The poetical works of Thomas Campbell/Glenara
For other versions of this work, see Glenara.
GLENARA.
O heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale,Where a band cometh slowly with weeping and wail?'Tis the chief of Glenara laments for his dear;And her sire, and the people, are called to her bier.
Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud;Her kinsmen they follow'd, but mourn'd not aloud:Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around:They march'd all in silence,—they look'd on the ground.
In silence they reach'd over mountain and moor,To a heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar:"Now here let us place the grey stone of her cairn:Why speak ye no word!"—said Glenara the stern.
"And tell me, I charge you! ye elan of my spouse,Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows?"So spake the rude chieftain:—no answer is made,But each mantle unfolding a dagger display'd.
"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud,"Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud;"And empty that shroud, and that coffin did seem:Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"
O! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween,When the shroud was unclosed, and no lady was seen;When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn,'Twas the youth who had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn:
"I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief,I dreamt that her lord was a barbarous chief:On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem;Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"
In dust, low the traitor has knelt to the ground,And the desert reveal'd where his lady was found;From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne—Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn!