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IN the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Hellvellyn. His remains were not discovered till three months afterwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier-bitch, his constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmorland.
I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn,
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide; All was still, save, by fits, when the eagle was yelling,
And starting around me the echoes replied.
On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, And Catchedicam its left verge was defending,
One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending,
When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died. Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown mountain-heather, Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretched in decay, Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather, Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay. Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended, The much-loved remains of her master defended, And chased the hill-fox and the raven away.
How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber? When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start?
How many long days and long nights didst thou number,
Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming;
In the proudly arched chapel the banners are beaming;
But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,
To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb, When, wildered, he drops from some cliff huge in stature, And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying, Thy obsequies sung by the grey plover flying, With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, In the arms of Hellvellyn and Catchedicam.
THE MAID OF TORO."
O, LOW shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro,
And weak were the whispers that waved the dark wood, All as a fair maiden, bewildered in sorrow,
Sorely sighed to the breezes, and wept to the flood. "O saints! from the mansions of bliss lowly bending; Sweet Virgin! who hearest the suppliant's cry; Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending,
My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die!"
All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle, With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they fail, Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's dread
And the chase's wild clamour, came loading the gale.
"O, save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying! O, save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low! Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave Henry is lying;
And fast through the woodland approaches the foe."Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow,
And scarce could she hear them, benumbed with despair: And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro,
For ever he set to the Brave, and the Fair.
a This and the three following pieces were first published in Haydn's Collection of Scottish Airs, Edinburgh, 1806.
O OPEN the door, some pity to show; Keen blows the northern wind, The glen is white with the drifted snow; And the path is hard to find.
"No Outlaw seeks your castle-gate,
"A weary Palmer, worn and weak, I wander for my sin;
O open, for your lady's sake,
"I'll give you pardons from the pope,
"The hare is crouching in her form, The hart beside the hind;
An aged man, amid the storm,
"You hear the Ettricke's sullen roar,
"The iron gate is bolted hard,
"Farewell, farewell! and Mary grant,
The Ranger on his couch lay warm,
For lo, when, through the vapours dank,
A corpse amid the alders rank,
ALL joy was bereft me the day that you left me,
And climbed the tall vessel to sail yon wide sea; O weary betide it! I wandered beside it,
And banned it for parting my Willie and me. Far o'er the wave hast thou followed thy fortune;
Oft fought the squadrons of France and of Spain; Ae kiss of welcome worth twenty at parting,
Now I hae gotten my Willie again.
When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they were wailing,
I sate on the beach wi' the tear in my e'e,
And thought o' the bark where my Willie was sailing,
That ere o'er Inch Keith drove the dark ocean faem.
When the lights they did blaze, and the guns they did rattle,
And blithe was each heart for the great victory, In secret I wept for the dangers of battle,
And thy glory itself was scarce comfort to me. But now shalt thou tell, while I eagerly listen, Of each bold adventure, of every brave scar: And, trust me, I'll smile, though my e'en they may glisten; For sweet after danger 's the tale of the war.
And oh how we doubt when there's distance 'tween lovers, When there's naething to speak to the heart through
How often the kindest and warmest prove rovers,
Till, at times, could I help it? I pined and I pondered, If love would change notes like the bird on the treeNow I'll ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae wandered,
Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me.
Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through channel,
Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and hame.
Enough now thy story in annals of glory
Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and Spain; No more shalt thou grieve me, no more shalt thou leave me, I never will part with my Willie again.
THE MAID OF NEIDPATH
THERE is a tradition in Tweeddale, that, when Neidpath Castle, near Peebles, was inhabited by the Earls of March, a mutual passion subsisted between a daughter of that noble family and a son of the laird of Tushielaw, in Ettricke Forest. As the alliance was thought_unsuitable by her parents, the young man went abroad. During his absence, the lady fell in a consumption; and at length, as the only means of saving her life, her father consented that her lover should be recalled. On the day when he was expected to pass through Peebles, on the road to Tushielaw, the young lady, though much exhausted, caused herself to be carried to the balcony of a house in Peebles, belonging to the family, that she might see him as he rode past. Her anxiety and eagerness gave such force to her organs, that she is said to have distinguished his horse's footsteps at an incredible distance. But Tushielaw, unprepared for the change in her appearance, and not expecting to see her in that place, rode on, without recognizing her, or even slackening his pace. The lady was unable to support the shock, and, after a short struggle, died in the arms of her attendants. There is an incident similar to this traditional tale in Count Hamilton's "Fleur d'Epine.”
O LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see,
Can lend an hour of cheering.
Disease had been in Mary's bower,
And slow decay from mourning,
Though now she sits on Neidpath's tower,
All sunk and dim her eyes so bright,
Till through her wasted hand, at night,
By fits, a sultry hectic hue
Across her cheek was flying;
By fits, so ashy pale she grew
Ere scarce a distant form was kenned,
And o'er the battlement did bend,