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Then from its bowels burst amain

The sheeted flame and sounding rain,

And by the bolts in thunder borne,

The heaven's own breast and mountain torn;

The wild roe from the forest driven;

The oaks of ages peeled and riven;
Impending oceans whirl and boil,
Convulsed by Nature's grand turmoil.

Instead of arms or golden crest,
His harp with mimic flowers was drest:
Around, in graceful streamers, fell
The briar-rose and the heather bell ;
And there, his learning deep to prove,
Naturæ Donum graved above.

When o'er her mellow notes he ran,
And his wild mountain chant began,

Then first was noted in his eyep

A gleam of native energy.

Old David.

THE TENTH BARD'S SONG.

Old David rose ere it was day,

And climbed old Wonfell's wizard brae;
Looked round, with visage grim and sour,
O'er Ettrick woods and Eskdale-moor.
An outlaw from the south he came,
And Ludlow was his father's name;
His native land had used him ill,
And Scotland bore him no good-will.

As fixed he stood, in sullen scorn, Regardless of the streaks of morn, Old David spied, on Wonfell cone,

A fairy band come riding on.

A lovelier troop was never seen;

Their steeds were white, their doublets green,

Their faces shone like opening morn,
And bloomed like roses on the thorn.

At every flowing mane was hung

A silver bell that lightly rung;

That sound, borne on the breeze away,

Oft set the mountaineer to pray.

Old David crept close in the heath, Scarce moved a limb, scarce drew a breath; But as the tinkling sound came nigh, Old David's heart beat wonderous high.

He thought of riding on the wind;

Of leaving hawk and hern behind;

Of sailing lightly o'er the sea,
In mussel shell, to Germany;
Of revel raids by dale and down;

Of lighting torches at the moon;

Or through the sounding spheres to sing,

Borne on the fiery meteor's wing;

Of dancing 'neath the moonlight sky;

Of sleeping in the dew-cup's eye.

And then he thought-O! dread to tell!—

Of tithes the fairies paid to hell!

David turned up a reverend eye
And fixed it on the morning sky;
He knew a mighty one lived there,
That sometimes heard a warrior's prayer-

No word, save one, could David say;
Old David had not learned to pray.

Scarce will a Scotsman yet regard What David saw, and what he heard. He heard their horses snort and tread,

And every word the rider said;

While green portmanteaus, long and low,

Lay bended o'er each saddle bow.

A lovely maiden rode between,

Whom David judged the Fairy Queen; But strange! he heard her moans resound,

And saw her feet with fetters bound.

Fast spur they on through bush and brake;

To Ettrick woods their course they take.

Old David followed still in view,

Till near the Lochilaw they drew ;
There in a deep and wonderous dell,

Where wandering sun-beam never fell,
Where noon-tide breezes never blew,
From flowers to drink the morning dew;
There, underneath the sylvan shade,
The fairies' spacious bower was made.

Its rampart was the tangling sloe,

The bending briar, and misletoe;

And o'er its roof, the crooked oak

Waved wildly from the frowning rock.

This wonderous bower, this haunted dell,

The forest shepherd shunned as hell!
When sound of fairies' silver horn

Came on the evening breezes borne,
Homeward he fled, nor made a stand,
Thinking the spirits hard at hand.

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