UNIMORE. A DREAM OF THE HIGHLANDS. BY PROFESSOR WILSON 192 205 227 230 245 SOME PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF SIR FRIZZLE PUMPKIN. CONCLUDED, HOMER'S HYMN's. No. II. THE BALLAD OF BACCHUS, MODERN FRENCH HISTORIANS. No. I. SALVANDY'S POLAND, AUDUBON'S ORNITHOLOGICAL BIOGRAPHY-WILSON'S AMERICAN ORNI THE EGLANTINE. BY DELTA, THOLOGY. SECOND SURVEY, 247 EDINBURGH: WILLIAM BLACKWOOD, NO. 45, george sTREET, EDINBURGH; AND T. CADELL, STRAND, LONDON. To whom Communications (post paid) may be addressed. SOLD ALSO BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS OF THE UNITED KINGDOM. PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGH. MORVEN and Morn and Spring and Solitude! As yet it is scarce sunrise, but the sun Tender and delicate exceedingly, 'Neath which, as if it were a glittering veil, Lies the new-woke and undisturbed earth, Conscious once more of the sweet hour of Prime. No object in creation now looks dead. Stones, rocks, knolls, heather, broom, and furze and fern So strong is the expression of their joy; Alive appears each solitary tree, Half-tree, half-shrub, birch with its silver stem, And hazel azure-hued; with feeling smiles, The feeling of its own fresh loveliness, That budding brake; and these wild briers enwreath'd Now trail along, and clamber up and fill The air with odours, by short-sleeping bee Life breathes intenser beauty o'er the flowers. In their own sweetness and simplicity; VOL. XXX. NO. CLXXXIII. K Brightly and balmily swimming far and wide, Varying not altering, as the circle spreads Morven and Morn and Spring and Solitude! Each in itself a grove, at intervals Gigantic towering o'er a race of giants, And now the mists from earth are clouds in heaven; Clouds slowly castellating in a calm Sublimer than a storm; while brighter breathes O'er the whole firmament the breadth of blue, Because of that excessive purity Of all those hanging snow-white palaces, A gentle contrast, but with power divine. Morven and Morn and Spring and Solitude! And lo! th' uneyeable sun flames up the heavens. Harmonious all as music! For the soul, Painter and Poet, though she knows it not,- That o'er the mountains swarm or on the main To dead insensate Nature, while in truth From life to death they fluctuate evermore,- By dreams thus glorifies the universe! Morven this magic lies upon thee now. Imagination, she it is who bathes With blue celestial as an angel's eyes Thy cloud-sustaining depths which she calls Heaven! By many an intermediate link of thought She joins that frowning Family of Rocks In strange relationship, till on the edge Of the flat moor, that moss-enshrouded Cairn, Round which that speck-it is an eagle-soars. For distance makes them dumb as wreaths of snow; Thundrous for ever in the wilderness. Where now are all thy rivers? In black woods By the fleet merlin shrieking 'twixt the crags Morven belongs now wholly to the Morn; Look o'er the edge of the bare precipice! Ventures your eyesight, often shut in fear, Nor daring to become familiar With that strange world withdrawing from your gaze, Most awful in its still profundity, Nor of this steadfast earth! Why tremble so? Hold by the rock, lest wild imaginings Do tempt you headlong o'er the battlements |