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TRANSLATOR. PAGE The Society of True Highlanders, E, M'Lachlan E. M'Lachlan, 122 The Emigrant,


Rev. J. Sinclair 132 Spring,

R. Whyte P. M'Naughton 136 The Whole Creation Groaneth, Anonymous A. M•Fadyen

140 Lament over Saul and Jonathan, Sir W.S-Maxwell J. Whyte, Jun. 142 The True Hero, Anonymous Compiler

144 The Late Prince Consort, Rev. D. Fraser P. M‘Naughton

146 Hark! the Herald Angels Sing! Anonymous Rev: A, Clerk 150 What are these in bright array ? Montgomery Do.

150 There is a Rest from Sin and Sorrow, Anonymous


152 Come Weary Soul & view the Fountain, Anonymous Do.

154 The Holy Scriptures, Anonymous Compiler

154 Awake my Soul! and with the Sun,

Bishop Ken Dr. J. M'Leod 156 Rock of Ages cleft for me,



158 Gospel Questions,

R. Erskine Rev. J. M Gregor 160 The Christian's Firm Bank,

Rev. L. M'Kenzie D. M‘Dougali 170 Sanctified Affliction, Dr. J. M'Leod

174 Where is Woe? Dr. J. M'Leod P. M Naughton

176 A Highland Wail,

Mac-Crimmon D. G. M.Dougall 184 The March of the Cameron Men, Anonymous D. M.Naughton 180 The Graves of a Household,, Mrs. Hemans N, M'Neill

182 God,

Derzhavin D. M'Dougall 184 Nearer to Thee,

Sarah F. Adams Dr. J. M.Leod 188 Sun of my Soul,



190 "Lovest thou Me?"


Rev. A. Cameron 192 Argyle, Dr. J. Smith Compiler

196 Miscellaneous,








A CHIEFTAIN to the Highlands bound,

Cries, “Boatman, do not tarry, And I'll give thee a silver pound,

To row us o'er the ferry !” • Now, who be ye, would cross Locbgyle,

This dark and stormy water ?” “0, I'm the chief of Ulva's Isle,

And this Lord Ullin's daughter; “ And fast before her father's men,

Three days we've fled together; For should he find us in the glen,

My blood would stain the heather.

“ His horsemen hard behind us ride

Should they our steps discover; Then, .who would cheer my bonny bride,

When they have slain her lover ?” Outspoke the hardy Highland wight,

“ I'll go, my chief—I'm ready : It is not for your silver bright,

But for your winsome lady!
And, by my word, the bonny bird

In danger shall not tarry ;
So—tho' the waves are raging white-

I'll row you o'er the ferry !".
By this the storm grew


apace, The water wraith was shrieking, And in the scowl of heaven, each face

Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind,

And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men 1

Their trampling sounded nearer!



THUIRT Gaisgeach, 'dol gu tìr nam beann,

“A Phortair na dean moille, 'S gu'n toir mi gini dhuit a chum

Ar cur taobh thall na linne!”_

“Có sibhse rachadh thar Lochgoil,

Aig meud na gaoith 's na doininn?" “Air Eilean Ulbha 's mis’ is oighr',

'Si mhaighdean s' nighean Tighearn Uilin. “ Luchd-feachd a h-athar oirnn tha'n geall,

'S ruith sinn gu teann tri laithean; Na'm beireadh iad oirnn anns a' ghleann,

Bhiodh m' fhuil air ball mu 'n lamhan. “Na'n aimseadh a mharc-shluagh oirnn,

'S iad air ar tòir 'g ar leanailt, Có thogadh misneach na h-òigh',

'Nuair leònadh iad a leannan?" Labhair an Gàidheal nach robh fann,

“Leibh théid mi null sa' mhionaid: Cha'n e do dhuais tha ga m'thoirt ann, Ach 'n ribhinn tha


d' leanailt.

“'S cha'n fhan a' mhaighdean 's dillidh snuadh

'An cunnart cruaidh ni's faide ; Oir ged a dh'éireadh muir na stuagh'n

'S an uair so théid sinn thairis !".

Mu 'n àm so bhòc an cuan gu h-àrd,

'S caoir bhàn air bhàrr nan tonnan, 'S am feadh a labhair, iad bha cách

Ri fàisineachd mu 'n doininn.

Ach mar bu mhò a shéid a ghaoth,

'S a sgaoil an oidhche tharuinn, A nuas an gleann gu'n cualas srann,

Luchd-lann a' teachd le farum.

“Oh! haste thee, haste !" the lady cries,

Tho' tempest round us gather,
I'll meet the raging of the skies,

But not an angry father.”
The boat has left a stormy land,

A stormy sea before her
When-oh! too strong for human hand l-

The tempest gather'd o'er her.
And still they rowed amidst the roar

Of waters fast prevailing :
Lord Ullin reach'd that fatal shore.

His wrath was changed to wailing.
For sore dismayed, through storm and shade,

His child he did discover !-
One lovely arm she stretch'd for aid,

And one was round her lover.
“Come backl come back !” he cried in grief,

“ Across this stormy water :
And I'll forgive your Highland chief,

My daughter ! oh! my daughter !"
'Twas vain !--the loud waves lash'd the shore,

Return or aid preventing :
The waters wild went o'er his child

And he was left lamenting.



She left behind her dearest friends,

In other lands to roam,
The desert 's now her resting-place,

Her country and her home : Lady Hester Stanhope was the favourite niece of William Pitt, for whom she acted as confidential secretary; and it is also said that she had been affianced to Sir John Moore, who fell at Corruna. Her strong affections being blighted, and her talents and energies left without an object, by the deatb of her uncle and

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