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Nothing could surpass, in rustic drol- she soon changed her gaze for that of lery, and curious extravagance, the uncontroulable mirth, when she saw manner in which the representative of the fantastic gambols he performed, Auld Glenae delivered this rude and and heard the words of the ballad. My traditional rhyme. The snows and Cameronian maiden alone was unmoa frosts of age seemed to thaw as he pro- ved by the labours of the dramatist, ceeded ; his voice, at first trembling and sat and looked on him, and on the and weak, and interrupted by painful meeting, with the mild but sorrowful coughing, waxed stronger and stronga composure of monumental marble. As er; and ere it reached the third verse, the representative of the licentious pora was as loud and sonorous as the note tioner of Glenae was raised from the of a Cameronian precentor, when three floor by the hands of two peasants, the acres of believers, on a hill side, call for door suddenly opened, and an ancient his deepest and fullest note. Kindling alms-man, or strolling mendicant, adtoo, as it seemed, with the progress of vanced, eyeing, with a look of no ordithe rhyme, and the instrumental ac- nary wrath, this counterfeit presentcompaniments, and forgetting theinfir- ment of himself. “ What !” exclaimmities of years, he proceeded to dance ed the stranger,

- wilt thou presume a wild kind of hornpipe, which seem to forestall the beggarman's stock of ed of a kindred spirit with his verse, evening pastime? I swear by my right and kept exact time with the air of the hand pock, called muckle macfenballad. The very luxury of the theme, and I swear by its companion, called and all its associations, together with little macfen-I also swear by that nosome powerful punch, ministered by a table bag under my crutch arm, callwilling maiden or two ; and which he led oxter-gell, and by that greedy pocimbibed without any manifest inter- ket, called pouch apron, and all my ruption to his labours, seemed com- bags before and behind, to break thy pletely to intoxicate the dramatist; in knaves neck wi' this ashen crutch, if the last verse, he reeled and fell, and, thou dost not instantly make thyself extended as he was on the floor, his scarce in this goodly company.” And heels, and staff, and head, beat audi- suiting the deed to the word, he lifted ble time, and the song was completed up a stick, partaking of the offensive amid unextinguishable laughter. natures of crutch and pike-staff, and

My love for ancient peasant lore, and seemed about to deal the counterfeit the joy that I feel in submitting such mendicant a blow of no friendly kind. a rich and curious relique to the curi- But the merry old man, with an agiosity of mankind, without emendation lity worthy of seventeen, snatched up or mitigation, can only be calculated the raw skin of a sheep, which he found by those rare and learned spirits, who ready at his foot, in which he shroudrevere the scrupulous accuracy of Jo-' ed the head and shoulder of this new seph Ritson, and the commendable and candidate for sympathy, and pulling off gainful credulity of an antiquarian col- a piece of the purest flax from his head, lector of the poetic crumbs of Caledo- which had passed current for snowy. nia. The widow Keturah testified her locks, he threw it on the floor, and dartdelight, by clapping her hands before ed out at the door, leaving the audience her face, and laughing so loudly, as to convulsed with laughter, and shouting be audible above the swell of the song. out, “ Bravely done, Penpont.” “ Ye're a funny auld man,--and gin Our attention was soon recalled to ye'll call in by my gate end, ye shall the mendicant before us, whose ancient have a gowpin o' meal for an awmous, looks had the same demand upon our and a drap o' the best o't_eh, sirs, but reverence as his predecessor. He seemhim whase head's laigh and happed, ed equipped after the beggar in the old was fond o’that sinfu' sweet sang; and song: I mind o' him ance acting and singing His wallets a-fore and a-hint did hing, himself-he had on straw boots-on. ayeon aye—and I'm sure Kate Kel. And a lang kale gulley hung down by his

In as gude order as wallets could be, lóch and me laughed till ye might have bound us wi 'straes—I'll never see his And a muckle nowte horn to rowt on had marrow again, though I should be mar

he. ried to-morrow.” The Highland dam

He thus addressed the Cameronian sel gazed with a look of consternation at the approach of the mendicant, but elder:-" Goodman of Lillycross, ye


have cut the last hookful of standing brief sang, sae be'et that it lacks thae corn, and brought winter to the land lang screeds o' sheer nonsense, called -fair fa' ye, for with winter comes chorusses, and is nae made up o' rinjoy and song, and minstrel mirth, and ning streams, and growing birks, and an old man's tale will be rewarded by lint-white locks o’lasses.” The old a patient ear, and a penny siller.” “We man, taking the instrument from the hae nae time now, ye donard churl," fiddler, proceeded to sing the following said Hugh Halbertson, “ to listen to song, which has been long current lang tales; see nae ye the lasses impa- among the humble mendicants of tient to spring; and hear nae ye the Dumfries-shire, to a tune which seemanxious thrumming of the Crowder's ed to spring from the same source as fiddle? We might find ye lugs for a the song:


Were I a king, a crowned king,
Hearken and hear how I would ryng-
Gude croudy in my crapin should craw,
In gude brown ale I'd douk and drown me,
And make my bed ell deep o' straw,
With a' the sacks o' the town aboon me.


Were I a king, a crowned one,
Hearken how I would keep my throne.
I'd reign in state, 'neath the green thorn tree,
And bed my feet with new pulled rashes;
The midnight sage, to counsel me,
Should be a pair o' kilted lasses.

Were I a king, with gold on my brow,
Hearken and hear how I would do-
I'd cut the craigs o' the farmer's tykes,
And pu' the tongue o' my lady's messan,
And burn the stocks, and break the jougs,
And win the blythesome beggar's blessing.

Were I a king, and a sword by my side,
Hearken and hear how I would ride-
I'd pluck the gown o'er the sheriff's neck,
Drown priest, and justice, and the sinner.
Who loves roast-meat should not taste food
Till a blue-gowns man blest the dinner.

Were I a king, with a sceptred hand,
Thus would I ride, and thus command
I'd level the sheep-folds and hen-roosts ;
And the bonny black-cock of the mountain
Should be as free to the blue-gown man,
As the silver fish in flood and fountain.

Were I a king, and wore a crown,
Glory to meal-pocks and patched gowns-
An awmous should be a Carlisle peck,
And the sonsie lass, who spread the bedding,
Should reign my queen, and I would fling
Black stool and sackcloth sark to the midden.

The singular grace and glee with wards. The mirth of the harvest-kirn, which this

rude and characteristic old restrained by the presence of so many ballad was sung obtained abundant austere and devout personages, rose applause ; nor was the skill and agility loud and louder; and the augmenting with which he played and danced, as din overtook the departing peasants, an accompaniment, undeserving of no- who listened with a smile, and thought tice. Sometimes he kept the fiddle of the days of their youth. The fiddler, to his chin with becoming gravity, or cherished by a fuller and a stronger shifted it to the crown of his head, and cup, drew a bolder and a merrier bow; placed it behind his back, maintain- and the swains, cheered by the franking the harmony necessary to the per- ness and condescension of the remainformance through all those evolutions. ing damsels, became boundless in their When the mendicant ceased, all the joy, and made the barn-roof shake to old men and matrons rose, and, swath- its remotest rafter.. Sometime before ing themselves in their mauds, drank morning, the Cameronian elder winded a farewell cup to the welfare of Lilly- his horn, the fiddler returned his incross, and its hospitable proprietor; strument to its case, and the merry and, issuing forth among the clear reapers of Lillycross resumed the usual moonlight, gathered their children sanctity of their exterior, under the dearound them, and proceeded home- votionalinfluence of its pious proprietor.


To the Night Wind.
Unbridled Spirit, throned upon the lap
Of ebon Midnight, whither dost thou stray,
Whence did'st thou come, and where is thy abode ?-
From slumber I awaken, at the sound
Of thy most melancholy voice; sublime
Thou ridest on the rolling clouds which take
The forms of sphinx, or hypogriff, or car,
Like those by Roman conquerors of yore,
In Nemean pastimes used, by fiery steeds
Drawn headlong on; or chusest, all unseen,
To ride the vault, and drive the murky storms,
Before thee, or bow down, with giant wing,
The wondering forests as thou sweepest by!
Daughter of Darkness ! when remote the noise
Of tumult, and of discord, and mankind,
When but the watch-dog's voice is heard, or wolves
That bay the silent night, or from the tower,
Ruin’d and rent, the note of boding owl,
Or lapwing's shrill and solitary cry,
When sleep weighs down the eyelids of the world,
And life is as it were not, down the sky,
Forth from thy cave, wide roaming thou dost come,
To hold nocturnal orgies.

Round the pile,
Thou moanest wistfully, of dark abbaye,
And silent charnel house; the long lank grass,
The hemlock, and the night-shade, and the yew,
Bend at thy tread; and through the blacken'd rails
Fleetly thou sweepest, with a wailing voice !
Wayworn and woe-begone, the traveller
Bears on through paths unknown; alone he sees
The bright star's fitful twinkling, as along
Night's arch rush sullenly the darksome clouds,

And wilds and melancholy wastes, and streams

3 F

Forlorn, and joyless all; no cottage blaze
Strikes through the weary gloom; alone he hears
Thee, awful Spirit! fighting with the stream
Of rushing torrent, torturing it to foam,
And tossing it aloft ; the shadowy woods
Join in the chorus, while lone shrieks and sighs
Burst on his ear, as if infernal fiends
Had burst their adamantine chains, and rush'd
To take possession of this lower world.
His bosom sinks, his spirit fails, his heart
Dies in him, and around his captive soul
Dark superstition weaves her witching spells;
Unholy visions pass before his mind,
Dreams rayless and unhallowed ; spectres pale
Glide past with rustling garments; wormy graves
Yawn round him ; while the dark and nodding plumes
Of melancholy hearses blast his view!

But not alone to inland solitudes,
To inland regions wide and mountains high,
Man's habitations, or the forests dark,
Are circumscribed thy visitings: Behold!
Stemming with eager prow, the Atlantic tide,
Holds on the intrepid mariner; abroad
The wings of Night brood shadowy; heave the waves
Around him, mutinous, their curling heads,
Portentous of a storm ; all hands are plied,
A zealous task, and sounds the busy deck
With notes of preparation ; many an eye
Is upward cast toward the clouded heaven;
And many a thought, with troubled tenderness,
Dwells on the calm tranquillity of home;
And many a heart its supplicating prayer
Breathes forth; meanwhile, the boldest sailor's cheek
Blanches; stout courage fails ; young childhood's shriek,
Awfully piercing, bursts; and woman's fears
Are speechless. With a low, insidious moan,
Rush past the gales, that harbinger thy way,
And hail thy advent; gloom the murky clouds
Darker around; and heave the maddening waves
Higher their crested summits. With a glare,
Unveiling but the clouds and foaming seas,
Flashes the lightning; then, with doubling peal,
Reverberating to the gates of heaven,
Rolls the deep thunder, with tremendous crash,
Sublime, as if the firmament were rent
Amid the severing clouds, that pour their storms,
Commingling sea and sky.

Disturbed, arise The monsters of the deep, and wheel around Their mountainous bulks unwieldy, while aloft, Poised on the feathery summit of the wave, Hangs the frail bark, its howlings of despair Lost on the mocking storm. Then frantic, thou Dost rise, tremendous Power, thy wings unfurled, Unfurled, but nor to succour, nor to save; Then is thine hour of triumph; with a yell, Thou rushest on; and, with a maniac love, Sing'st in the rifted shroud ; the straining mast Yields, and the cordage cracks. Thou churn'st the deep To madness, tearing up the yellow sands

From their profound recesses, and dost strew
The clouds around thee, and within thy hand
Takest up the billowy tide, and dashest down
The vessel to destruction--she is not.!
But, when the morning lifts her dewy eye;
And, to a quiet calm, the elements,
Subsiding from their fury, have dispersed,
There art thou, like a satiate conqueror,
Recumbent on the murmuring deep, thy smiles
All unrepentant of the savage wreck !

Yet sometimes art thou, Demon of the night,
An evil spirit ministering to good!
Mid orient realms, when sultry day hath passed,
Breathless, and sunlight, on the western hill,
Dies with a quick decay ; then, oh! how dear,
How welcome to the dry and thirsty glebe,
And to the night of woods, where Pagods rise,
And Bramah's priests adore their deity,
From ocean, journeying with an eagle speed,
Come the delightful fannings of thy wing !
The grateful heaven weeps down refreshing dews,
The twilight stars peep forth with glittering ray ;
And earth outspreads the carpet of her flowers,
In tenderness exhaling their perfumes,
To lure within their cups thy gelid breath :-
There, 'mid the azure landscape, on his roof,
Piazza-girt, watching the evening star,
Among his myrtle blooms, the Indian sits,
Delighted, as with soft refreshing sighs,
Thou wanderest past, lifting his coal-black hair !
The smiles of Vishnoo gleam along the earth;
While, by high plantane groves, by limpid streams,
The maidens roam, as subtile Cambdeo lurks
Behind a lotus tuft; and, from his string
Of living bees, the unerring arrow twangs!
Malignant Genii lose the power to harm;
From Meru Mount the deities look down,
Well pleased, rejoicing in the general joy!

Nor grateful less, unto the realm where shines Thy glittering crest, Canopus, on the verge Of the ungirdled hemisphere, and frown The earth-forsaking pyramids sublime, In Nilus dipping, through the twilight sky, Thou roam'st excursive; while, on minaret, İn solemn voice the Muezzin calls to prayer His Moslem devotees. With thirsty beak, The birds fly panting to the lilied verge Of Mæris lake, where swans unnumber'd oar Their snowy way, amid the azure sheet, To drink refreshment; while, at thy approach, Through all their countless multitude of leaves, The forests murmur, like an infant pleased Beneath a sire's caress; and nightingales Sing to thee, through the lapses of the night.

Unsocial Power ! the realms of Solitude
Thou lovest, and where desolation spreads
Her far outstretching pinions; hoary weeds,
Like tresses hanging from the pillar'd pride
Of Balbec, thou dost wave with rustling sound,

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