Of stature fair, and slender frame, But firmly knit, was Malcolm Graeme.
The belted plaid and tartan hose Did ne'er more graceful limbs disclose;His flaxen hair, of sunny hue, Curled closely round his bonnet blue.
Trained to the chase, his eagle eye The ptarmigan in snow could spy;Each pass, by mountain, lake, and heath, He knew, through Lennox and Menteith;Vain was the bound of dark- brown doe When Malcolm bent his sounding bow, And scarce that doe, though winged with fear, Outstripped in speed the mountaineer:
Right up Ben Lomond could he press, And not a sob his toil confess.
His form accorded with a mind Lively and ardent, frank and kind;A blither heart, till Ellen came Did never love nor sorrow tame;It danced as lightsome in his breast As played the feather on his crest.
Yet friends, who nearest knew the youth His scorn of wrong, his zeal for truth And bards, who saw his features bold When kindled by the tales of old Said, were that youth to manhood grown, Not long should Roderick Dhu's renown Be foremost voiced by mountain fame, But quail to that of Malcolm Graeme.
