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I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day,
But, though I less deplor'd thee, ne'er forgot.
Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, Children not thine have trod my nurs❜ry floor; And where the gard'ner Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the public way, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapp'd In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet cap, 'Tis now become a hist'ry little known, That once we call'd the past'ral house our own. Short-liv'd possession! but the record fair, That mem'ry keeps of all thy kindness there, Still outlives many a storm, that has effac'd A thousand other themes less deeply trac'd.
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made,
That thou mightst know me safe and warmly laid; Thy morning bounties ere I left my home,
The biscuit, or confectionary plum;
The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestow'd
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glow'd!
Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall,
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay
Not scorn'd in Heav'n, though little notic'd here.
I prick'd them into paper with a pin,
(And thou wast happier than myself the while, Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile),
Could those few pleasant days again appear,
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here?
I would not trust my heart-the dear delight
That I should ill requite thee to constrain
Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
And, while the wings of Fancy still are free,
SCENES OF YOUTH REVISITED.
As soon as Saville could man his feelings for the task, he set out for the mountains of Cumberland, to view the graves of his parents, and the scenes of his own boyish days. In entering on such a journey, there comes a tinge of romance over almost any mind; and, in so far as regards the latter, there are few things not immediately connected with relationship and affinity, which dash the cup of anticipated pleasure more rudely from the hand. When we leave in early youth the scenes of our infancy, these scenes remain upon the mind in all the freshness of infant pleasure. Pass where we may, or happen to us what will, though half the circumference of the globe should stretch its vast curve between, and though misfortune should roll over us its deepest and most turbid wave,-still the calm and clear light of morning plays on that fairy-land of life, and
reflects a pleasing ray over its gloomiest prospects. But then, if we are to enjoy this pleasure unbroken, we must not return. We forget not the scenes of our youth, but the scenes of our youth forget us; and while we sit by the rivers of Babel, thinking with delight on the promised land, the inhabitants of that land think not of us. The grey-haired rustics, whom in our boyhood we regarded as the oracles of wisdom, sleep each beneath his green sod; our playmates are scattered, or have forgotten us; and the hearths around which we laughed and talked the winter's evening, are either razed and gone, or in the hands of strangers, who have no feeling and no sympathy in common with us.
Saville felt in this manner; for, through all the sorrow which had settled down upon him, his pulse was beating quicker and more strongly as he approached the mountains of Cumberland. The contour of those grand features of nature struck a counterpart in his bosom, which no grief could altogether hide. He rode alone over the hills which he had once hoped to call his own; he looked for the house in which he had drawn his first breath, the pickaxe of an old labourer was rooting out the last GLENFERGUS.