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IN THE PASS OF KILLICRANKY, AN INVASJON BEING EXPECTED, OCTOBER 1803. Six thousand Veterans practised in War's game, Tried Men, at killicranky were arrayed Against an equal Host that wore the Plaid, Shepherds and Herdsmen.-Like a whirlwind came The lighlanders, the slaughter spread like flame; And Carry, thundering down liis mouu tain road, Was stopped, and could not breathe bencath the load Of the dead bodies.- 'T was a day of shame For them whom precept and the pedantry Of cold inechanic battle do enslave. () for a single hour of that Dundee, Who on that day the word of onset gave! Like conquest would the Men of England see ; And her Foes find a like inglorious Grave.

I praise thee, Matron! and thy duc Is praise; heroic praise, and true! With admiration I behold Thy gladness unsubdued and bold : Thy looks, thy gestures, all present The picture of a life well spent : This do I sce; and something more; A strength unthought of heretofore! Delighted am I for thy sake; And yet a higher joy partake. Our Human-pature throws away Its second Twilight, and looks gay: A land of promise and of pride Unfolding, wide as life is wide.

THE MATRON OF JEDBURGH AND HER

HUSBAND.

Al! see ber helpless Charge! enclosed Within himself as seems, composed; To fear of loss, and hope of gain, The strife of happiness and pain, Utterly dead! yet in the guise Of lille Infants, wlien their

eyes Begin to follow to and fro The persons that before them go, He tracks her motiops, quick or slow. Her buoyant Spirit can prevail Where common cheerfulness would fail : She strikes upon him with the heat Of July Suns; he feels it sweet; An animal delight, though dim! T is all that now remains for him!

14. Jedburgh, my companion and I went into private Lodgings for

a few days; aod ibe following Verses were called forth by the character and domestic situation of our liosteas.)

Age! (wine thy brows with fresh spring flowers,
And call a train of laughing Hours;
And bid them dance, and bid them sing:
And thou, too, mingle in the Ring!
Take to thy heart a new delight;
If not, make merry in despite
That there is One who scorns thy power :-
Dut dance! for under Jedborough Tower,
A Matron dwells, who though she bears
Our mortal complement of years,
Lives in the light of youthful glee,
And she will dance and sing with thee.

Nay! start not at that Figure-there!
llim who is rooted to his chair!
Look at him-look agaio ! for lle
Ilath Jong been of thy Family.
With legs that move not, if they cap.
And useless arms, a Trunk of Mao,

The more I looked, I wondered moreAnd, while I scanned them o'cr and o'er, A moment gave me to espy A trouble in her strong black eye; A remnant of uneasy light, A flash of something over-bright! Nor long this mystery did detaio My thoughts, she told in pensive strain That she had borne a heavy yoke, Been stricken by a twofold stroke; Ill health of body; and had pined Beneath worse ailments of the mind.

So be it!-but let praise ascend To Him who is our Lord and Friend! Who from disease and suffering Natl called for thee a second Spring;

A Dog, too, had he; not for need, But one to play with and to feed; Which would have led him, if bereft Of company or friends, and left

Without a better guide.

And then the bagpipes he could blow;
And thus from house to house would go,
And all were pleased to hear and see;
For none made sweeter melody

Than did the poor blind Boy.

Yet he had many a restless dream;
Both when he heard the Eagles scream,
And when he heard the torrents roar,
And heard the water beat the shore

Near which their Cottage stood.

Beside a lake their Cottage stood,
Not small like ours, a peaceful flood;
But one of mighty size, and strange;
That, rough or smooth, is full of change,

And stirring in its bed.

For to this Lake, by night and day,
The great Sea-water finds its way
Through long, long windings of the hills;
And drinks up all the pretty rills,

And rivers large and strong :

Then hurries back the road it cameReturns, on errand still the same; This did it wlien the earth was new; And this for evermore will do,

As long as earth shall last.

And with the coming of the Tide,
Come Boats and Ships that safely ride,
Between the woods and lofty rocks ;
And to the Shepherds with their tlocks

Bring tales of distant Lands.

And of those tales, whate'er they were, The blind Boy always had his share; Whether of mighty Towns, or Vales With warmer suns and softer gales,

Or wonders of the Deep.

Yet more it pleased bim, more it stirred,
When from the water-side he heard
The shouting, and the jolly cheers,
The bustle of the mariners

In stilluess or in storm.

But what do his desires avail?
For He must never brandle sail,
Nor mount the mast, nor row, nor tloat
Ju Sailor's ship, or Fisher's boat

Upon the rocking waves.

Repaid thee for that sore distress
By no untimely joyousness;
Which makes of thine a blissful state;
And cheers thy melancholy Mate !

Fly, some kind Spirit, fly to Grasmere-dale,
Say that we come, and come by this day's lighe;
Glad tidings !-spread them over field and height;
But chiefly let one Cottage hear the tale ;
There let a mystery of joy prevail,
The happy Kitten bound with frolic might,
And Rover whine, as at a second sight
Of near-approaching good that shall not fail:-
And from that Infant's face let joy appear;
Yea, let our Mary's one Companion Child,
That hath her six weeks' solitude beguiled
With intimations manifold and dear,
While we have wandered over wood and wild,
Smile on his Mother now with bolder cheer.

THE BLIND HIGHLAND BOY.

A TALE TOLD BY THE FIRE-SIDE, AFTER RETURNING TO

THE VALE OF GRASMERE.

Now we are tired of boisterous joy,
Have romped enough, my little Boy!
Jane hangs her head upon my breast,
And you shall bring your stool and rest;

This corner is your own.
There ! take your seat, and let me see
That you can listen quietly;
And, as I promised, I will tell
That strange adventure which befel

A poor blind Highland Boy.
A Highland Boy!- why call him so ?
Because, my Darlings, ye must know,
In land where many a mountain towers,
Far higher hills than these of ours!

He from his birth had lived.

1

The sun,

He ne'er had seen one carthly sight;

the day; the stars, the night; Or tree, or butterfly, or flower, Or fish in stream, or bird in bower,

Or woman, man, or child.

And yet he neither drooped nor pined,
Nor had a melancholy mind;
For God took pity on the Boy,
And was his friend; and gave him joy

Of which we nothing know.
His Mother, too, no doubt, above
Her other Children him did love:
For, was she here, or was she there,
She thought of him with constant care,

And more than Mother's love.

And proud she was of heart, when clad
In crimson stockings, tartan plaid,
And bonnet with a feather

gay, To Kirk he on the sabbath day

Went hand in hand with her.

His Mother often thought, and said,
What sin would be upon her bead
If she should suffer this : « My Son,
Whate'er you do, leave this undone ;

The danger is so great.»

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Lei-gha-Lei-gha»- then did he cry

Lei-gha-Lei-gha»--most eagerly; Thus did he cry, and thus did pray, And what be meant was, « Keep away,

And leave me to myself !»

Alas! and when he felt their hands--
You've often heard of magic Wands,
That with a motion overthrow
A palace of the proudest show,

Or melt it into air.

So all his dreams, that inward light
With which his soul bad shone so bright,
All vanished ;-'i was a heartfelt cross
To him, a heavy, bitter loss,

As he had ever known.

But hark! a gratulating voice
With which the very hills rejoice :
'Tis from the crowd, who tremblingly
Had watched the event, and now can see

That he is safe at last.

And then, when he was brought to land,
Full sure they were a happy band,
Which gathering round did on the banks
Of that great Water give God thanks,

And welcomed the poor Child.

And in the general joy of heart
The blind Boy's little Dog took part;
He leapt about, and oft did kiss
Dis master's hands in sign of bliss,

With sound like lamentation,

But most of all, lis Mother dear,
She who had faiuted with her fear,
Rejoiced when waking she espies
The Child; when she can trust her eyes,

And touches the blind Boy.

She led him home, and wept amain, When he was in the house again : Tears tlowed in torrents from her eyes; She could not blame him, or chastize :

She was too bappy far.

Thus, after he had fondly braved
The perilous Deep, the Boy was saved ;
And, though his fancies had been wild,
Yet he was pleased and reconciled

To live in peace on shore.

And in the lonely Highland Dell
Suill do they keep the Turtle Shell;
And long the Story will repcat
Of the blind Boy's adventurous feat,

And how he was preserved.' " It is recorded in Dampier's Voyages, that a Boy, the Son of a Captain of a Man of War, seated himself in a Tartle Shell, and floatod in it from the shore to bis Father's ship, which lay at anchor at the distance of half a mile. In deference to the opinion of a Friend I have substituted such a Shell for the leas elegant Vessel in which my Blind Voyager did actually entrust bimself to the dangerous current of Loch Leren, as was related to me by an eye-wit

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TOUR IN 1814.

THE BROWNIE'S CELL.

(Soggested by a beautiful Ruin opon one of the Islands of loh

Lomond, a place chosen for the retreat of a solitary iadis asal from wbom this habitation acquired its name.)

To barren heath, and quaking fen,
*Or depth of labyrinthine glen;
Or into trackless forest set
With trecs, whose lofty umbrage met;
World-wearied Men withdrew of

yore, -
(Penance their trust, and prayer their store;)
And in the wilderness were bound
To such apartments as they found;
Or with a new ambition raised;
That God might suitably be praised.

High lodged the Warrior, like a bird of

prey;
Or where broad waters round him lay:
But this wild Ruin is no ghost
Of his devices-buried, lost!
Within this little lonely Isle
There stood a consecrated Pile;
Where tapers burned, and mass was sung.
For them whose timid spirits clung
To mortal succour, though the tomb
Had fixed, for ever fixed, their doom!

Upon those servants of another world
When madding Power her bolts had hurled.
Their habitation shook ;-it fell,
And perished-save one narrow Cell;
Whither, at length, a Wretch retired
Who neither grovelled nor aspired :
He, struguling in the net of pride,
The future scorned, the past defied;
Still tempering from the unguilty forge
Of vain conceit, an iron scourge!

Proud Remnant was lie of a fearless Race,
Who stood and flourished face to face
With their perennial bills;- but Crime
Hastening the stern deerees of Time,
Brought low a Power, which from its home
Burst, when repose grew wearisome;
And taking impulse from the sword,
And mocking its own plighted word,
Had found, in ravage widely deali,
Its warfare's bourn, its travel's beli!
AJI, all were dispossessed, save him whose smile
Shot lightning through this lonely Isle!
No right had he but what he made
To this small spot, his leafy shade;
But the ground lay within that ring
To which he only dared to cling;
Renouncing here, as worse than dead,
The craven few who bowed the head
Beneath the change, who heard a claim
How loud! yet lived in peace with shame.

From year to year this shagey Mortal went
(So seemed it) down a strange descent:

Till they, who saw his outward frame,
Fixed on him an unhallowed name;
lim-free from all malicious taiat,
And guiding, like the Patmos Saint,
A pen up wearied- to indite,
In bis lone Isle, the dreams of night;
Impassioned dreams, that strove to span
The faded glories of his Clan!
Suns that through blood their western harbour

sought,
And stars that in their courses fought, –
Towers rent, winds combating with woods-
Lauds deluged by unbridled floods,-
And beast and bird that from the spell
Of sleep took import terrible,
These types mysterious (if the show
Of battle and the routed foe
Had failed) would furaish an array
Of inatter for the dawning day!
How disappeard He?-ask the Newt and Toad,
Inheritors of his abode;
The Oller crouching undisturb'd,
lo her dank cleft;- but be thou curbd,
O froward Fancy! 'mid a scene
Of aspect winning and serene;
For those offensive creatures shun
The inquisition of the sun!
And in this region flowers delight,
And all is lovely to the sight.
Spring finds not here a melancholy breast,
When she applies her annual test
To dead and living; when her breath
Quickens, as now, the wither'd heath;
Nor llaunting Summer-when he throws
His soul into the briar-rose;
Or calls the lily from her sleep;
Prolong'd beneath the bordering deep;
Nor Autumn, wiieo the viewless wren
Is warbling near the BROWNIE's Den.
Wild Relique! beauteous as the chosen spot
la Nysa's isle, the embellish'd Grot;
Whither by care of Libyan Jove
(High Servant of paternal I ove),
Young Bacchus was convey'il--to lie
Safe from bis step-dame Rhea's cyc;
Where bud, and bloom, and fruitage, glow'd,
Close crowding round the Infant God,
All colours, and the liveliest streak
A foil to his celestial cheek!

Quakes-conscious of thy power;
The caves reply with hollow moan;
And vibrates to its central s'one,
Yon time-cemented Tower!
And yet how fair the rural scene !
For thou, O Clyde, hast ever been
Beneficent as strong;
Pleased in refreshing dews to steep
The little trembling tlowers that

peep
Thy shelving rocks among.
Hence all who love their country, love
To look on thee--delight to rove
Where they thy voice can hear;
And, to the Patriot-warrior's Shade,
Lord of the vale! to lleroes laid
In dust, that voice is dear!
Along thy banks, at dead of night
Sweeps visibly the Wallace Wight;
Or stands in warlike vest,
Aloft, beneath the moon's pale beam,
A Champion worthy of the Stream,
Yon grey tower's living crest!
But clouds and envious darkness hide
A form not doubtfully descried :-
Their trapsient mission o'er,
O say to what blind region flee
These Shapes of awful phantasy?
'To what untrodden shore ?
Less than divine command they spurn;
But this we from the mountains learn,
And this the valleys show,
That never will they deign to liold
Communion where the heart is cold
To human weal and woe.
The man of abject soul in vain
Shall walk the Marathonian Plain;
Or thrid the shadowy gloom,
That still invests the guardian Pass,
Where stood, sublime, Leonidas,
Devoted to the tomb,
Nor deem that it can aught avail
For such to glide with gar or sail
Beneath the piny wood,
Where Tell once drew, by Uri's lake,
llis vengeful shafts-prepared to slake
Their thirst in Tyrant's blood.

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EFFUSION,

IN THE PLEASURE-GROUND ON THE BANKS OF THE

BRAN, NEAR DUNKELD.

COMPOSED AT CORRA LINN, IN SIGHT OF Wallace's Tower.

- How Wallace fought for Scotland, left the name of Wallace to be found, like a wild flower, All over his dear Country; left the deeds Or Wallace, like a family of gbosts, To people the stoop rocks and river banks, Her natural sanctuaries, with a local soul of indepcadence and stern liberty.

The waterfall, by a loud roaring, warned us when we must espect

it. We were first, bowever, conducted into a small apartment, where the Gardener desired us to look at tbe picture of Ossian, which, wbile he was telling the bistory of the young, Artist who executed the work, disappeared, parting in the middleflying asunder as by the touch of magic-and lo! we are at the entrance of a splendid apartment, which was almost dizzy and alive with waterfalls, tbat tumbled in all directions ; the creat cascade, opposite the window, which faod us, being reflected in innumerable mirrors upon the criling and against the walls. » - Extract from the Journal of my Fellow-T'rareller.

MS.

Lord of the Vale! astounding Flood ! The dullest leaf in this thick wood

What lle-who 'mid the kindred throng Of lleroes that inspired his song,

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