Glencoe

Oh! Tell me, Harper, wherefore flow

Thy wayward notes of wail and woe

Far down the desert of Glencoe

Where non may list their melody?

Say, harp'st thou to the mist that fly

Or to the dun deer glancing by

Or to the eagle, that from high

Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy?

No, not to these, for they have rest

The mist-wreath has the mountain crest

The stag his lair, the erne her nest

Abode of lone security

But those for whom I pour the lay

Not wild wood deep, nor mountain grey

Not this deep dell that shrouds from day

Could screen from treach'rous cruelty

The hand that mingled in the meal

At midnight drew the felon steel

And gave the host's kind breast to feel

Meed for his hospitality

The friendly heart which warm'd that hand

At midnight arm'd it with a brand

That bade destruction's flames expand

Their red and fearful blazonry

Long have my harp's best notes been gone

Few are its strings, and faint their tone

They can but sound in desert lone

Their grey-hair'd master's misery

Were each grey hair a minstrel string

Each chord should imprecations fling

'Till startled Scotland loud should ring

"Revenge for blood and treachery!"