A book of Highland minstrelsy . ome outletfor the ardent energy of their youth. They made excellent soldiers ; andevery battle-field where British valour has shone, is bright with a memoryof their deeds. But thousands were left destitute and helpless. Emigration, that lastresource of an impoverished population, was all that remained to were unfitted by nature and education for the factory ; but the vastforests of America ofiered a home and liberty as free as the wild animalsthemselves enjoyed. The beloved glens of their childhood could affordthem neither of these blessings. Partly by
A book of Highland minstrelsy . ome outletfor the ardent energy of their youth. They made excellent soldiers ; andevery battle-field where British valour has shone, is bright with a memoryof their deeds. But thousands were left destitute and helpless. Emigration, that lastresource of an impoverished population, was all that remained to were unfitted by nature and education for the factory ; but the vastforests of America ofiered a home and liberty as free as the wild animalsthemselves enjoyed. The beloved glens of their childhood could affordthem neither of these blessings. Partly by public assistance, partly bytheir own exertions, the Highlanders went forth to an unknown world inthe far West, and there they built themselves dwellings, and, like thepatriarchs of old, called the lands after their own names. The following poem originated in a desire to shew the unflaggingenergy, as well as regretful remembrance, with which the Gael com-menced his new career amid the savage solitudes of his CRAIG ELACHIE. Blue are the hills above the Spej^,The rocks are red that line his way,Green is the strath his waters lave,And fresh the turf upon the grave 90 Cvatg (BU^it. Where sleep my sire and sisters three,Where none are left to mourn for me:Stand fast, stand fast, Craig Elachie ! The roofs that sheltered me and mineHold strangers of a Sassenach line ;Our hamlet thresholds neer can shewThe friendly forms of long ago ;The rooks upon the old yew-treeWould een have stranger notes to me :Stand fast, stand fast, Craig Elachie! The cattle feeding on the hills,We tended once oer moors and rills,Like us have gone ; the silly sheepNow fleck the brown sides of the steep,And southern eyes their watchers Gael and Sassenach neer agree :Stand fast, stand fast, Craig Elachie ! Where are the elders of our arbiters for meaner men ?Where are the sportsmen keen of tracked the roe against the sky —The quick of hand, of spirit free ?Passed, l
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