416 



A POETICAL TRANSLATION 



OF A PART OF 



"CUMHA CHOKIE CHEATHARCH;" 



OR, 



THE LAMENT FOR THE DELL OF MIST. 



BY A HIGHLAND GENTLEMAN. 



A TRODDEN waste each mountain side. 

 Whence flowed the fountain's crystal tide : 

 No more the grassy meads are seen, 

 The lovely spots of living green : 

 No primrose blows the silken foil ; 

 No herb no floweret decks the soil 

 Where lay and rose the lovely hind ; 

 Where oft she skipped and snuffed the wind. 

 That hill seems now, its glory fled, 

 Bare as the stance of busy trade ; 

 Nor is the antlered monarch found 

 No more he leaps with lively bound 

 No more the hunter climbs the hill 

 To urge the forest chase with skill ; 

 But if there come a brighter day 

 To spoil the stranger of his prey, 



