Page:Watty & Meg, or, The wife reformed (2).pdf/14

 14 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 live 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 child heart' to a stone, The glory and name of Macgregor was gone : That the pine, which for ages had shed a bright halo A far on the mountains of Highland Glen-Falo, Should wither and fall ere the turn of yon moon, Smit throngh by the canker of hated Colquhoun : That a feast on Macgregors each day should be com- mon, For years, to the eagles of Lennox and Lomond.' “ A parting embrace, in one momont, 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 fances are wild as the wind; The dreams of the night have disorder'd thy mind.