“Mac Gregors fierce when man to man, Join with the Royal Stuart clan; Blow up the pipes, march in the van, Daring let of all men. We will up, etc.” The chorus is sung before the first verse, as well as after each. “Daring let of all men” means “Defying the hindrance of all men.” One of the most tragic of stories is associated with another Clan Mac Gregor air— “MAC GREGOR OF RUARO.” The clan, as is well known, were terribly persecuted by the ruling powers. When, after the ’45, most of the other Highland chiefs accepted Crown charters for their lands, the Mac Gregors refused, their clansmen backing them vigorously in their attitude. For this independence of theirs they were hunted like wild beasts, pursued by bloodhounds, and executed whenever caught. Even so early as 1603 the clan found themselves so persecuted and hemmed in that their chief, Mac Gregor of Glenstrae, considered it necessary to deliver himself and a score of his principal men to the Government, under promise of being allowed to leave the country. This promise was given, but ruthlessly broken, for they were all hanged at Edinburgh. In the group was Gregor Mac Gregor of Ruaro, the subject of the lament and the song. The author of neither is known:— “There is sorrow, deep sorrow, Heavy sorrow down-weighs me; Sorrow deep, dark, and lonesome, Whence nothing can raise me. Yes, my heart’s filled with sorrow, Deep sorrow undying, For Mac Gregor of Ruaro, Whose home was Glenlyon. For the bannered Mac Gregor, So bravely who bore him, With the roar of the war pipe Loud thundering before him. His emblem the pine tree On mountain side swinging; His trim-tapered arrows The true bird was winging.” And so on in very much the same strain for other nine verses. There is another tune of the “Children of the Mist,” as the Clan Mac Gregor were known, that deserves mention. It is a wild and melancholy pibroch, called _Cruachan a’ Cheathaich_, or “THE BRAES OF THE MIST.” To it is sung a ballad, and connected with the air and song there is an interesting story. The singer, a Mac Gregor, concealed in her house her husband and two sons when some bitter enemies of the clan were approaching. There was no time for escape, and so she hid her friends in a bed, and, sitting down by the fire, proceeded to sing:— “I sit here alone by the plain of the highway, For my poor hunted kin, watching mist, watching byeway; I’ve got no sign that they’re near to my dwelling; At Loch Fyne they were last seen—if true be that telling.”