515 

 RODERICK BAIN'S SONG. 



MY bosom has glow'd an' been blithe as might be, 

 Though the cauld blasts o' winter hae blawn upon me; 

 In my Highland plaid belted I brav'd their alarms, 

 Wi' my flocks on the brae an' my maid in my arms. 

 In the shieling at eve, when the sun has gane down, 

 I hae told her the deeds o' our grandsires' renown, 

 An' the hopes o' our hearts that hae parted in sorrow 

 Gave promise to day o' new joys on the morrow. 



I hae climb'd the high cliff in the howl o' the storm, 

 To pluck a bright gem frae thy brow, Caringorm ! 

 Which my lassie wore snooded 'mid ringlets o' jet, 

 Like the star shinin' out when the red sun is set ; 

 An' the clan-blood she boasted deep-thrill'd frae the core 

 As the light o' her e'e dimm'd the diamond she wore. 

 For she priz'd it the mair that in danger 'twas riven, 

 Where nane but the eaglet was witness an' Heaven. 



If the deer stood aloft on the heath o' the hill, 

 When the chace was forgot and the stalker was still, 

 She would say 'twas the likeness o' Love, sae untrue, 

 Love trampling on tears as the deer on the dew. 

 Syne my troth I replighted till joy's beamin' glow 

 Rose elate like the heath frae the bound o' the roe, 

 When the pibroch's loud numbers to her I resounded, 

 An' the gush o' her heart in its gladness rebounded. 



The fame o' our fathers reviv'd in the strain, 



'fill the clans in my fancy a' gathered again ; 



Their meikle farraras red-kindled in wrath, 



Where the files of the foe lay encumbering their path, 



Whilst the national thistle wav'd withering an' lone, 



As the brave on the heath o' their mountains were strown, 



An' the maid o'er the melody hung, an' accorded 



Such praise as the mountain- tongue fondly afforded. 



Brfiadalbane I told her was winsome and fair, 

 Though the robes o' the winter its hills ever wear ; 

 Its clear burnies rinnin' like Highland hearts free 

 To the streams o' Dunkeld an' the tides o' Dundee. 

 A cot there I promised to build o' the pine 

 If she gave her consent to be faithfu' an' mine ; 

 An' the sunshine mair softly ne'er drapt on the river 

 Than she yielded to me to be faithfu' for ever. 



The braes ha'e been bonny, the glens ha'e been green, 

 An' the mists on the mountains in slumbers are 



When my flocks wi' the flocks o' my love would recline, 



An' her lambs on the moorlands aye mingled w mine. 



There is love in a cottage an' wealth in conten 



An' the hopes that rely on their lot ne'er relent, 



Sae I think ere the sun glints again owre the heather 



Ae plaidie shall twine our two fortunes thegither 



