618 ANNUAL REGISTER, 1815. 
Incumbent crags, and hills that over hills 
Arose on either hand, here hung with woods, 
Here rich with heath, that o’er some smooth ascent 
Its purple glory spread, or golden gorse; 
Bare here, and striated with many a hue, 
Scored by the wintry rain; by torrents here 
Riven, and by overhanging rocks abrupt. 
Pelayo, upward as he cast his eyes 
Where crags loose-hanging o’er the narrow pass 
Impended, there beheld his country’s strength 
Insuperable, and in his heart rejoiced. 
A MORNING CALL; 
From Mr. Scott's Lord of the Isles. 
‘* Wake, Maid of Lorn!” the Ministrels sung, 
Thy rugged halls, Artornish! rung, 
And the dark seas, thy towers that lave, 
Heaved on the beach a softer wave, 
As mid the tuneful choir to keep 
The Diapason of the deep. 
Lull’d were the winds on Inninmore, 
And green Loch-Alline’s woodland shore, 
As if wild woods had waves had pleasure 
In listing to the lovely measure. 
And ne’er to symphony more sweet 
Gave mountain echoes answer meet, 
Since, met from mainland and from isle, 
Ross, Arran, Ilay, and Argyle, 
Each minstrel’s tributary lay 
Paid homage to the festal day. 
Dull and dishonour’d were the bard, 
Worthless of guerdon and regard, — 
Deaf to the hope of minstrel fame, 
Or lady’s smiles, his noblest aim, 
Who on that morn’s resistless call 
Were silent in Artornish hall. 
“ Wake, Maid of Lorn!” ’twas thus they sung, 
And yet more proud the descant rung, | 
“Wake, Maid of Lorn! high right is ours, 
To charm dull sleep from Beauty's bowers ; 
Earth, Ocean, Air, have nought so shy 
But owns the power of ministrelsy. 
