While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain, Saddens his voice again, and yet again. Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners! for the might On airy upland, and by forest rills, 5 His sky-born warblings-does aught meet your ken Of the whole world's good wishes with More fit to animate the Poet's pen, him goes; Blessings and prayers in nobler retinue II Aught that more surely by its aspect fills Pure minds with sinless envy, than the knows, blow this wondrous Potentate. Be true, Of the good Priest: who, faithful through Te winds of ocean, and the midland sea, all hours ΙΟ Fafting your Charge to soft Parthenope! To his high charge, and truly serving III. A PLACE OF BURIAL IN THE SOUTH OF ART fenced by man, part by a rugged bat curbs a foaming brook, a Graveyard lies; he hare's best couching-place for fearless sleep; Thich moonlit elves, far seen by credulous eyes, nter in dance. Of church, or sabbath ties, o vestige now remains; yet thither creep ereft Ones, and in lowly anguish weep heir prayers out to the wind and naked skies. roud tomb is none; but rudely-sculptured knights, y humble choice of plain old times, are God, To mark some change of service. As the swell Of music reached its height, and even when sank The notes, in prelude, ROSLIN! to a blank 5 THERE's not a nook within this solemn Pass But were an apt confessional for One Taught by his summer spent, his autumn gone, That Life is but a tale of morning grass Withered at eve. From scenes of art which chase 5 That thought away, turn, and with watchful eyes Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities, Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than glass Untouched, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy quest, If from a golden perch of aspen spray 10 (October's workmanship to rival May) The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay, Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest! COMPOSED IN THE GLEN OF LOCH ETIVE "THIS Land of Rainbows spanning gle whose walls, Rock-built, are hung with rainbow coloured mists Of far-stretched Meres whose salt floo never rests Of tuneful Caves and playful WaterfallsOf Mountains varying momently the creste Proud be this Land! whose poorest hu are halls Where Fancy entertains becoming gues While native song the heroic Past recall Thus, in the net of her own wishes caugh The Muse exclaimed; but Story now mu hide Her trophies, Fancy crouch; the cour of pride That make the Patriot-spirit bow Has been diverted, other lessons taught head Where the all-conquering Roman feste to tread. The smoking steam-boat eager in pur- Like a lone criminal whose life is spared suit, Vexed is he, and screams loud. The la As eagerly pursued; the umbrella spread To weather-fend the Celtic herdsman's head I saw Was on the wing; stooping, he str with awe All speak of manners withering to the Man, bird, and beast; then, with a const root, paired, And of old honours, too, and passions From a bold headland, their loved aer high: Then may we ask, though pleased that thought should range Among the conquests of civility, guard, Flew high above Atlantic waves, to dr Light from the fountain of the setti sun. Such was this Prisoner once; and wit his plumes The sea-blast ruffles as the storm comes IN THE SOUND OF MULL RADITION, be thou mute! Oblivion, throw hy veil in mercy o'er the records, hung found strath and mountain, stamped by the ancient tongue In rock and ruin darkening as we go;~~pots where a word, ghost-like, survives to show 5 And guide the Bard, ambitious to be One Of Nature's privy council, as thou art, II On cloud-sequestered heights, that see and hear To what dread Powers He delegates his part On Earth, who works in the heaven of heavens, alone. XII. THE EARL OF BREADALBANE'S RUINED MANSION, AND FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE, NEAR KILLIN. WELL sang the Bard who called the grave, in strains That-crimes from hate, or desperate love, Thoughtful and sad, the "narrow house." have sprung; No style rom honour misconceived, or fancied Of fond sepulchral flattery can beguile Grief of her sting; nor cheat, where he wrong, That feuds, not quenched but fed by mutual woe. et, though a wild vindictive Race, untamed civil arts and labours of the pen, ould gentleness be scorned by those fierce Men, detains The sleeping dust, stern Death. How reconcile With truth, or with each other, decked remains Of a once warm Abode, and that new Pile, For the departed, built with curious pains Vho, to spread wide the reverence they And mausolean pomp? Yet here they Whistling to clouds and sky-born streams, At the sun's outbreak, as with light divine, stalk must strike every one, and concurs with the plaid and kilt to recall to mind the comm nication which the ancient Romans had with this remote country. IF to Tradition faith be due, Of valley flowers. Nor, while the limbs And echoes from old verse speak true, repose, Will we forget that, as the fowl can keep sweep, Ere the meek Saint, Columba, bore So may the Soul, through powers that O'er men in dauntless virtues schooled, that Angels share. XIV. HIGHLAND HUT. Yet peaceful Arts did entrance gain SEE what gay wild flowers deck this The clasp that fixed the Roman Gown; earth-built Cot, The Fibula, whose shape, I ween, Whose smoke, forth-issuing whence and Still in the Highland Broach is seen, how it may, Shines in the greeting of the sun's first ray Like wreaths of vapour without stain or blot. The limpid mountain-rill avoids it not; 5 And why shouldst thou?- If rightly trained and bred, The silver Broach of massy frame, Humanity is humble, finds no spot No fancied lustre on the wall The walls are cracked, sunk is the flowery Where shields of mighty heroes hung, roof, Undressed the pathway leading to the door; 10 But love, as Nature loves, the lonely Poor; While Fingal heard what Ossian sung. The heroic Age expired-it slept Search, for their worth, some gentle heart Grew on the floors his sons had trod: wrong-proof, Malvina ! where art thou? Their state Meek, patient, kind, and, were its trials The noblest-born must abdicate; fewer, The fairest, while with fire and sword Belike less happy.-Stand no more aloof1! Come Spoilers-horde impelling horde. XVI. THE BROWNIE. Upon a small island, not far from the head of Loch Lomond, are some remains of an ancient building, which was for several years the abode of a solitary Individual, one of the last survivors of the clan of Macfarlane, once powerful in that neighbourhood. Passing along the shore opposite this island in the year 1814, the Author learned these particulars, and that this person then living there had acquired the appellation of "The Brownie." See "The Brownie's Cell," to which the following is a sequel. "How disappeared he?" Ask the newt and toad; Ask of his fellow-men, and they will tell How he was found, cold as an icicle, Under an arch of that forlorn abode; Where he, unpropped, and by the gathering flood 5 65 Of years hemmed round, had dwelt, prepared to try is generations come and go, heir arts, their customs, ebb and flow; ate, fortune, sweep strong powers away, ad feeble, of themselves, decay; That poor abodes the heirloom hide, 4 which the castle once took pride! okens, once kept as boasted wealth, saved at all, are saved by stealth. !ships, from seas by nature barred, fount along ways by man prepared; nd in far-stretching vales, whose streams ek other seas, their canvas gleams. ! busy towns spring up, on coasts hronged yesterday by airy ghosts; jon, like a lingering star forlorn mong the novelties of morn, hile young delights on old encroach, ill vanish the last Highland Broach. 70 75 Privation's worst extremities, and die With no one near save the omnipresent |