Classic Poem

This message I have received hath driven my reason from me as though I had never had and never seen it; the apple-tree of this orchard do I now lament, that under its first crop it hath broken, without ripening of its fruits.
A tale of ruin is this that now I hear, for each wound as it cometh on me waxeth ever more frequent and more dire; as the hawk's nest is harried, so all that we have beheld and heard, all that we have got since our first day, hath in a moment been swept away.
But, ye sons of the renowned that swerved not from good ways, in London and in Paris ye have excelled hundreds; over the land of Egypt your fame hath gone abroad, ye that have been to minstrels as their journey's-end, ever wedded to liberality.
Nay, Roderick, thou scion of heroes, thou whelp of lions, grandson of two noble grandsires right magnificent of hospitality, where this side of Europe was to be found thy peer in every way that was thy wont?
Thou son of Iain, it is sore to hear this news of thee my grief, that thy father's son should be lying still never more to rise! And Norman thy brother, O treasure of my heart! that they are lost together is the burthen of my plaint.
Is not the message dreadful, and strange do ye not deem it, that that tree luxuriant hath not spread its branches wherein were found renown and honour and praise for good deeds, with love and humanity, benignity and comeliness.
Though sore I deem this news of Roderick, that his body lieth not in this land in the tomb of his fathers other tidings I hear that are not less sad, though I will not trust them, — I mislike to relate them.
How little I ever dreamed that in my lifetime we should hear of the MacLeods' exile from their heritage and from their clear rights, and that against their will, though our allies be widespread should need of them arise.
To thy cause would rally Clan Ranald and Clan Donald, and the house of Maclean firmly knit in friendship with thee; over from Knoydart the men of Glen Garry would come, and Clan Cameron withal from the stronghold of Inverlochy.
No marvel though the Mackenzies should gather round thy shoulder, since thou hadst a threefold bond of kinship with their clan; alas that thy kin were not gathered about thy grave, nor thy handmaid's wail then heard, since it is heard not now.
I am grieved for the heir who was styled upon Harris, though he is not laid in the tomb of his grandsire; how much of haughty blood hath chilled in thy veins, derived from a line of kings who laid Man under tribute.
Dearly I love the stately race, seed of Olgar and Ochraidh; from the city of Bergen did thy first title spring. How much of stately blood was frozen in thy body, thou of the race of Kintyre's warriors, of the earls of Ross and of Islay.
And thou, Stewart of Appin, though thou art a goodly youth: though the Stewarts are prudent, and heroic in time of violence: take thou not comfort nor joy in that estate not justly thine; perforce thou shalt not take it, nor get it with goodwill of the giver.
Wherefore should a stranger come to implead your heritage? Though it be not well proven, it is bitter to hear. Though we are despoiled of the sons of the generous one, the race of Roderick great and renowned, they alone are worthy thereof.