I dedicate, with high delight,
The themes of many a winter night...

What other name on Yarrow's vale
Can Shepherd choose to grace his tale ?
There other living name is none
Heard with one feeling,-one alone.
Some heavenly charm must name endear
That all men love, and all revere !
Even the rude boy of rustic form,
And robes all fluttering to the storm,
Whose roguish lip and graceless eye
Inclines to mock the passer by,
Walks by the Maid with softer tread,
And lowly bends his burly head,
Following with eye of milder ray
The gentle form that glides away.
The little school-nymph, drawing near,
Says, with a sly and courteous leer,
As plain as eye and manner can,
"Thou lov'st me-bless thee, Lady Anne!"
Even babes catch the beloved theme,
And learn to lisp their Lady's name.

The orphan's blessing rests on thee; Happy thou art, and long shalt be! "Tis not in sorrow, nor distress, Nor Fortune's power, to make thee less. The heart, unaltered in its mood, That joys alone in doing good, And follows in the heavenly road, And steps where once an Angel trode,The joys within such heart that burn, No loss can quench, nor time o'erturn! The stars may from their orbits bend, The mountains rock, the heavens rend,The sun's last ember cool and quiver, But these shall glow, and glow for ever! Then thou, who lov'st the shepherd's home, And cherishest his lowly dome, O list the mystic lore sublime, Of fairy tales of ancient time. I learned them in the lonely glen, The last abodes of living men ; Where never stranger came our way By summer night, or winter day; Where neighbouring hind or cot was none, Our converse was with Heaven alone, With voices through the cloud that sung, And brooding storms that round us hung. O Lady, judge, if judge you may, How stern and ample was the sway Of themes like these, when darkness fell, And gray-haired sires the tales would tell! When doors were barr'd, and eldron dame Plied at her task beside the flame, That through the smoke and gloom alone On dim and umber'd faces shoneThe bleat of mountain goat on high, That from the cliff came quavering by; The echoing rock, the rushing flood, The cataract's swell, the moaning wood, That undefined and mingled hum Voice of the desert, never dumb!All these have left within this heart A feeling tongue can ne'er impart ; A wilder'd and unearthly flame, A something that's without a name. And, Lady, thou wilt never deem Religious tale offensive theme;

Our creeds may differ in degree,
But small that difference sure can be!
As flowers which vary in their dyes,
We all shall bloom in Paradise.
As sire who loves his children well,
The loveliest face he cannot tell,-
So 'tis with us. We are the same,
One faith, one Father, and one aim.

And hadst thou lived where I was bred,
Amid the scenes where martyrs bled,
Their sufferings all to thee endear'd
By those most honour'd and revered;
And where the wild dark streamlet raves,
Hadst wept above their lonely graves,
Thou wouldst have felt, I know true,
As I have done, and aye must do.
And for the same exalted cause,
For mankind's right, and nature's laws,
The cause of liberty divine,
Thy fathers bled as well as mine.

Then be it thine, O noble Maid,
On some still eve these tales to read;
And thou wilt read, I know full well,
For still thou lovest the haunted dell;
To linger by the sainted spring,
And trace the ancient fairy ring
Where moonlight revels long were held
In many a lone sequester'd field,
By Yarrow dens and Ettrick shaw,
And the green mounds of Carterhaugh.

O for one kindred heart that thought
As minstrel must, and lady ought,
That loves like thee the whispering wood,
And range of mountain solitude!
Think how more wild the greenwood scene,
If times were still as they have been ;
If fairies, at the fall of even,
Down from the eye-brow of the heaven,
Or some aërial land afar,

Came on the beam of rising star;
Their lightsome gambols to renew,
From the green leaf to quaff the dew,
Or dance with such a graceful tread,
As scarce to bend the gowan's head!

Think if thou wert, some evening still,
Within thy wood of green Bowhill
Thy native wood !-the forest's pride!
Lover or sister by thy side;

In converse sweet the hour to improve
Of things below and things above,
Of an existence scarce begun,
And note the stars rise one by one.
Just then, the moon and daylight blending,
To see the fairy bands descending,
Wheeling and shivering as they came,
Like glimmering shreds of human frame;
Or sailing, 'mid the golden air,
In skiffs of yielding gossamer.

O, I would wander forth alone
Where human eye hath never shone,
Away o'er continents and isles
A thousand and a thousand miles,
For one such eve to sit with thee,
Their strains to hear and forms to see!
Absent the while all fears of harm,
Secure in Heaven's protecting arm;
To list the songs such beings sung,
And hear them speak in human tongue;

To see in beauty, perfect, pure,
Of human face the miniature,
And smile of being free from sin,
That had not death impress'd within.
Oh, can it ever be forgot

What Scotland had, and now has not!
Such scenes, dear Lady, now no more
Are given, or fitted as before,
To eye or ear of guilty dust;
But when it comes, as come it must,
The time when I, from earth set free,
Shall turn the spark I fain would be;
If there's a land, as grandsires tell,
Where Brownies, Elves, and Fairies dwell,
There my first visit shall be sped-
Journeyer of earth, go hide thy head!
Of all thy travelling splendour shorn,
Though in thy golden chariot borne!
Yon little cloud of many a hue
That wanders o'er the solar blue,
That curls, and rolls, and fleets away
Beyond the very springs of day,—
That do I challenge and engage
To be my travelling equipage,
Then onward, onward, far to steer,
The breeze of Heaven my charioteer ;
The soul's own energy my guide,
Eternal hope my all beside.

At such a shrine who would not bow!
Traveller of earth, where art thou now?
Then let me for these legends claim,
My young, my honour'd Lady's name;
That honour is reward complete,
Yet I must crave, if not unmeet,
One little boon-delightful task
For maid to grant, or minstrel ask!

One day, thou may'st remember well,
For short the time since it befel,
When o'er thy forest-bowers of oak,
The eddying storm in darkness broke;
Loud sung the blast adown the dell,
And Yarrow lent her treble swell;
The mountain's form grew more sublime,
Wrapt in its wreaths of rolling rime;
And Newark Cairn, in hoary shroud,
Appear'd like giant o'er the cloud :
The eve fell dark, and grimly scowl'd,
Loud and more loud the tempest howl'd;
Without was turmoil, waste, and din,
The kelpie's cry was in the linn,
But all was love and peace within!
And aye, between, the melting strain
Pour'd from thy woodland harp amain,
Which, mixing with the storm around,
Gave a wild cadence to the sound.

That mingled scene, in every part, Hath so impress'd thy shepherd's heart, With glowing feelings, kindling bright Some filial visions of delight, That almost border upon pain, And he would hear those strains again. They brought delusions not to last, Blending the future with the past; Dreams of fair stems, in foliage new, Of flowers that spring where others grew Of beauty ne'er to be outdone, And stars that rise when sets the sun; The patriarchal days of yore, The mountain music heard no more,

The low deep coo and the plaintive bleat
In the morning calm, how clear and sweet!
E'er the Sun has warmed the dawning hours,
She hath watered the glow of her garden
flowers,

And welcomed the hum of the earliest Bee
In the moist bloom working drousily;
Then up the flow of the rocky rill
She trips away to the pastoral Hill;
And, as she lifts her glistening eyes
In the joy of her heart to the dewy skies,
She feels that her sainted Parents bless
The life of their Orphan Shepherdess.
'Tis a lonely Glen! but the happy Child
Hath friends whom she meets in the morn-
ing-wild-

-As on she trips, her native stream,
Like her hath awoke from a joyful dream,
And glides away by her twinkling feet,
With a face as bright and a voice as sweet.
In the osier bank the Ouzel sitting,
Hath heard her steps, and away is flitting
From stone to stone, as she glides along,
Then sinks in the stream with a broken song.
The Lapwing, fearless of his nest,
Stands looking round with his delicate crest,
Or a lonelike joy is in his cry,

As he wheels and darts and glances by.
Is the Heron asleep on the silvery sand
Of his little Lake? Lo! his wings expand
As a dreamy thought, and withouten dread,
Cloudlike he floats o'er the Maiden's head.
She looks to the birch-wood glade, and lo!
There is browzing there the mountain-roe,
Who lifts up her gentle eyes, nor moves
As on glides the form whom all nature loves.
Having spent in Heaven an hour of mirth,

The Lark drops down to the dewy earth,
And as silence smooths his yearning breast
In the gentle fold of his lowly nest,
The Linnet takes up the hymn, unseen
In the yellow broom or the bracken green.
And now, as the morning-hours are glowing,
From the hillside cots the cocks are crowing,
And the Shepherd's Dog is barking shrill
From the mist fast rising from the hill,
And the Shepherd's-self, with locks of gray,
Hath blessed the Maiden on her way;
And now she sees her own dear flock
On a verdant mound beneath the rock,
All close together in beauty and love,
Like the small fair clouds in heaven above,
And her innocent soul at the peaceful sight
Is swimming o'er with a still delight.

And how shall sweet Edith pass the day,
From her home and her sister so far away,
With none to whom she may speak the
while,

Or share the silence and the smile, When the stream of thought flows calm and deep,

And the face of Joy is like that of sleep?

Fear not the long, still Summer-day
On downy wings hath sailed away,
And is melting unawares in Even,
Like a pure cloud in the heart of Heaven,
Nor Weariness nor Woe hath paid
One visit to the happy Maid
Sitting in sunshine or in shade.
For many a wild Tale doth she know,
Framed in these valleys long ago
By pensive Shepherds, unto whom
The sweet breath of the heather-bloom
Brought inspiration, and the Sky
Folding the hill-tops silently,
And airs so spirit-like, and streams
Aye murmuring through a world of dreams.
A hundred plaintive tunes hath she-
A hundred chants of sober glee-
And she hath sung them o'er and o'er,-
As on some solitary shore,

'Tis said the Mermaid oft doth sing
Beneath some cliffs o'ershadowing,
While melteth o'er the waters clear
A song which there is none to hear!
Still at the close of each wild strain
Hath gentle Edith lived again,
O'er long-past hours while smiles and sighs
Obeyed their own loved Melodies.
Now rose to sight the hawthorn-glade,
Where that old blind Musician played
So blithely to the dancing ring-
Or, in a fit of sorrowing,
Sung mournful Songs of other years
That filled his own dim eyes with tears.
And then the Sabbath seemed to rise
In stillness o'er the placid skies,
And from the small Kirk in the Dell
Came the clear chime of holy Bell,
Solemnly ceasing, when appeared
The grey-haired Man beloved and feared
The Man of God-whose eyes were filled
With visions in the heavens beheld,
And rightfully inspired fear,

Whose yoke, like Love's, is light to bear.

And thus sole-sitting on the Brae, From human voices far away, Even like the flowers round Edith's feet, Shone forth her fancies wild or sweet; Some in the shades of memory Unfolding out reluctantly, But breathing from that tender gloom A faint etherial-pure perfume; Some burning in their full-blown pride, And by the Sun's love beautified; None wither'd-for the air is holy, Of a pure spirit's melancholy; And God's own gracious eye hath smiled On the sorrows of this Orphan Child; Therefore, her Parents' Grave appears Green, calm, and sunbright thro' her tears, Beneath the deep'ning hush of years. An Image of young Edith's Life, This one still day-no noise-no strifeAlike calm-morning-noon-and even→→ And Earth to her as pure as Heaven. Now night comes wavering down the sky : The clouds like ships at anchor lie, All gathered in the glimmering air, After their pleasant voyage: there One solitary bark glides on

So slow, that its haven will ne'er be won.
But a wandering wind hath lent it motion,
And the last Sail hath passed o'er the heaven-
ly ocean.

Are these the Hills so steeped by day,
In a greenness that seemed to mock decay,
And that stole from the Sun so strong and

light,

That it well might dare th' eclipse of night?
Where is the sound that filled the air
Around-and above-and every where ?
Soft wild pipes hushed! and a world of
wings

All shut with their radiant shiverings!
The wild bees now are all at rest

In their earthen cell-or their mossy nest-
Save when some lated labourers come
From the far-off hills with a weary hum,
And drop down mid the flowers, till morn
Shall awaken to life each tiny horn.
Dew sprinkles sleep on every flower,
And each bending stalk has lost its power-
No toils have they, but in beauty blest,
They seem to partake in Nature's rest.
Sleep calms the bosom of the Earth,
And a dream just moves it in faintest mirth.
The slumber of the Hills and Sky
Hath hushed into a reverie
The soul of Edith-by degrees,
With half-closed eyes she nothing sees
But the glimmer of twilight stretched afar,
And one bright solitary star,

That comes like an angel with his beams,
To lead her on thro' the world of dreams.
She feels the soft grass beneath her head,
And the smell of flowers around her shed,
Breathing of Earth, as yet, she knows
Whence is the sound that past her flows,
(The flowery fount in its hillside cell-)
But a beauty there is which she cannot tell
To her soul that beholds it, spread all around;
And she feels a rapture, oh! more profound

Than e'er by a dream was breathed, or driven Thro' a bosom, all suddenly filled with

heaven.

Oh! come ye from heaven ye blessed Things,
So silent with your silvery wings
Folded in moonlight glimmerings?
-They have dropt like two soft gleams of
light,

Those gracious forms, on the verdant height

Where Edith in her slumber lies,

With calm face meeting the calm skies,
Like one whose earthly course is o'er,
And sleepeth to awake no more!
Gazing upon the Child they stand,
Till one with small soft silent hand
Lifts from that brow the golden hair-
"Was ever mortal face so fair?
God gives to us the sleeping maid !"
And scarcely are the kind words said,
Than Edith's lovely neck is wreathed
With arms as soft as zephyrs breathed
O'er sleeping lilies,-and slowly raised
The still form of the child, amazed
To see those visages divine,
And eyes so filled with pity, shine
On her, a simple Shepherdess,
An orphan in the wilderness!

"O, happy child! who livest in mirth

And joy of thine own on this sinful Earth, Whose heart, like a lonely stream, keeps singing,

Or, like a holy bell, is ringing
So sweetly in the silent wild-

Wilt thou come with us, thou happy child,
And live in a land where woe and pain
Are heard but as a far-off strain
Of mournful music,-where the breath
Of Life is murmuring not of Death;
And Happiness alone doth weep,
And nought but Bliss doth break our sleep.
Wilt thou come with us to the Land of
Dreams ?"

-A kiss as soft as moonlight seems
To fall on Edith's brow and cheek-
As that voice no more is heard to speak;
And bright before her half-closed eyes
Stand up these Shapes from Paradise,
Breathing sweet fear into her heart!
-She trembleth lest their beauty part,
Cloudlike, e'er she be full awake,
And leave her weeping for their sake,
An orphan Shepherdess again,
Left all by herself in that lonely glen!
"Fear not, sweet Edith! to come along
With us, tho' the voice of the Fairy's Song
Sound strange to thy soul thus murmuring

near

Fear not, for thou hast nought to fear!
Oft hast thou heard our voice before,
Hymnlike pass by thy cottage door
When thou and thy sister were at prayers,-
Oft hast thou heard it in wild low airs,
Circling thy couch on the heathery hill,-
And when all the stars in heaven were still,
As their images in the lake below,
That was our voice that seemed to flow,
Like softest waters thro' the night,
The music breathed from our delight.

Then, come with us, sweet Edith! come
And dwell in the Lake-Fairy's home;
And happier none can be in heaven,
By Nature's kind beneficence
Than we in those green vallies, given

To us, who live in innocence;
And on our gentle missions go,
Up to the human world of woe,
For a dream as happy as ourselves;
To make by our music mortal Elves
All flitting back e'er the morn arise,
To our own untroubled Paradise.

"O waft me there, e'er my dream is gone, For dreams have a wild world all their own! And never was vision like to this

O waft me away e'er I wake from bliss!
But where is my little sister? Where
The child whom her mother with dying

prayer

Put into my bosom, and bade us be
True to each other, as on the sea
Two loving birds, whom a wave may di-
vide,

But who float back soon to each other's side!
Bring Nora here, and we two will take
Our journey with you deep down the Lake,
And let its waters for ever close
O'er the upper world of human woes,
For young though we be, and have known
no strife,

Yet we start at the shadows of mortal life;
And many a tear have we two shed
In each others' arms, on an orphan bed,-
So let Nora to my heart be given,
And with you will we fly, and trust in
"
Heaven.'

A sound of parting wings is heard,
As when at night some wandering bird
Flits by us, absent from its nest
Beyond the hour of the Songster's rest.
For, the younger Fairy away hath flown,
And hath Nora found in her sleep alone,
Hath raised her up between her wings,
And lulled her with gentlest murmurings,
And borne her over plain and steep
With soft swift glide that breaks not sleep,
And laid her down as still as death
By Edith's side on the balmy heath,
And all e'er twice ten waves have broke
On the Lake's smooth sand, or the aged

The heath-flowers all are shining bright,
And every star has its own soft light,
And all the quiet clouds are there
And the same sweet sound is in the air,
From stream and echo mingling well
In the silence of the glimmering dell,-
But no more is seen the radiant fold
Of Fairy-wings bedropt with gold,
Nor those sweet human faces! They
Have melted like the dew away,
And Edith and Nora never more
Shall be sitting seen on the earthly shore !
For they drift away with peaceful motion,
Like birds into the heart of ocean,

Some silent spot secure from storms-
Who float on with their soft-plumed forms
Whiter than the white sea-foam,
Still dancing on from home to home;
Fair Creatures! in their lonely glee
Happier than Stars in Heaven or Sea.

Long years are past-and every stone
Of the Orphans' cot is with moss o'ergrown,
And wild-stalks beautiful and tall
Hang o'er the little garden-wall,
And the clear well within the rock
Lies with its smiling calm unbroke
By dipping pitcher! There the Hives!
But no faint feeble hum survives-
Dead is that Cottage once so sweet,
Shrouded as in a winding-sheet-
Nor even the sobbing of the air
Mourns o'er the life that once was there!

O happy ye! who have flown afar

From the sword of those ruthless men of war,
That, for many a year, have bathed in blood
Scotland's green glens of solitude!
Orphans were ye-but your lips were calm
When together ye sang the evening psalm;
Nor sound of terror on the breeze,
E'er startled you up from your humble knees,
When on the dewy daisied sod,
In heaven ye worshipp'd your Father's God,
After the simple way approved
By men whom God and Angels loved.
Dark-dark days come-when holy prayers
Are sinful held, and snow-white hairs
By ruffian hands are torn and strewed,
Even where the Old Man bows to God!
Sabbath is heavy to the soul,
When no kirk-bell is heard to toll,
Struck dumb as ice-no bridal show
Shines cheerful thro' these days of woe-
Now are the blest baptismal rites
Done by lone streams, in moonless nights
Now every lover loves in dread-
Sleep flies from cradle and from bed-
The silent meal in fear is blest-
In fear the mother gives her breast
To the infant, whose dim eyes can trace
A trouble in her smiling face.
The little girl her hair has braided,
Over a brow by terror shaded;
And virgins, in youth's lovely years,
Who fear not death, have far worse fears-
Wailing is heard o'er all the land,
For, by day and night, a bloody hand
A bloody sword doth widely wave,
And peace is none,-but in the grave.
But Edith and Nora lead happy hours
In the Queen Lake-Fairy's palace-bowers,
Nor troubles from the world of ill
E'er reach that kingdom calm and still,
A dream-like kingdom sunk below,
The fatal reach of waking woe!
There, radiant water-drops are shed,
Like strings of pearl round each Orphan's
head,

Glistening with many a lovely ray,
Yet, all so light, that they melt away,
Unfelt by the locks they beautify-

The flowers that bloom there never die,

Breathing forever thro' the calm
A gentle breath of honeyed balm;
Nor ever happy Fairy grieves

O'er the yellow fall of the Forest leaves,--
Nor mourns to hear the rustling dry
Of their faded pride in the frosty sky,
For all is young and deathless there,
All things unlike--but all things fair-
Nor is that saddest beauty known
That lies in the thoughts of pleasure flown-
Nor doth joy ever need to borrow

A charm to its soul from the smiles of sorrow.

Nor are the upper world and skies Withheld, when they list, from these Orphan's eyes

The shadow of green trees on earth

Falls on the Lake and the small bird's mirth

Doth often through the silence ring
In sweet, shrill, merry jargoning-
So that the Orphans almost think
They are lying again on the broomy brink
Of their native Dee-and scarcely know
If the change hath been to bliss or woe,
As, mid that music wild, they seem
To start back to life from a fairy dream.
So all that most beautiful is above
Sends down to their rest its soul of love-
Nor have they in their bliss forgot
The walls, roof, and door, of their native

cot

Nor the bed in which their Parents died, And they themselves slept side by side! They know that Heaven hath brought them

here,

To shield them from the clouds of fear;
And therefore on their sinless breasts
When they go to sleep the Bible rests,
The Bible that they read of old,
Beside their lambs in the mountain-fold,
Unseen but by one gracious eye,
That blest their infant piety!

On what doth the wondering shepherd gaze,
As o'er Loch-Ken the moonlight plays,
And in the Planet's silvery glow,

Far shines the smooth sand, white as snow?
In Heaven or Lake there is no breeze,
Yet a glimmering Sail that Shepherd sees,
Swanlike steer on its stately way
Into the little Crescent bay;
Now jocundly its fair gleam rearing,
And now in darkness disappearing,
Till mid the water-lilies riding
It hangs, and to the green shore gliding
Two lovely Creatures silently
Sit down beneath the star-light sky,
And look around, in deep delight,
On all the sweet still smiles of night.
As they sit in beauty on the shore,
The Shepherd feels he has seen before
The quiet of their heavenly eyes :
""Tis the Orphans come back from Paradise,
Edith and Nora! They now return,
When this woe-worn Land hath ceased to

mourn.

We thought them dead, but at Heaven's command,

For years have they lived in Fairy Land,