The accomplished author of some poetical works, Mrs Eliza A. H. Ogilvy, is the daughter of Abercromby Dick, Esq., who for many years held an appointment in the civil service of the Honourable East India Company. Her childhood was passed in Scotland, under the care of her paternal uncle, Sir Robert Dick of Tullymett, who, at the head of his division, fell at the battle of Sobraon. After a period of residence in India, to which she had gone in early youth, she returned to Britain. In 1843, she was united in marriage to David Ogilvy, Esq., a cadet of the old Scottish family of Inverquharity. Several years of her married life have been spent in Italy; at present she resides with her husband and children at Sydenham, Kent. "A Book of Scottish Minstrelsy," being a series of ballads founded on legendary tales of the Scottish Highlands, appeared from her pen in 1846, and was well received by the press. She has since published "Traditions of Tuscany," and "Poems of Ten Years."
Blue are the hills above the Spey,
The rocks are red that line his way;
Green is the strath his waters lave,
And fresh the turf upon the grave
Where sleep my sire and sisters three,
Where none are left to mourn for me:
Stand fast, stand fast, Craig Elachie!
The roofs that shelter'd me and mine
Hold strangers of a Sassenach line;
Our hamlet thresholds ne'er can shew
The friendly forms of long ago;
The rooks upon the old yew-tree
Would e'en have stranger notes to me:
Stand fast, stand fast, Craig Elachie!
The cattle feeding on the hills,
We tended once o'er moors and rills,
Like us have gone; the silly sheep
Now fleck the brown sides of the steep,
And southern eyes their watchers be,
And Gael and Sassenach ne'er agree:
Stand fast, stand fast, Craig Elachie!
Where are the elders of our glen,
Wise arbiters for meaner men?
Where are the sportsmen, keen of eye,
Who track'd the roe against the sky;
The quick of hand, of spirit free?
Pass'd, like a harper's melody:
Stand fast, stand fast, Craig Elachie!
Where are the maidens of our vale,
Those fair, frank daughters of the Gael?
Changed are they all, and changed the wife,
Who dared, for love, the Indian's life;
The little child she bore to me
Sunk in the vast Atlantic sea:
Stand fast, stand fast, Craig Elachie!
Bare are the moors of broad Strathspey,
Shaggy the western forests gray;
Wild is the corri's autumn roar,
Wilder the floods of this far shore;
Dark are the crags of rushing Dee,
Darker the shades of Tennessee:
Stand fast, stand fast, Craig Elachie!
Great rock, by which the Grant hath sworn,
Since first amid the mountains born;
Great rock, whose sterile granite heart
Knows not, like us, misfortune's smart,
The river sporting at thy knee,
On thy stern brow no change can see:
Stand fast, stand fast, Craig Elachie!
Stand fast on thine own Scottish ground,
By Scottish mountains flank'd around,
Though we uprooted, cast away
From the warm bosom of Strathspey,
Flung pining by this western sea,
The exile's hopeless lot must dree:
Stand fast, stand fast, Craig Elachie!
Yet strong as thou the Grant shall rise,
Cleft from his clansmen's sympathies;
In these grim wastes new homes we 'll rear,
New scenes shall wear old names so dear;
And while our axes fell the tree,
Resound old Scotia's minstrelsy:
Stand fast, stand fast, Craig Elachie!
Here can no treacherous chief betray
For sordid gain our new Strathspey;
No fearful king, no statesmen pale,
Wrench the strong claymore from the Gael.
With arm'd wrist and kilted knee,
No prairie Indian half so free:
Stand fast, stand fast, Craig Elachie!
