The fierce Lochiel, his vassal clan commands,
And bids the minstrels call Lochaber's bands;
The minstrels chanted, in a warlike strain,
The Songs of Ossian, to the mountain swain,
How their fore-fathers bloody fields had won,
Led on by Oscar, Ossian's favourite son,
And how Fingal had raised the nation's fame,
By his fierce combats with the barbarous Dane,
A savage horde of rambling thieves, who made
War like Algiers, plundering was their trade;
They sung, how Malcolm led his warlike powers,
From Tay's green banks, to Alnwick's lofty towers;
And how Kirkaldy, gain'd immortal fame,
By his attachment to the Stuart name.—
The Swain enraptur'd, hears with fierce delight,
How Bruce and Wallace won the hardy fight,
When England's legions oft were forc'd to yield
The palm of victory, in the hostile field;
And how bold Douglas led his martial train
To combat Percy on the Cheviot plain;
Red drops of blood were sprinkl'd o'er the field,
When night descending, spread her ample shield;
Of all the heroes who went to that bourn,
Few were the number destin'd to return.
Discord alone, of all the Demon train,
Wav'd her red torch upon that direful plain.
In milder strains, they chant a plaintive lay,
The sad disasters of that fatal day;
A day o'er which humanity long mourn'd,
While Caledonia wept her youth inurn'd;
Long did she mourn that hapless, fatal blow,
The field of Falkirk laid her glories low,
(A spear, inverted on a sable shield,