# Modern reciter/The Fate of Macgregor

The Fate of Macgregor.
'Macgregor, Macgregor, remember our foemen, The moon rises broad from the brow of Ben-Lomond, The clans are impatient, and chide thy delay: Arise! let us bound to Glen-Lyon away.'
Stern scowl'd the Macgregor, then silent and sullen, He turn'd his red eye to the braes of Strathfillan; 'Go, Malcolm, to sleep, let the clans be dismiss'd The Campbells this night for Macgregor must rest.'
'Macgregor, Macgregor, our scouts have been flying, Three days, round the hills of M'Nab and GlenLyon; Of riding and running such tidings they bear, We must meet them at home else they'll quickly be here.'
​'The Campbell may come, as his promises bind him, And haughty M'Nab with his giants behind him; This night I am bound to relinquish the fray, And do what it freezes my vitals to say.
Forgive me, dear brother, this horror of mind;
Thou know'st in the strife I was never behind, Nor ever receded a foot from the van, Or blench'd at the ire or the prowess of man. But I've sworn by the cross, by my God, and by all! An oath which I cannot, and dare not recall,— Ere the shadows of midnight fall east from the pile. To meet with a spirit this night in Glen-Gyle.
'Last night, in my chamber, all thoughtful and lone, I call'd to remembrance some deeds I had done, When enter'd a lady, with visage so wan, And looks, such as never were fasten'd on man. I knew her, O brother! I knew her full well! Of that once fair dame such a tale I could tell As would thrill thy bold heart; but how long she, remain'd, So rack'd was my spirit, my bosom so pain'd I knew not—but ages seem'd short to the while,
Though proffer the Highlands, nay, all the Green Isle, With length of existence no man can enjoy, The same to endure, the dread proffer I'd fly! The thrice-threaten'd pangs of last night to forego, Macgregor would dive to the mansions below. ​Despairing and mad, to futurity blind, The present to shun, and some respite to find, ⟨I⟩ swore, ere the shadow fell east from the pile, To meet her alone by the brook of Glen-Gyle.
'She told me, and turn'd my chill'd heart to a stone,
The glory and name of Macgregor was gone; That the pine, which for ages had shed a bright halo, Afar on the mountains of Highland Glen-Falo, ⟨Should⟩ wither and fall ere the turn of yon moon, ⟨Smit⟩ through by the canker of hated Colquhoun: That a feast on Macgregors each day should be common, ⟨For⟩ years, to the eagles of Lennox and Lomond.
'A parting embrace, in one moment, she gave, Her breath was a furnace, her bosom the grave! ⟨Then⟩ flitting elusive, she said, with a frown, The mighty Macgregor shall yet be my own!'
'Macgregor, thy fancies are wild as the wind; ⟨The⟩ dreams of the night have disorder'd thy mind. ⟨Come⟩, buckle thy panoply—march to the field— (illegible text)e, brother, how hack'd are thy helmet and shield! (illegible text)y, that was M'Nab, in the height of his pride, When the lions of Dochart stood firm by his side, ⟨This⟩ night the proud chief his presumption shall rue; ⟨Arise⟩, brother, these chinks in his heart-blood will glue: ⟨Thy⟩ fantasies frightful shall flit on the wing, ⟨Then⟩ loud with thy bugle Glen-Lyon shall ring.'
​Like glimpse of the moon through the storms of the night, Macgregor's red eye shed one sparkle of light: It faded—it darken'd—he shudder'd—he sigh'd-
'No! not for the universe!' low he replied.
Away went Macgregor, but went not alone; To watch the dread rendezvous, Malcolm had gone. They oar'd the broad Lomond, so still and serene! And deep in her bosom, how awful the scene!
O'er mountains inverted the blue waters curl'd, And rock'd them on skies of a far nether world.
All silent they went, for the time was approaching; The moon the blue zenith already was touching;
No foot was abroad on the forest or hill, No sound but the lullaby sung by the rill; Young Malcolm at distance, couch'd, trembling the while,— Macgregor stood lone by the brook of Glen-Gyle.
Few minutes had pass'd, ere they spied on the stream, A skiff sailing light, where a lady did seem; Her sail was the web of the gossamer's loom,
The glow-worm her wakelight, the rainbow here boom; A dim rayless beam was her prow and her mast, Like wold-fire, at midnight, that glares on the waste. Tho' rough was the river with rock and cascade, No torrent, no rock, her velocity staid; She wimpled the water to weather and lee, And heaved as if borne on the waves of the sea. ​(illegible text)ute nature was roused in the bounds of the glen, ⟨The⟩ wild deer of Gairtney abandon'd his den, (illegible text)ed panting away, over river and isle, ⟨For⟩ once turn'd his eye to she brook of Glen-Gyle.
The fox fled in terror, the eagle awoke, (illegible text) slumbering he dozed in the shelf of the rock; ⟨Astonish'd⟩, to hide in the moon-beam he flew, ⟨And⟩ screw'd the night-heaven till lost in the blue.
Young Malcolm beheld the pale lady approach, ⟨The⟩ chieftain salute her, and shrink from her touch. ⟨He⟩ saw the Macgregor kneel down on the plain, (illegible text)s begging for something he could not obtain; (illegible text)e raised him indignant, derided his stay, ⟨Then⟩ bore him on board, set her sail, and away.
Tho fast the red bark down the river did glide, ⟨Yet⟩ faster ran Malcolm adown by its side; Macgregor! Macgregor!' he bitterly cried; Macgregor! Macgregor!' the echoes replied. ⟨He⟩ struck at the lady, but strange though it seem, ⟨His⟩ sword only fell on the rocks and the stream; ⟨But⟩ the groans from the boat, that ascended amain, ⟨There⟩ groans from a bosom in horror and pain.— ⟨They⟩ reach'd the dark lake, and bore lightly away; ⟨Macgregor⟩ is vanish'd for ever and aye!Hogg.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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