The matter of religion is, no doubt, an important factor in the later difference; but the sturdier Norse element in the Highlander’s constitution may account for much. In reading the literature of the two countries, we are at once struck with the different keys to which the bards attune their harps. An Irish bard, in English, sings thus of his country:— “She sits alone on the cold gravestone, And only the dead are nigh her; In the tongue of the Gael she makes her wail; The night wind rushes by her: “‘Few, O few, are the leal and true, And fewer shall be, and fewer; The land is a corse;—no life, no force— O wind with sere leaves strew her! “‘Men ask what scope is left for hope To one who has known her story; I trust her dead! Their graves are red; But their souls are with God in glory.’” This note is not to be found in the whole range of Highland poetry. Perhaps it is because the retrospect of the past is not so full of sadness for the Highlander, who, notwithstanding his rebellions and their frequent non-success, has fairly maintained his ground in Scotland. He has had his share in the struggles for Scotland’s independence; and he now identifies himself with the whole nation, proud of the name, and rejoicing in her glorious history. The Jacobite bard, Alexander Macdonald, addresses the Scottish Lion thus:— “Hail! thou rending Lion, Of matchless force and rampant pride! When up thy chieftains roused them Gay banners fluttered far and wide. * * * * * Strong rock and everlasting, Hard and old and undecayed, High thy royal crest show, For thousands gather in thy shade, With mirth in their armour bright— The dauntless race that never yield— The spectres that stir panic flight, When quick striking swords they wield. Many gallant youths beneath thee, With stout hands and shoulders great, Go rushing on where’s honour won— For wild fight they’re never late. With steady foot and agile hand To thrust or cut each weapon gleams; Red on the ground death gasps around, But gay o’erhead the Lion streams. Thou roaring, frowning Lion!” &c. This is the kind of poetry on which the Highland national spirit has been fed. Retrospects have less weight and prospects more with the Highlander. On the other hand the Irish Gael dwells intensely on the past, and thus grievously sins against his future. As appendix to this chapter on prose romances, I give some Irish _literary facts_ and a Hibernian _picture of Ossian_ in verse, as— IRISH VERSIONS.