HEATHER LAYS. 



ghosts of the brave Can Maclan ! 



Still yours is that terrible glen, 

 Once blithe with the voices of children, 

 The gladness of women and men. 



1 think of the days of Prince Charlie, 



When the North spent its valor in vain, 

 And the blood of the brave and the loyal 

 Was poured at Culloden like rain. 



Now passed like the mist on the mountains 



Are the days when such deeds could be done 



The clansmen are scattered forever, 

 The race of the chieftains is run. 



And gone are green-coated fairies 

 That brightened the hillside of old, 



The witches that rode on the tempest 



The Gruagach* that haunted the fold. 



And passed are the sights dread and solemn 

 Vouchsafed to the eye of the seer, 



The lights, and the sounds, and the phantoms, 

 That filled every clachan with fear. 



The life of the days that have fleeted 

 Comes back not with vision or spell; 



So rest ye, dim shadows of cloudland 

 Ye fairies, for ever farewell! 

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