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Doth often through the silence ring And a dreamy thought, as the sounds depart, In sweet, shrill, merry jargoning

Of Edith and Nora comes o'er his heart. So that the Orphans almost think They are lying again on the broomy brink Of their native Dee—and scarcely know At Morning's first pure silent glow, If the change hath been to bliss or woe, A band of simple shepherds go As, 'mid that music wild, they seem To the Orphans' Cot, and there they behold To start back to life from a fairy-dream. The Dove so brigh with its plumes of gold, So all that most beautiful is above

And the radiant Lamb, that used to glide Sends down to their rest its soul of love; So spirit-like by fair Edith's side. Nor have they in their bliss forgot

Fair Creatures that no more were seen The walls, roof, and door, of their native On the sunny thatch or the flowery green,


Since the lovely Sisters had flown away, Nor the bed in which their parents died, And left their Cottage to decay! And they themselves slept side by side! Back to this world returned again, They know that Heaven hath brought them They seem in sadness and in pain,


And coo and bleat is like the breath
To shield them from the clouds of fear; Of sorrow mourning over death.
And therefore on their sinless breasts
When they go to sleep the Bible rests,
The Bible that they read of old,

Lo! smiling on their rushy bed,
Beside their lambs in the mountain-fold, Lie Edith and Nora-embraced-and dead!
Unseen but by one gracious eye,

A gentle frost has closed their eyes, That blest their infant-piety!

And hushed just hushed

their balmy


Over their lips, yet rosy red,
On what doth the wondering shepherd faint, pale, cold decay is shed;


A dimness hangs o'er their golden hair, As o'er Loch-Ken the moonlight plays, That sadly tells no life is there; And in the Planet's silvery glow,

There beats no heart, no current flows Far shines the smooth sand, white as snow? In bosoms sunk in such repose; In Heaven or Lake there is no breeze,

Limbs may not that chill quiet have, Yet a glimmering Sail that shepherd sees, Unless laid ready for the grave. Swanlike steer on its stately way

Silence lies there from face to feet, Into the little Crescent bay;

And the bed she loves best is a winding-sheet. Now jocundly its fair gleam rearing, And now in darkness disappearing, Till 'mid the water-lilies riding It hangs, and to the green shore gliding

Let the coffin sink down soft and slowly, Two lovely Creatures silently

And calm be the burial of the holy ! Sit down beneath the star-light sky,

One long look in that mournful cellAnd look around, in deep delight,

Let the green turf heave-and then, farewell! On all the pure still smiles of night.

No need of tears! in this church-yard-shade As they sit in beauty on the shore,

Oft had the happy Orphans played The shepherd feels he has seen before

Above these quiet graves! and well they lie The quiet of their heavenly eyes :

After a calm bright life of purity, 'Tis the Orphans come back from Paradise, Beneath the flowers that once sprung to Edith and Nora! They now return,

meet When this woe-worn Land hath ceased to The motion of their now still feet!

The mourners are leaving the buried clay, We thought them dead, but at Heaven's To the holy hush of the Sabbath-day,


When a Lamb comes sadly bleating by, For years they have lived in Fairy-Land,

And a Dove soft wavering throngh the sky,
And they glide back by night to their little cot, And both lie down without a sound,
O absent long, but by none forgot!

In beauty on the funeral mound!
What may these lovely creatures be?

-Two sisters who died in infancy,
The boat with its snow-white sail is gone, And thus had those they loved attended.
And the Creatures it bronght to shore are And been by those they loved befriended!


Whate'er-fair Creatures! might be their Still the crowd of water-lilies shake,

birth, And a long bright line shines o'er the Lake, Never more were they seen on earth; But nought else tells that a bark was near; But to young and old belief was given While the wildered shepherd seems to hear That with Edith and Nora they went to A wild hymn wandering through the wood,

Heaven. Till it dies up the mountain-solitude;



Though in her image something terrible

Weigh down his being with a load of awe, One small spot

Love mingles with her wrath, like tender Where my tired mind may rest and call it home.

light There is a magic in that little word ;

Stream'd o'er & dying storm. And thus It is a mystic circle that surrounds

where'er Comforts and virtues never known beyond The hallowed Jimit.

Man feels as man, the earth is beautiful. SOUTHEY': Hymn to the Penates. His blessings sanctify even senseless things,

And the wide world in cheerful loveliness

Returns to him its joy. The summer-air, Here have I found at last a home of peace Whose glittering stillness sleeps within his To hide me from the world; far from its

soul, noise, To feed that spirit, which, though sprung

Stirs with its own delight: the verdant

earth, from earth,

Like beauty waking from a happy dream, And link'd to human beings by the bond

Lies smiling: each fair cloud to him appears Of earthly love, hath yet a loftier aim Than perishable joy, and through the calm And the wild wave, that wantons on the sea,

A pilgrim travelling to the shrine of peace; That sleeps amid the mountain-solitude, Can hear the billows of eternity,

A gay though homeless stranger. Ever blest

The man who thus beholds the golden chain And hear delighted. Many a mystic gleam, Linking his soul to outward Nature fair, Lovely though faint, of imaged happiness Full of the living God ! And where, ye Fell on my youthful heart, as oft her light

haunts Smiles on a wandering cloud, ere the fair of grandeur and of beauty! shall the heart,

Hath risen in the sky. And oh! ye dreams,

That yearns for high communion with its

God, That to such spiritual happiness could shape Abide, if e'er its dreams have been of you? The lonely reveries of my boyish days, Are ye at last fulfill’d? Ye fairy-scenes,

The loveliest sounds, forms, hues, of all

the earth That to the doubting gaze of prophecy Rose lovely, with your fields of sunny green,

Linger delighted here: here guilt might

come, Your sparkling rivulets and hanging groves With sullen soul abhorring Nature's joy, Of more than rainbow-lustre, where the And in a moment be restored to Heaven.

swing Of woods primeval darken’d the still depth Might be beguiled to smiles, -almost forget

Here sorrow, with a dimness o'er his face, Of lakes bold-sweeping round their guardian His sufferings, and, in Nature's living book,

hills Even like the arins of Ocean, where the roar Would, as it bless'd them, feel a rising swell

Read characters so lovely, that his heart Sullen and far from mountain-cataract

Almost like joy !-0 earthly paradise! Was heard amid the silence, like a thought of many a secret anguish hast thou healed Of solemn mood that tames the dancing soul Him, who now greets thee with a joyful When swarming with delights ;-Ye fairy

Fancied no more, but bursting on my heart
In living beauty, with adoring song

And oh! if in those elevated hopes
I bid you hail! and with as holy love
As ever beautified the eye of saint

That lean on virtue,- in those high resolves

That bring the future close upon the soul, Hymning his midnight-orisons, to you I consecrate my life,- till the dim stain,

And nobly dare its dangers ;-if in joy Left by those wordly and unhallow'd Yea! Faith and Adoration!—if the soul

Whose vital spring is more than innocence,

thoughts That taint the purest soul, by bliss destroyed,

Of man may trust to these,—and they are

My spirit travel like a summer-sun,
Itself all glory, and its path all joy.

Strong as the prayer of dying penitent,-
My being shall be bliss. For witness, Thou!
Oh Mighty One! whose saving love has

stolen Nor will the musing penance of the soul, On the deep peace of moon-beams to my Performed by moonlight, or the setting run,

heart, To hymn of swinging oak, or the wild flow Thou! who with looks of mercy oft hast Of mountain-torrent, ever lead her on

cheer'd To virtue, but through peace. For Nature The starry silence, when, at noon of night,


On some wild mountain thou hast not declined A parent's language, and, in tones as mild The homage of thy lonely worshipper,As e'er hush'd infant on its mother's breast, Bear witness, Thou! that, both in joy and Wins us to learn her lore. Yca! even to

grief, guilt, The love of nature long hath been with me





The love of virtue:--that the solitude I hail'd the heavenly vision! Not a cloud, Of the remotest hits to me hath been Whose wreaths lay smiling in the lap of Thy temple :-that the fountain's happy

light, voice

Not one of all those sister-isles that sleep Hath sung thy goodness, and thy power Together, like a happy family

has stunn'd Of beauty and of love, but will arise My spirit in the roaring cataract !

To cheer my parting spirit, and to tell
That Nature gently leads unto the grave

All who have read her heart, and kept their
Such solitude to me! Yet are there hearts,-
Worthy of good men's love, nor unadorn'd In kindred holiness. But cre that hour
With sense of moral beauty,—to the joy Of awful triumph, I do hope that years
That dwells within the Almighty's outward Await me, when the unconscious power of joy


Creating wisdom, the bright dreams of soul Senseless and cold. Aye, there are men who Will humanize the heart, and I shall be

More worthy to be loved by those whose love The broad sun sinking in a blaze of light, Is highest praise :--that by the living light Nor feel their disembodied spirits hail That burns for ever in affection's breast, With adoration the departing God;

I shall behold how fair and beautiful Who on the night-sky, when a cloudless A human form may be. — Oh, there are

thoughts Glides in still beauty through unnumbered That slumber in the soul, like sweetest stars,

sounds Can turn the eye unmoved, as if a wall Amid the harp's loose strings, till airs from Of darkness screen'd the glory from their

Heaven souls.

On earth, at dewy night-fall, visitant, With humble pride I bless the Holy One Awake the sleeping melody! Such thoughts, For sights to these denied. And oh! how oft My gentle Mary, I have owed to thee. In seasons of depression, when the lamp And if thy voice e'er melt into my sonl Of life burn'd dim, and all unpleasant With a dear home-toned whisper,-if thy thoughts

face Subdued the prond aspirings of the soul, – E’er brighten in the unsteady gleams of When doubts and fears witbheld the timid

light eye

From our own cottage-hearth;-0 Mary! From scanning scenes to come, and a deep


My overpowered spirit will recline Of human frailty turn'd the past to pain, Upon thy inmost heart, till it become, How oft bave I remember'd that a world o sinless seraph! almost worthy thee. of glory lay around me, that a source Of lofty solace lay in every star, And that no being need behold the sun, Then will the earth,—that oft-times to And grieve, that knew Who hung him in

the sky:

Of solitary lover seems o’erhung Thus unperceived I woke from heavy grief With too severe a shade, and faintly smiles To airy joy: and seeing that the mind With ineflectual beauty on his heart,Of man, though still the image of his God, Be clothed with everlasting joy ; like land Lean'd by his will on various happiness, Of blooming faery, or of boyhood's dreams I felt that all was good; that faculties, Ere life's first flush is o’er. Oft shall I turn Though low, might constitute, if rightly My vision from the glories of the scene


To read them in thine eyes; and hidden True wisdom; and when man hath here

grace, attain'd

That slumbers in the crimson clouds of Ever, The purpose of his being, he will sit Will reach my spirit through their varying Near Merey's throne, whether his course

light, hath been

Though viewless in the sky. Wandering Prone on the earth's dim sphere, or, as with

with thee, wing

A thousand beauties never seen before of viewless eagle, round the central blaze. Will glide with sweet surprise into my soul,

Even in thosc fields where each particular

tree Then ever shall the day that led me here Was look'd on as a friend, - where I had been Be held in blest remembrance. I shall see, Frequent, for years, among the lonely glens. Even at my dying hour, the glorious sun That made Winander one wide wave of gold, When first in transport from the mountain- Nor, 'mid the quiet of reflecting bliss


Will the faint image of the distant world


the eye

our ear


Ne'er float before us:-Cities will arise The altered earth:--but other attributes Among the clouds that circle round the sun, of Nature's heart will rule, and in the storm Gorgeous with tower and temple. The We shall behold the same prevailing Power

night-voice That slumbers in the calm, and sanctify, Of food and mountain to our ear will seem With adoration, the delight of love. Like life's loud stir:-and, as the dream

dissolves, With burning spirit we will smile to see I lift my eyes upon the radiant Moon, Only the Moon rejoicing in the sky, That long unnoticed, o'er my head has held And the still grandeur of the eternal hills. Her solitary walk, and as her light

Recals my wandering soul, I start to feel

That all has been a dream. Alone I stand Yet, though the fulness of domestic joy

Amid the silence. Onward rolls the stream Bless our united beings, and the home of time, while to my ear its waters sound Be ever happy where thy smiles are seen, With a strange rushing music. O my soul! Though human voice might never touch Whate'er betide, for aye remember thou

These mystic warnings, for they are of From lip of friend or brother;-yet, oh!

What pure benevolence will warm our hearts,
When with the undelaying steps of love
Through yon o'ershadowing wood we dimly

A coming friend, far distant then believed,
And all unlook’d-for. When the short distrust One long, deep, heavy sigh!

llow wild and dim this Life appears! Of unexpected joy no more constrains, And the eye's welcome brings him to our The images of former years

When o'er our eyes, half-clos'd in tears,

With gladden'd spirit he will quickly own

Are faintly glimmering by!
That true love ne'er was selfish, and that man As on the sea-beach wave on wave

And still forgotten while they go,
Ne'er knew the whole affection of his heart Dissolves at once ja snow.
Till resting on another's. If from scenes
Of noisy life he come, and in bis soul

Upon the blue and silent sky
The love of Nature, like a long-past dream, And like a dream are gone!

The amber clouds one moment lie,
If e'er it stir, yield but a dim delight,
Oh! we shall lead him where the genial on the lake's bosom bright as they,

Though beautiful the moon-beanis play

power Of beauty, working by the wavy green

And the soul intensely loves their stay,

Soon as the radiance melts away of hill-ascending wood, the misty gleam

We scarce believe it shone! Of lakes reposing in their peaceful vales,

Heaven-airs amid the harp-strings dwell, And, lovelier than the loveliness below,

And we wish they ne'er may fadeThe moonlight-heaven, shall to his blood

They cease! and the soul is a silent cell, restore

Where music never played.
An undisturbed flow, such as he felt
Pervade his being, morning, noon, and night,

Dream follows dream through the long night

hours, When youth's bright years pass’d happily Each lovelier than the last

away, Among his native hills, and all he knew

But ere the breath of morning-flowers, Of crowded cities was from passing tale

That gorgeous world flies past. Of traveller half-believed and soon forgotten. Whose smiles of love and kindness speak,

And many a sweet angelic cheek,

Glides by us on this earthAnd fear not, Mary! that, when winter where shone the face we loved so well

While in a day we cannot tell

In sadness or in mirth.
These solitary mountains will resign
The beauty that pervades their mighty

Eren like a living soul. The gleams of light
Hurrying in joyful tumult o'er the cliffs, THE DESOLATE VILLAGE.
And giving to our musings many a burst
Of sudden grandeur, even as if the eye
Of God were wandering o'er the lovely wild,
Pleased with his own creation ;-the still joy Sweet Village ! on thy pastoral hill
or cloudless skies and the delighted voice Arrayed in sunlight sad and still,
Of hymning fountains, these will leave As if beneath the harvest-moon

Thy noiseless homes were sleeping!



It is the merry month of June,

Seemed water changed to snow. And creatures all of air and earth

Beauty lies spread before my sight, Should now their holiday of mirth

But grief-like shadows dim its light, With dance and song be keeping.

And all the scene appears
But, loveliest Village! silent thou, Like a church-yard when a friend is dying,
As cloud wreathed o'er the Morning's brow, In more than earthly stillness lying,
When light is faintly breaking,

And glimmering through our tears !
And Midnight's voice afar is lost,
Like the wailing of a wearied ghost,
The shades of earth forsaking.

Sweet Woodburn! like a cloud that name 'Tis not the day to Scotia dear,

Comes floating o'er my soul!
A summer-sabbath mild and clear!
Yet from her solemn burial-ground

Although thy beauty still survive,

One look hath changed the whole. The small kirk-steeple looks around,

The gayest village of the gay Enshrouded in a calm

Beside thy own sweet river, Profound as fills the house of prayer,

Wert thou on week- or sabbath-day! Ere from the band of virgins fair

So bathed in the blue light of joy, Exhales the choral-psalm.

As if no trouble could destroy A sight 80 steeped in perfect rest

Peace doomed to last for ever. Is slumbering not on nature's breast

Now in the shadoy of thy trees In the smiles of earthly day!

Still lovely in the tainted breeze, 'Tis a picture floating down the sky,

The fell Plague-Spirit grimly lies
By fancy framed in years gone by; And broods, as in despite
And mellowing in decay!

Of uncomplaining lifelessness,
That thought is gone!—the Village still

On the troops of silent shades that press With deepening quiet crowns the hill,

Into the church-yard's cold recess,
Its low green roofs are there!

From that region of delight.
In soft material beauty beaming,
As in the silent hour of dreaming
They hung embowered in air !

Last summer from the school-house-door,

When the glad play-bell was ringing, Is this the day when to the mountains What shoals of bright-haired elves would The happy shepherds go,

pour, And bathe in sparkling pools and fountains Like small waves racing on the shore, Their flocks made white as snow?

In dance of rapture singing! Hath gentle girl and gamesome boy, Oft by yon little silver well, With meek-eyed mirth or shouting joy, Now sleeping in neglected cell, Gone tripping up the brae?

The village-maid would stand, Till far behind their town doth stand, While resting on the mossy bank Like an image in sweet Fairy-Land, With freshened soul the traveller drank When the Elves have flown away!

The cold cup from her hand; -0 sure if aught of human breath Haply some soldier from the war, Within these walls remain,

Who would remember long and far Thus deepening in the hush of death, That Lily of the Land. "Tis but some melancholy crone,

And still the green is bright with flowers, Who sits with solemn eyes

And dancing through the sunny hours, Beside the cradle all alone,

Like blossoms from enchanted bowers And lulls the infant with a strain

On a sudden wafted by,
Of Scotia's ancient melodies.

Obedient to the changeful air,
And proudly feeling they are fair,

Glide bird and butterfly.
What if these homes be filled with life? But where is the tiny hunter-rout
'Tis the sultry month of June,

That revelled on with dance and shout And when the cloudless sun rides high Against their airy prey ? Above the glittering air of noon,

Alas! the fearless linnet sings, All nature sinks opprest,

And the bright insect folds its wings And labour shuts his weary eye

Upon the dewy flower that springs In the mid-day hour of rest.

Above these children's clay.
Yet let the soul think what it will,

And if to yon deserted weil
Most dirge-like mourns that moorland rill! Some solitary maid,
How different once its flow!

As she was wont at eve, should go---
When with a dreamy motion gliding There silent as her shade
'Mid its green fields in love abiding, She stands a while-then sad and slow
Or leaping o'er the mossy linn,

Walks home, afraid to think And sporting with its own wild din, of many a loudly-laughing ring

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