THE NAMELESS RIVULET.

"WE met within a Highland glen—
Where, wandering to and fro
Amid the rushes and the broom,
A pilgrim thou didst go.
Tripping betwixt thy gowany banks
I heard thy tinkling feet,
While with thy solitary voice
The primrose thou didst greet.

Then, nameless stream, I imaged thee
A pure and happy child,

Whose soul is fill'd with guileless love,
Its brain with fancies wild;

Which wanders 'mid the haunts of men,
Through suffering, care, and fear,
Pouring its waking thoughts and dreams
In Nature's faithful ear!

Like brothers, streamlet, forth we fared,

Upon a July morn,

And left behind us rocky steep,

And mountain wastes forlorn.

THE NAMELESS RIVULET.

Where'er thy murmuring footsteps stray'd,

Along with thee I went;

Thy haunts were Nature's fanes, and I
Was therewith well content.

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Adown by meadows green we roved,
Where children sweet were playing,
We glided through the glens of green,
Where lambkins fair were straying.
We linger'd where thy lofty banks
Were clad with bush and tree,
And where the linnet's sweetest song
Was sung to welcome thee.

Then came the forest dark and deep;
As through its shade we went,

The leaves and boughs, with foliage bowed,
Were with thy waters blent.

And through the leafy vale the sun

Fell lone and fitfully,

To kiss thy waves, that from the hills

Came flowing on with me.

And when we left the wild-wood's shade,
From fields of ripened grain

The reapers' song came sweetly down,
And thine replied again.

Away we went by hut and hall,

Away by cottage lone,

Now lingering by a patch of wood,

Now moving heedless on!

Where praying monks had been we passed,

And all was silent there,

Save when thy voice the echoes waked,
Which heard the hermit's prayer.
We passed by thickets green and old,
By craggy rocks so steep,

And o'er leaf-shadowed waterfalls,

We cheerily did leap.

And then a spot upon us burst,
Where hills on either side
Rose up, all clad in coppice-wood,
Which rock and steep did hide.
And now we loiter lazily

Beneath the setting sun;

My journey ends when starlight comes— Thine is not well begun!

Now, Highland streamlet, ere we part,
Which didst thou love the best

Of all we've seen since, silently,
We left thy Highland nest?

THE NAMELESS RIVULET.

Lovest thou best the meadow

Or Highland valley grey?

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green,

Or lovest thou best, by hazel braes,
At eventide to stray?

Or dost thou love where forest trees
Thy little waves are laving?

Or wealthy fields, where golden grain,

Ripe, to the sun, is waving!

The rustle of thy fleety foot

Upon my ear doth fall

Thou stream, like this full heart of mine,
Dost dearly love them all!

Without a name, and all unknown,
Fair streamlet, though thou art,
Be still unchristen'd! but I'll keep
Thy murmurs in my heart.
My story of thy pilgrimage
Will to the careless tell

How much of love and beauty in

Unnoted things do dwell."

ROBERT NICOLL.

A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE.

THIS is the place. Stand still, my steed,
Let me review the scene,

And summon from the shadowy past
The forms that once have been.

The past and present reunite,
Beneath time's flowing tide,
Like footprints hidden by a brook,
But seen on either side.

Here runs the highway to the town,

There the green lane descends,

Through which I walked to church with thee, Oh! gentlest of my friends!

The shadow of the linden trees

Lay moving on the grass;

Between them and the moving boughs,

A shadow thou didst pass.

Thy dress was like the lilies,

And thy heart as pure as they;

One of God's holy angels

Did walk with me that day.