Page:Watty and Meg, or, The wife reformed (4).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 dive to the mansions below Despairing and mad, to fnturity blind, The present to shun, and some respite to find, I swore ere the shadow fell cast from the pile, To meet her alone by the brook of Glen-Gyle.? ' She told me, and turn'd my chil'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 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.