A book of Highland minstrelsy . d sweepingtrains which lay garnered in certain old chests. The servants used to tell thechildren about hearing sounds of silken dresses trailed along the floor, andthe idea had a kind of grotesque horror attractive to the young imagina-tion. Vanity beyond the grave, love of dress in mouldering corses, 48 €\)t (©ITJ l^ougf of ^arvavlr. skeletons arrayed in stiff and pompous robes — such were the strangefancies that haunted the sleep of childhood. Moreover, Dundee himself (said the learned) was to be evoked bythe bold wight who should approach at midnight the spot
A book of Highland minstrelsy . d sweepingtrains which lay garnered in certain old chests. The servants used to tell thechildren about hearing sounds of silken dresses trailed along the floor, andthe idea had a kind of grotesque horror attractive to the young imagina-tion. Vanity beyond the grave, love of dress in mouldering corses, 48 €\)t (©ITJ l^ougf of ^arvavlr. skeletons arrayed in stiff and pompous robes — such were the strangefancies that haunted the sleep of childhood. Moreover, Dundee himself (said the learned) was to be evoked bythe bold wight who should approach at midnight the spot where hereceived his death-wound. One occasion is particularly remembered whena party sallied out on such an adventurous errand ; but whether it wasthat the number of the spirit-hunters frustrated the spell, or that theredoubtable warrior scorned a summons from the lips of frightened school-girls, the green-shadowed mound continued still and undisturbed in themoonlight, and the ghost-seekers returned as wise as they THE OLD HOUSE OF UEEAET) Dost fear the grim brown twiHglit ? Dost care to walk aloneWhen the firs upon the hill-top With human voices moan ?When the river twineth restless Through deep and jagged linn,Like one who cannot sleep o nights For evil thoughts within ? 50 Ci)e #ITJ f^oujif of Sriart. When the hooting owls grow silentThe ghostly sounds to hark In the ancient house of Urrard,When the night is still and dark ? There are graves about old Urrard, Huge mounds by rock and tree,And they who lie beneath them Died fighting by down along the valley. And up along the hill,The fight of Killiecrankie Has left a story thickest shew the traces. And thickest throng the sprites,In the woods about old Urrard On the gloomy winter nights. In the garden of old Urrard, Among the bosky yews,A turfen hillock riseth. Refreshed by faithful dews ;Here sank the warrior stricken By charmed silver ball,Aiid all the might of victory Dropped nerveless in
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1840, bookidbookofhighlandmi00ogilric
