_The Praise of the Lion_ is a fiery appeal to the Scottish nationality. The Jacobite cause is the theme of many of his songs, Prince Charles being sometimes personified under female names, such as “Morag.” In his love songs Macdonald is sweet, tender, and musical, rough though his muse is at other times. His “Praise of Morag,” in a sort of _piobrachd_ measure, is powerful; but composed under such conditions as Burns wrote “Mary in Heaven,” Macdonald’s lawful spouse became alarmed and jealous. At once he turns to “Dispraising Morag,” which he works out elaborately with Mephistophelian ardour and spirit, regardless of all poetic justice and decency. “The Resurrection of the Gaelic Tongue” is a powerful poem, celebrating the antiquity and supreme excellence of the language of the Gael. As specimens of the sweet and tender in Macdonald’s poetry, let us take a verse or two from his fine piece, _The Sugar Brook_. He has done for this insignificant burn what Burns has done for the Doon and Gray for the Luggie. He describes the different birds tuning their little throats in the morning to take up the several parts assigned to them in the great harmonic chorus of nature. He hears the rich treble of Robin, the deep bass of Richard, the “goo-goo” of the cuckoo; while on a stake apart from the rest the thrush sings lustily, and the blythesome brown wren and the vieing linnet tune up their choicest strings. The blackcock croaks, and the hen sings her hoarse response. Then come the fishes, the bees, and the frisking calves, the milkmaid and the herdsman, to fill up a scene already sufficiently gorgeous. There also— The wailing swans their murmurs blend With birds that float and sing; Where joins the Sugar Brook the sea Their tuneful voices ring. Softly sweet they bend and breathe Through their melodious throat, Like the crooked bagpipes’ wailing strain, A sad but pleasing note. The following two stanzas are very fine in the original, and Pattison has very successfully rendered them into English:— O! dainty is the graving work By Nature near thee wrought! Whose fertile banks with shining flowers And pallid buds are fraught. The shamrock and the daisy Spread o’er thy borders fair, Like new-made spangles, or like stars, From out the frosty air. Ah! what a charming sight display The ruddy rosy braes, When sunbeams dye their flowers as bright As brilliants all ablaze: And what a civil suit they wear Of ribgrass and of hay, And gay-topt herbs, o’er which the birds Pour forth their pompous lay.