leader of her people changes not from the sons of the wilds, revered in Barra by chiefs that have filled the mouth of song with their deeds." Joy beat strong at the heart of Raouil, and flashed in his dark bright eyes, when twin sons of his love filled the arms of Moinvana; and with the holy roll of the Culdees beneath her cheek, no fay dared to break the calm of her dreams. The aged grandsire of Raouil smiles on his third generation and dies. Raouil is lord of a hundred Isles; and the high bosom of Moinvana promises to the people another day of gladness at a baptismal feast. Moinvana looks forward from her height of joy to the hope of brightning years; but the sun of her soul was setting in grief. The chief of Gallu, beset with foes from the remotest north, calls aloud for the hand that strikes but once for victory. Raouil mans his war-barks, rejoicing in the terrible blaze of his renown; while Moinvana's high bosom is day and night wet with her tears. The chief of Barra sends a trembling son of the wilds to lament with Moinvana a hero of heroes, slain in his burning track of fame. Feeble in woe, Moinvana yields to the mouth of deceit. The trembling son of the wilds beguiles from her the holy roll of the Culdees, for with Raouil died the strength of her soul. The bended yew had pierced the bravest of the brave in strife of the mighty; in peace the mildest beam of joy, the fleet step of the chase, the spirit sof song in feasts, the arm of conquest amidst a clang of deadly weapons. He crushed, as the beaten sand of their shores, the ravagers of Gallu; but his side, white as the foam of striving currents, is stained with the last gush of his life. As a star the brightest in a clear sky is shaken by angry ghosts, and plucked from the cloudless height to drop in a reedy pool: so from his shining course of valour the chief of heroes descends to his narrow house, and his blood has flowed on a land of strangers. But the bards of his hundred Isles, and the bards of all the nations, shall send to future times the echoing sound of his deeds of fame. With the power of a multitude his soul waxed great in danger; the bellowing storm of all the winds and waves was his sport. To the proud and to the sons of rapine his frown was the red bolt of thunder; while he raised from sorrow and spared the feeble, and the arm of his valour was their shield. Death sat on his lance in war; his sword decided the strife of hosts; the foe trembled at his frown, and under his shadow safety reared a buckler for his friends. His eye-beam of love was to Moinvana as the first glance of the orb of light in the dawn of spring. Generations have lived and died since she hid her blushes of youth in the manly breast of the loveliest pride of heroes. His long repose is sweet; but Moinvana, ever watchful, has sighed away age after age in bondage to the Tomhans, lost to herself, and doomed to tears. O land of my fathers, girdled by rocks and fearful leaping billows, shall your earth afford no rest for the daughter of Barra? Shall the mighty spirit of Raouil, sailing on the softest clouds of the night, shall his soul of love pass unconscious over the head that lay on his glowing bosom, and drank joy from his eyes? Shall Moinvana never be shrowded in his robe of mist? And can she no more tell her sorrows to || adjuration by the cross, the name of him that loved her as the renown of the Holy Virgin, have broken the his fathers? Does Raouil share her elfin spells. No longer in bondage sorrow to behold their descendants to the Tomhans, her spirit seeks the in strife for a claim hidden as the se- skies, and her bones shall be found crets of ocean? The three wrathful in the valley with returning light, chiefs and their clans have sprung All hallowed be the sign of the from the three sons of Raouil and cross! Adored be the name of the Moinvana. The mother that bare Virgin!"-The chieftains join their them could not say which of the voices to the voice of the bard in a twins was first born; and their bro- hymn of peace; and exchanging the ther is not less lofty in his race, for right hand of friendship, they waited he alone came of our line, after the dawning morn to give the sacred Raouil was lord of the Isles; he rites of sepulture to the bones of only was the true son of a chieftain. Moinvana. They call the priesthood "I adjure thee by the holy cross to say masses for her soul. Their to tell, as in presence of the Virgin, masses shall purify her ascended spiam I not the issue of thy third birth?" rit from the abominations of the sons said the dauntless Mackinnon. of the wilds and of the Tomhans; and the chiefs, with all their clans, shall bring gifts to the altar. "She hears not," said the aged bard. "In yon lovely arch of heaven she is ascended to her rest. The B. G. ADDITIONAL PARTICULARS OF NEWSTEAD ABBEY. TO THE EDITOR. SIR, on the walls, and fell, in comfortless sheets, upon glowing carpets and ca To the brief account of Newstead Abbey given in the last Num-nopies, upon beds of crimson and ber of your Repository by Mr. Stock- gold, clogging the wings of glittering dale, the following description of the eagles, and destroying gorgeous coplace, from the pen of a gentleman ronets. who visited it soon after it was sold to Major Wildman, will, I doubt not, prove an addition acceptable to your readers: The embellishments which the abbey received from the present Lord Byron had more of the brilliant conception of the poet in them, than of the sober calculations of common life. In many rooms which he had superbly furnished, but over which he had permitted so wretched a roof to remain, that in about half a dozen years the rain had visited his proudest chambers, the paper had rotted The long and gloomy gallery which, whoever views, will be strongly reminded of Lara, as indeed a survey of this place will awaken more than one scene in that poem, had not yet relinquished the sombre pictures "of its ancient race." In the study, which is a small chamber overlooking the garden, the books were packed up; but there remained a sofa, over which hung a sword in a gilt sheath; and at the end of the room, opposite the window, stood a pair of light fancy stands, each supporting a couple of the most perfect and finely polished lected, along with the far-famed one converted into a drinking-cup, and inscribed with some well-known lines, from amongst a vast number taken from the burial-ground of the abbey, and piled up in the form of a mausoleum, but since recommitted to the ground. Between them hung a gilt crucifix. In one corner of the servants' hall lay a stone coffin, in which were fencing-gloves and foils; and on the wall | of the ample but cheerless kitchen was painted in large letters, "Waste not, want not." skulls I ever saw, most probably se-markable, I do not recollect the slightest trace of culture or improvement. The late lord*, a stern and desperate character, who is never mentioned by the neighbouring peasants without a significant shake of the head, might have returned and recognised every thing about him, except perchance an additional crop of weeds. There still gloomily slept that old pond, into which he is said to have hurled his lady in one of his fits of fury, whence she was rescued by the gardener, a courageous blade, who was the lord's master, and chastised him for his barbarity. There still, at the end of the garden, in a grove of oak, two towering Satyrs, he with his goat and club, and Mrs. Satyr with her chubby cloven-footed brat, placed on pedestals at the intersections of the narrow and gloomy pathways, struck for a moment, with their grim visages and silent shaggy forms, the fear into your bosom which is felt by the neighbouring peasantry at "th'oud lord's devils." During a great part of his lordship's minority, the abbey was in the occupation of Lord G-, his hounds, and divers colonies of jackdaws, swallows, and starlings. The internal traces of this Goth were swept away; but without, all appeared as rude and unreclaimed as he could have left it. I must confess, that if I was astonished at the heterogeneous mixture of splendour and ruin within, I was more so at the perfect uniform- In the lake before the abbey, the ity of wildness throughout. I never artificial rock, which he built at a had been able to conceive poetic ge- vast expense, still reared its lofty nius in its poetic bower, without fi-head; but the frigate, which fulfilled guring it diffusing the polish of its old mother Shipton's prophecy, by delicate taste on every thing around sailing over dry land from a distant it: but here that elegant spirit and part to this place, had long vanished'; beauty seemed to have dwelt, but and the only relics of his naval whim not to have been caressed; it was were the rock, his ship-buoys, and the spirit of the wilderness. The the venerable old Murray, who acgardens were exactly as their late companied me round the premises. owner described them in his earliest The dark haughty impetuous spirit lays. and mad deeds of this nobleman, the poet's uncle, I feel little doubt, by making a vivid and indelible impression on his youthful fancy, furnished some of the principal materials for With the exception of the dog's tomb, a conspicuous and elegant object, placed on an ascent of several steps, crowned with a lambent flame, and panelled with white marble tables, of which, that containing the celebrated epitaph is the most re *It will be recollected that this was written before the death of the poet.EDITOR. are pictures too well known to those who have seen them to be mistaken for a moment. It is curious to observe the opinions entertained by country people of celebrated literary characters, living at times amongst them. I have frequently asked such persons near Newstead, what sort of man his lordship was. The impression of his energetic but eccentric character was the formation of his lordship's favourite, and perpetually recurring, poetical hero. His manners and acts are the theme of many a winter evening in that neighbourhood. In a quarrel, which arose out of a dispute between their gamekeepers, he killed his neighbour, Mr. Chaworth, the lord of the adjoining manor. With that unhappy deed, however, died all family feud; and, if we are to believe our noble bard, the dear-obvious in their reply. "He's the est purpose of his heart would haved-1 of a fellow for comical fancies. been compassed, could he have unit- He flogs th'oud lord to nothing; ed the two races by a union with but he's a hearty good fellow for a' "the sole remnant of that ancient that." One of these mere comical house," the Mary of his poetry. To fancies, related by a farmer, who has those who have any knowledge of the seen it more than once, is truly Bytwo families, nothing is more perspi- ronic: He would sometimes get into cuous in his lays, than the deep inter- the boat with his two noble Newest with which he has again and foundland dogs, row into the middle again turned to this his boyish, his of the lake, then dropping the oars, first most endearing attachment. The tumble over into the middle of the "Dream" is literally their mutual water; the faithful animals would imhistory. The "antique oratorie," mediately follow, seize him by the where stood "his steed caparisoned, coat-collar, one on each side, and and the hill bear him away to land. I am, &c. -crowned with a peculiar diadem Of trees in circular array, so fixed, Not by the sport of nature, but of man," SELECTOR. PASS IN BENGAL. THE SICRE GULLY We have taken more than one occasion to notice, during its progress through the press, the " Picturesque Tour along the Ganges and Jumna," by Lieutenant-Colonel Forrest, which is now completed. The annexed view, forming the concluding vignette of that work, which must have a peculiar interest for all who have visited the scenes that it delineates and describes, represents a pass, called Sicre Gully, which winds through a labyrinth of low and thick-nery of India is faithfully preserved. In this view, as in all the others that adorn Colonel Forrest's work, the character of the landscape sce |