"If Care with freezing years should come, *And wandering seem but folly,*Should we be loth to stir from home,
And yet be melancholy;
"Should life be dull, and spirits low, "Twill soothe us in our sorrow,
That earth has something yet to show, "The bonny Holms of Yarrow !"
IN THE PASS OF KILLICRANKY.
AN INVASION BEING EXPECTED, OCTOBER 1803.
Sex thousand Veterans practised in War's game, Tned Men, at Killicranky were arrayed Against an equal Host that wore the Plaid, Shepherds and Herdsmen. Like a whirlwind came The Highlanders, the slaughter spread like flame; And Garry, thundering down his mountain road, Was stopped, and could not breathe beneath the load Of the dead bodies.-'T was a day of shame For them whom precept and the pedantry Of cold mechanic battle do enslave. fr a single hour of that Dundee,
Who on that day the word of onset gave! Le conquest would the Men of England see; And her Foes find a like inglorious Grave.
THE MATRON OF JEDBOROUGH,
AND HER HUSBAND.
At Jedborough, my companion and I went into private Lodg for a few days; and the following Verses were called forth the character and domestic situation of our Hostess.
AGE! twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers, And call a train of laughing Hours; And bad 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:- But dance for under Jedborough Tower, A Matron dwells, who though she bears Our mortal complement of years, Laves in the light of youthful glee, And she will dance and sing with thee. Nay! start not at that Figure - there! He who is rooted to his chair! Look at him-look again! for He Hath long been of thy Family. With legs that move not, if they can, And useless arms, a Trunk of Man, He sits, and with a vacant eye;
A Sight to make a stranger sigh! Deaf, drooping, that is now his doom: His world is in this single room:
Is this a place for mirthful cheer? Can merry-making enter here?
The joyous Woman is the Mate Of him in that forlorn estate ! He breathes a subterraneous damp; But bright as Vesper shines her lamp: He is as mute as Jedborough Tower; She jocund as it was of yore, With all its bravery on; in times When all alive with merry chimes, Upon a sun-bright morn of May, It roused the Vale to Holiday.
I praise thee, Matron! and thy due 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 see; and something more; A strength unthought of heretofore! Delighted am I for thy sake; And yet a higher joy partake. Our Human-nature throws away Its second Twilight, and looks gay; A land of promise and of pride Unfolding, wide as life is wide.
Ah! see her 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 little Infants, when their eyes Begin to follow to and fro
The persons that before them go, He tracks her motions, 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! 'Tis all that now remains for him!
The more I looked, I wondered moreAnd, while I scanned them o'er 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 detain 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 Hath called for thee a second Spring; 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 light; 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.
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.
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; 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 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.
All vanished; -'t 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 His master's hands in sign of bliss,
With sound like lamentation.
But most of all, his Mother dear, She who had fainted 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 kissed him-how could she chastise? She was too happy 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 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.*
* It is recorded in Dampier's Voyages, that a boy, the Son of Captain of a Man-of-War, seated himself in a Turtle Shell, ara floated in it from the shore to his Father's ship, which lay s anchor at the distance of half a mile. In deference to the opinion of a Friend, I have substituted such a shell for the less elegan Vessel in which my Blind Voyager did actually entrust himself to the dangerous current of Loch Leven, as was related to me by an eye-witness.
MEMORIALS OF A TOUR IN SCOTLAND, 1814.
Farted by a beautiful Ruin upon one of the Islands of Loch
No right had he but what he made To this small spot, his leafy shade;
Lomond, a place chosen for the retreat of a solitary individual, But the ground lay within that ring
from whom this habitation acquired the name of
THE BROWNIE'S CELL.
To barren heath, and quaking fen, depth of labyrinthine glen;
to trackless forest set
With trees, whose lofty umbrage met; W d-wearied men withdrew of yore, Prance their trust, and Prayer their store;) Asd in the wilderness were bound To such apartments as they found; (with a new ambition raised; Tat God might suitably be praised.
High lodged the Warrior, like a bird of prey;
Or where broad waters round him lay: At this wild Ruin is no ghost O has 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!
In those servants of another world Wen madding Power her bolts had hurled, Ter babitation shook; - it fell, And perished-save one narrow Cell; Wither, at length, a Wretch retired Wo neither grovelled nor aspired: He, struggling in the net of pride, The future scorned, the past defied; Sell tempering, from the unguilty forge of van conceit, an iron scourge!
Prod Remnant was he of a fearless Race, Who stood and flourished face to face With their perennial hills; - but Crime, Hastening the stern decrees of Time, Baght low a Power, which from its home Bnt, when repose grew wearisome; And, taking impulse from the sword, And, mocking its own plighted word, Had found, in ravage widely dealt, warfare's bourn, its travel's belt!
A", all were dispossessed, save him whose smile Shot lightning through this lonely Isle!
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 shaggy Mortal went (So seemed it) down a strange descent: Till they, who saw his outward frame, Fixed on him an unhallowed name; Him-free from all malicious taint, And guiding, like the Patmos Saint, A pen unwearied to indite,
How disappeared He?-ask the Newt and Toad, Inheritors of his abode;
The Otter crouching undisturbed,
In her dank cleft-but be thou curbed, 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 withered heath;- Nor flaunting summer-when he throws His soul into the briar-rose; Or calls the lily from her sleep Prolonged beneath the bordering deep; Nor Autumn, when the viewless wren Is warbling near the BROWNIE's Den.
« AnteriorContinuar » |