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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.

Then hurries back the road it came
Returns, on errand still the same ;
This did it when 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 flocks

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

In stillness or in storm.

He ne'er had seen one earthly sight:
The sun, 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.
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; find 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 :

But what do his desires avail?
For he must never handle sail ;
Nor mount the mast, nor row, nor float
In sailor's ship, or fisher's boat.

Upon the rocking waves.
His mother often thought, and said,
What sin would be upon her head
If she should suffer this. My son,
Whate'er you do, leave this undone ;

The danger is so great."
Thus lived he by Loch Leven's side,
Still sounding with the sounding tide,
And heard the billows leap and dance,
Without a shadow of mischance,

Till he was ten years old.
When one day (and now mark me wen,
Ye soon shall know how this befel)
He in a vessel of his own,
On the swift flood is hurrying down

Towards the mighty sea.
In such a vessel never more
May human creature leave the shore !
If this or that way he should stir,
Woe to the poor blind mariner !

For death will be his doom.
But say what bears him ?-- Ye have seen
The Indian's bow, his arrows keen,
Rare beasts, and birds with plumage bright;
Gifts which, for wonder or delight,

Are brought in ships from far.

Such gifts had those seafaring men

But when he was first seen, oh, me,
Spread round that haven in the glen; What shrieking and what misery !
Each hut, perchance, might have its own, For many saw ; among the rest
And to the boy they all were known; His mother, she who loved him best,
He knew and prized them all.

She saw her poor blind boy.
The rarest was a turtle shell

But for the child, the sightless boy,
Which he, poor child, had studied well ; It is the triumph of his joy !
A shell of a.nple size, and light

The bravest traveller in balloon,
As the pearly car of Amphitrite,

Mounting as is to reach the moon,
That sportive colphins drew.

Was never balf so blessed.
And, as a coracle that braves

And let him, let him go his way,
On Vaga's breast the fretful waves, Alone, and innocent, and gay !
This shell upon the deep would swim, For, if good angels love to wait
And gaily lift its fearless brim

On the forlorn unfortunate,
Above the tossing surge.

This child will take no harm.
And this the little blind boy knew : But now the passionate lament,
And he a story strange, yet true,

Which from the crowd on shore was sent, Had heard, how in a shell like this

The cries which broke from old and young An English boy, oh, thought of bliss ! In Gaelic, or the English tongue, Had stoutly launched from shore ;

Are stifled-all is still. Launched from the margin of a bay And quickly with a silent crew Among the Indian isles, where lay

A boat is ready to pursue ;
His father's ship, and had sailed far, And from the shore their course they take,
To join that gallant ship of war,

And swiftly down the running lake
In his delightful shell.

They follow the blind boy.
Our Highland boy oft visited

But soon they move with softer pace ;
The house which held this prize ; and, led So have ye seen the fowler chase
By choice or chance, did thither come On Grasmere's clear unruffled breast
One day when no one was at home, A youngling of the wild-duck's nest
And found the door unbarred.

With deftly-lifted oar.
While there he sate, alone and blind, Or as the wily sailors crept
That story flashed upon his mind ;- To seize (while on the deep it slept)
A bold thought roused him, and he took The hapless creature which did dwell
The shell from out its secret nook, Erewhile within the dancing shell,
And bore it on his head.

They steal
upon their

prey. He launched his vessel- and in pride With sound the least that') be made Of spirit, from Loch Leven's side,

They follow, more and mort afraid, Stepped into it-his thoughts all free More cautious as they draw more near As the light breezes that with glee

But in his darkness he can hear,
Sang through the adventurer's hair.

And guesses their intent.
A while he stood upon his feet ;

Lei-gha-Lei-gha"-then did he cry, He felt the motion-took his seat ;

· Lei-gha-Lei-gha -most eagerly ; Still better pleased as more and more Thus did he cry, and thus did pray, The tide retreated from the shore,

And what he meant was, “Keep away, And sucked and sucked him in.

And leave me to myself !" And there he is in face of heaven!

Alas! and when he felt their hands How rapidly the child is driven !

You've often heard of magic wands, The fourth part of a mile I ween

That with a motion overthrow He thus had gone, ere he was seen A palace of the proudest show, By any human eye.

Or melt it into air.

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

As he had ever known.

But most of all, his mother dear,
She who had sainted 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 flowed in torrents from her eyes ;
She could not blame him, or chastise :

She was too happy far.

But hark ! a gratulating voice
With which the very hills rejoice :
"Tis from the crowd, who tremblingly
Had watched the event, and how 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
His master's hands in sign of bliss,

With sound like lamentation.

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
Still do they keep the turtle shell ;
And long the story will repeat
Of the blind boy's adventurous feat,

And how he was preserved."

Memorials of a Tour in Scotland.

1814.

Where tapers burned, and mass was sung. THE BROWNIE'S CELL.

For them whose timid spirits clung (Suggested by a beautiful ruin upon one of the To mortal succour, though the tomb

islands of Loch Lomond, a place chosen for Had fixed, for ever fixed, their doom ! the retreat of a solitary individual from whom this habitation acquired its name.]

Upon those servants of another world

When maddening power her bolts had To barren heath and quaking fen,

hurled, Or depth of labyrinthine glen ;

Their habitation shook ;-it fell, Or into trackless forest set

And perished-save one narrow cell ; With trees, whose lofty umbrage met ;

Whither, at length, a wretch retired : World-wearied men withdrew of yore, -

Who neither grovelled nor aspired : (Penance their trust, and prayer their store;) He, struggling in the net of pride, And in the wilderness were bound

The future scorned, the past defied ;
To such apartments as they found ;
Or with a new ambition raised ;
That God might suitably be praised.

* It is recorded in Dampier's Voyages, that a

boy, the son of a captain of a man-of-war, High lodged the warrior, like a bird of seated himself in a turtle shell, and floated in it prey ;

from the shore to his father's ship, which lay at Or where broad waters round him lay ; anchor at the distance of half a mile. In defeBut this wild ruin is no ghost

rence to the opinion of a friend, I have substi

tuted such a shell for the less elegant vessel in Of his devices-buried, lost !

which my blind voyager did actually intrust Within this little lonely isle

himself to the dangerous current of Loch Leven, There stood a consecrated pile ;

as was related to me by an eye-witness

Still tempering from the unguilty forge Spring finds not here a melancholy breast, Of vain conceit, an iron scourge!

When she applies her annual test

To dead and living ; when her breath Proud remnant was he of a fearless race,

Quickens, as now, the withered heath ;Who stood and flourished face to face

Nor flaunting summer-when he throws With their perennial hills : ---but crime His soul into the briar-rose : Hastening the stern decrees of time,

Or calls the lily from her sleep ; Brought low a power, which from its home Prolonged beneath the bordering deep : Burst when repose grew wearisome; Nor autumn, when the viewless wren And taking impulse from the sword,

Is warbling near the Brownie's den. And mocking its own plighted word, Had found, in ravage widely dealt Wild relique ! beauteous as the chosen spot Its warfare's bourne, its travel's belt ! In Nysa's isle, the embellished grot;

Whither by care of Libyan Jove All, all were dispossessed, save him whose | (High servant of paternal love). smile

Young Bacchus was conveyed--to lie Shot lightning through this lonely isle ! Safe from his step-dame Rhea's eye ; No right had he but what he made Where bud, and bloom, and fruitage, To this small spot, his leafy shade ;

glowed, But the ground lay within that ring

Close crowding round the infant god,
To which he only dared to cling :

All colours, and the liveliest streak
Renouncing here, as worse than dead, A foil to his celestial cheek!
The craven few who bowed the head
Beneath the change, who heard a claim
How loud ! yet lived in peace with shame.

COMPOSED AT CORRA I.INN. From year to year this shaggy mortal went

IN SIGHT OF WALLACE'S TOWER. (So seemed it) down a strange descent; Till they, who saw his outward frame, “How Wallace fought for Scotland, left the Fixed on him an unhallowed name ; Him-free from all malicious taint, Of Wallace to be found, like a wild flower, And guiding, like the Patmos saint, All over his dear country : left the deeds A pen unwearied-to indite,

Or Wallace, like a family of ghosts,

To people the steep rocks and river banks, In his lone isle, the dreams of night ;

Her natural sanctuaries, with a local soul Impassioned dreams, that strove to span Of independence and stern liberty"-MS. The faded glories of his clan ! Suns that through blood their western har- The dullest leaf in this thick wood

Lord of the vale ! astounding flood ! bour sought,

Quakes-conscious of thy power ; And stars that in their courses fought,

The caves reply with hollow moan ; Towers rent, windscombating with woods

And vibrates to its central stone,
Lands deluged by unbridled floods, --

Yon time-cemented tower !
And beast and bird that from the spell
Of sleep took import terrible,

And yet how fair the rural scene !
These iypes mysterious (if the show

For thou, O Clyde, hast ever been
Of battle and the routed foe

Beneficent as strong ;
Had failed) would furnish an array Pleased in refreshing dews to steep
Of matter for the dawning day!

The little trembling flowers that peep

Thy shelving rocks among.
How disappeared he ?-ask the newt and
Inheritors of his abode ;

(toad, Hence all who love their country, love The otter crouching undisturbed,

To look on thee-delight to rove
In her dank cleft ;-but be thou curbed, Where they thy voice can hear;
O froward fancy! 'mid a scene

And, to the patriot warrior's shade,
Of aspect winning and serene ;

Lord of the vale ! to heroes laid
For those offensive creatures shun

In dust, that voice is dear!
The inquisition of the sun !
And in this region flowers delight, Along thy banks, at dead of night
And all is lovely to the sight.

Sweeps visibly the Wallace wight;

name

Or stands in warlike vest,

What! Ossian here—a painted thrall,
Aloft, beneath the moon's pale beam, Mute fixture on a stuccoed wall ;
A champion worthy of the stream,

To serve, an unsuspected screen
Yon gray tower's living crest !

For show that must not yet be seen :

And, when the moment comes, to part But clouds and envious darkness hide And vanish by mysterious art ; A form not doubtfully descried :

Head, harp, and body, split asunder, Their transient mission o'er,

For ingress to a world of wonder ;

A Oh, say to what blind region flee

gay saloon, with waters dancing These shapes of awful phantasy?

Upon the sight wherever glancing: To what untrodden shore?

One loud cascade in front, and lo!

A thousand like it, white as snowLess than divine command they spurn;

Streams on the walls, and torrents foam But this we from the mountains learn, As active round the hollow dome, And this the valleys show,

Illusive cataracts! of their terrors That never will they deign to hold

Not stript, nor voiceless in the mirrors, Communion where the heart is cold That catch the pageant from the flood To human weal and woe.

Thundering adown a rocky wood !

Strange scene, fantastic and uneasy The man of abject soul in vain

As ever made a maniac dizzy, Shall walk the Marathonian plain ;

When disenchanted from the mood Or thrid the shadowy gloom,

That loves on sullen thoughts to brood ! That still invests the guardian pass Where stood, sublime, Leonidas,

O nature, in thy changeful visions, Devoted to the tomb.

Through all thy most abrupt transitions,

Smooth, graceful, tender, or sublime, Nor deem that it can aught avail

Ever averse to pantomime, For such to glide with oar or sail

Thee neither do they know nor us Beneath the piny wood,

Thy servants, who can trifle thus ;
Where Tell once drew, by Uri's lake, Else surely had the sober powers
His vengeful shafts-prepared to slake Of rock that frowns, and stream that roars,
Their thirst in tyrant's blood.

Exalted by congenial sway
Of spirits, and the undying lay,

And names that moulder not away,
EFFUSION,

Awakened some redeeming thought

More worthy of this favoured spot ; IN THE PLEASURE-GROUND ON THE

Recalled some feeling-to set free BANKS OF THE BRAN, NEAR DUNKELD. The bard from such indignity! The waterfall, by a loud roaring, warned us when we must expect it. We were first, how- The effigies of a valiant wight* ever, conducted into a small apartment, where I once beheld, a Templar knight ; the gardener desired us to look at the picture Not prostrate, not like those that rest of Ossian, which, while he was telling, the On tombs, with palms together pressed, history of the young artist who executed the work, disappeared, parting in the middle

But sculptured out of living stone, flying asunder as by the touch of magic-and And standing upright and alone, lo! we are at the entrance of a splendid apart. Both hands with rival energy ment, which was almost dizzy and alive with Employed in setting his sword free waterfalls, that tumbled in all directions : the From its dull sheath-stern sentinel great cascade, opposite the window, which Intent to guard St. Robert's cell ; faced us, being reflected in innumerable mirrors As if with

memory of the affray upon the ceiling and against the walls." Extract from the Journal of my Fellow. Far distant, when, as legends say, Traveller

The monks of Fountains thronged :: What he-who 'mid he kindred throng

force Of heroes that inspired his song,

From its dear home the hermit's corse,
Doth yet frequent the hill of storms,
The stars dim-twinkling through their
forms!

* On the banks of the river Nid, near Knaresborough

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