310 FORESTS OF SCOTLAND. 



" Black Mouut " are not perhaps less famous for producing 

 a bard who flourished in those rude regions about fifty or 

 sixty years ago. His name is Duncan Macintyre; some 

 translations from his poems have obligingly been ob- 

 tained and transmitted to me by the present Marquis of 

 Breadalbane. 



Thus I have it in my power to give a specimen of the 

 beautiful imagery of one of these translations from the 

 Gaelic, rendered in a more modern garb by the celebrated 

 pen of Mr. D'Israeli, jun. 



SPRING IN BENDOURAN.* 



Thy groves and glens, BBNDODRAN, ring, 



With the chorus of the spring : 



The blackcock chuckles in thy woods 



The trout are glancing in thy floods 



The bees about thy braes so fair, 



Are humming in the sunny air ; 



Each sight most glad, each sound most sweet, 



Amid thy sylvan pastures meet ; 



With the bloom of balmy May, 



Thy grassy wilderness is gay ! 



And lo, along the forest glade 



From out yon ancient pine wood's shade, 



Proud in their ruddy robes of state, 



The new-born boon of spring, 

 With antlered head and eye elate, 



And feet that scarcely fling 

 A shadow on the downy grass, 

 That breathes its fragrance as they pass, 



Troop forth the regal deer : 

 Each stately hart, each slender hind, 

 Stares and snuffs the desert wind ; 

 While by their side confiding roves 

 The spring-born offspring of their loves 

 The delicate and playful fawn, 

 Dappled like the rosy dawn, 



And sportive in its fear ! 



The mountain is thy mother, 

 Thou wild secluded race : 



* The inhabitants of the west still suppose that this mountain possesses 

 the faculty of making known by strange sounds the approach of a storm, 

 when, as they express it, " The spirit of the mountain shrieks." 



