Silent is Macranuil's tread And his followers' stealthy speed, As they cross the lovely glen Where Urquhart's waters, flow between Hillocks where the zephyrs dwell, In the blue and fragrant bell: Groves where echo answers ever The low murmurs of the river; And the mountain top is seen Snow-speck'd in the distant scene.
Mhicranuil! why that softened pace? Thou seek'st not now the wary chase? Why do'st thou and thy warriors keen So fold your plaids that nought is seen Of arms or armour, even the lance Whereon your pendant used to glance Its blazoned "Lamh dhearg" 'mid the rays Of solar light, or battle blaze, Has disappeared, and each wild look Scowls at the music of the brook, As if sweet nature seemed to scan The inmost heart of guilty man? Oh! can you in a scene so loved By all that's holy stand unmoved? Can vengeance in that heart be found Which vibrates on this blessed ground? Can that lone deep cathedral bell Cast all around its sacred spell?
And yet on ruthless murder bent, Its voice to thee in vain be sent? Mhicranuil? raise thy haggard eye, And say beneath the glowing sky Is there a spot where man may rest More beautiful, more truly blest Than where the Beauly pours its stream Through nature's all-romantic Dream,[A] Down to that ridge which bounds the south Of Nephia's salmon-spangled mouth?
The voice of praise was heard to peal From Cillechriost's low holy aisle, And on the Sabbath's stilly air Arose the hopeful soul of pray'r: When on the pastor's thoughtful face Played something like a radiant grace; Still was each thought to heaven sent, Still was each knee in prayer bent; Still did each heart in wonder rise To something far beyond the skies, When burst, as an electric cloud Had wrapt them in a flaming shroud, The roof above, the sides around, The altar--nay the very ground Seemed burning, mingled with the air In one wild universal flare!
Hark, heaven! through the lurid air Sprung the wild scream of mad despair, Those that so late did breath but love, Whose kindred hearts were interwove, Now tore away strong nature's ties Amidst her stronger agonies; Affection, frantic, burst the band That linked them often hand to hand, And rushed along the maddening tide Which rolled in flames from side to side. Eager the crowded porch to gain In hopes of safety. Ah! how vain? The demon ministers of death. From stern Glengarrie's land of heath Stood bristled round the burning fane Like hells last hopeless, hideous chain, That even the infant might not die Beneath a brighter, cooler sky, Whilst in their savageness of joy The war-pipe screams their victory.