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Updated: June 26, 2025
There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale, But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael. A stranger commanded it sunk on the land, It has frozen each heart, and benumb'd every hand! The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust, The bloodless claymore is but redden'd with rust; On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear, It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer.
There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale, But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael. A stranger commanded it sunk on the land, It has frozen each heart, and benumb'd every hand! The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust, The bloodless claymore is but redden'd with rust; On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear, It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer.
"The devil, it cannot be, surely," for the black eyed and black haired pale face, seemed annoyingly attentive to the militaire. At length this said officer addressed me, "Captain Cringle, do me the honour to take wine." Mary started at the Captain. "She gazed, she redden'd like a rose, Syne pale as ony lily." Aha, thought I, all right still.
Where brave Manlius stood, And hurl'd indignant decads down, And redden'd Tyber's flood. People have never done contradicting Burnet, who says, in his travels, that a man might jump down it now and not do himself much harm: the truth is, its present appearance is not formidable; but I believe it is not less than forty feet high at this moment, though the ground is greatly raised.
There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale, But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael. A stranger commanded it sunk on the land, It has frozen each heart, and benumb'd every hand! The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust, The bloodless claymore is but redden'd with rust; On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear, It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer.
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