ADDRESS TO KILCHURN CASTLE, UPON LOCH AWE. From the top of the hill a most impressive scene opened upon our view, a ruined Castle on an Island (for an Island the flood had made it) at some distance from the shore, backed by a Cove of the Mountain Cruachan, down which came a foaming stream. The Castle occupied every foot of the Island that was visible to us, appearing to rise out of the water, mists rested upon the mountain side, with spots of sunshine; there was a mild desolation in the low grounds, a solemn grandeur in the mountains, and the Castle was wild, yet stately, not dismantled of turrets, nor the walls broken down, though obviously a ruin. - Extract from the Journal of my Companion. 1803.- 1807. CHILD of loud-throated War! the mountain Stream Roars in thy hearing; but thy hour of rest Is come, and thou art silent in thy age, Save when the wind sweeps by and sounds are caught Oh! there is life that breathes not; Powers there are Cast off — abandoned by thy rugged Sire, Nor by soft Peace adopted; though, in place ΙΟ Yet he, not loath, in favor of thy claims Take, then, thy seat, Vicegerent unreproved! Whose mountains, torrents, lake, and woods unite 20 Two Hearts, which in thy presence might be called 30 Youthful as Spring. - Shade of departed Power, Skeleton of unfleshed humanity, The chronicle were welcome that should call Into the compass of distinct regard The toils and struggles of thy infant years! Frozen by distance; so, majestic Pile, The pride, the fury uncontrollable, Lost on the aerial heights of the Crusades! 40 GLEN-ALMAIN; OR, THE NARROW GLEN. 1803.-1807. In this still place, remote from men, Have rightfully been laid at last Where rocks were rudely heaped, and rent As by a spirit turbulent; Where sights were rough, and sounds were wild, In some complaining, dim retreat, For fear and melancholy meet; Does then the Bard sleep here indeed, What matters it? I blame them not Was moved, and in such way expressed Would break the silence of this Dell; But something deeper far than these: While my Fellow-traveller and I were walking by the side of Loch Ketterine, one fine evening after sunset, in our road to a Hut where, in the course of our Tour, we had been hospitably entertained some weeks before, we met, in one of the loneliest parts of that solitary region, two well-dressed Women, one of whom said to us, by way of greeting, "What, you are stepping westward?" 1803.- 1807. "WHAT, you are stepping westward?" If we, who thus together roam In a strange Land, and far from home, "Yea." The dewy ground was dark and cold; I liked the greeting; 't was a sound The voice was soft, and she who spake The salutation had to me The very sound of courtesy ; Its power was felt; and while my eye THE SOLITARY REAPER. 1803.-1807. BEHOLD her, single in the field, And sings a melancholy strain; ΤΟ 20 |