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Sir Ewen Cameron's Wedding Poem

To Abrian shoars I wing my willing flight,
To see with wondering eyes the matchless Knight,
The generous Chief, who the brave Clan commands,
And waves his bloody banner o're the lands.
The Hero, to whom all that's great belongs:
The glorious theam of our sublimest songs,
Whose manly sport, the savage is to trace,
Inur'd to toyle, and hard'ned in the chase.

Strong as an eagle, with resistless blows
He falls impetuous on his fiercest foes.
His fiercest foes beneath his arm must dye,
Or quick as birds before the falcon flye.
Keen to attack, the approach of danger fires;
A mighty foe, still mightyer force inspires;
His courage swells the more that dangers grow,
And still the Hero rises with the foe.

Oft I, young Chief, have heard thine actions told,
Thy person prais'd, thy generous name extol'd;
Now to my eyes, these graces stand confest,
With which kind fame my ravished eares possess'd.

See! his fresh looks with manly beautys glow,
His brawn and air, his strength and vigour show,
In just proportion every feature shines,
And goodness softens the majestick lines,
The charms of modesty through all we trace,
And winning sweetness smiles in every grace.

What numerous Tribes thy lov'd command obey?
In shining helms, and polished armour gay;
Brave champions all, whose brawny arms doe weild
The offencive broad-sword and defencive shield.
Ah! many a foe has then laid victime been,
And hapless widows mourn their edge too keen.

Immortal Chief! with early triumphs croun'd,
Thy conduct guids, thy courage gives the wound.
Matchless the guns, the bows well-backed and long,
Pointed the shafts, the sounding queavers strong;
Dreadfull the swords, and vigurous are the hands
Of our well-bodied, feirce, and numerous bands -
Bands, whose resistless fury scours the field,
Greedy of slaughter, and unknown to yield!
Hence your fierce Camerons (for that name they bear)
As masters rule, and lord it every where.
Ev'n of such pow'r might sceptred Monarchs boast!
Happy when guarded by so brave ane hoaste;
Ane hoaste, whose matches no one Chief can tell,
In arms to equall, or in strength t' excell.

O lett me, sir, their lov'd protection gain,
For this I came, nor did I come in vaine!
Great as their courage is, their generous mind,
To want still liberal, and to suffering kind!

But first to thee Great Chief, I make my moan;
Heroick Ewen! Thow sone of prudent John,
Illustrious Allan's heir, with beauty crown'd,
And as a lyon bold, when foes surround.

If, or your judgement does approve my song,
Or, if my suffering claim redress of wrong -
Three cows well-fed (nor more, alas! had I,)
With drink and food sustain'd my poverty;
These I demand, oh! they the victims are
of lawless ravage, and destructive war.

Nor I to those with doubtfull hopes complain,
Those liberal hands did former wants sustain.
My losses, now repeated, aids demand,
Since I nor milk, nor other cow command -
Else I all summer must on herbage dine,
And in the cold of shivering winter pine!

Brave Callaurt, with the shining armour shone,
I nixt address: To these I make my moane.
Yow to the field, the embattled warriours lead,
And hear with pitty when poor sufferers plead;

Your nat'ral goodness does my hopes secure,
Nor need I tell yow more, but that I'm poor!
With these I joyne brave Dougal's worthy heir,
And Martin's sone, who all the virtues share,
Witness, O! Heavens! how I esteem the three,
So much enobled by their ancestry