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The dream of Argyle.

earthly arms no more uphold him
     On his prison's stony floor;
Waiting death in his last slumber,
     Lies the doomed MacCallum More.

And he dreams a dream of boyhood;
     Rise again his heathery hills,
Sound again the hound's long baying,
     Cry of moor-fowl, laugh of rills.

Now he stands amidst his clansmen
     In the low, long banquet-hall,
Over grim, ancestral armor
     Sees the ruddy firelight fall.

Once again, with pulses beating,
     Hears the wandering minstrel tell
How Montrose on Inverary
     Thief-like from his mountains fell.

Down the glen, beyond the castle,
     Where the linn's swift waters shine,
Round the youthful heir of Argyle
     Shy feet glide and white arms twine.

Fairest of the rustic dancers,
     Blue-eyed Effie smiles once more,
Bends to him her snooded tresses,
     Treads with him the grassy floor.

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Montrose (Pennsylvania, United States) (1)

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