with a voice and a

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