Thou wert a splendid vision then ;· Yet still thy turrets drink the light And calm and beauteous, as of old, But life's gay morn of ecstasy, That made thee seem so more than fair, The aspirations wild and high, The soul to nobly dare,— Oh where are they, stern ruin, say?— Farewell!-Be still to other hearts To guide the mourner through his tears, Farewell! I ask no richer boon, Than that my parting hour may be With heavenly FAITH'S Soul-cheering ray Literary Souvenir. THE VILLAGE DISPENSARY. THE hour is come, the Leech is in his chair, Is thronged, as was Bethesda's strand of yore, Young, old, lame, blind, female and male, all met, pen, turns o'er his book, and studies. The first approaches with an awkward bow, Letter in hand of printed warranty, Signed by Subscriber, setting forth name, age, And each et cetera. 'How now, Goodman Roger!. You have a family—a large one?' 'Yes!' 'And used to labour?' 'Ay, from morn till night.' But take you this; an' it stir not your ribs, Come for the next.-Who's here? Eh! damsel Alice, 'Turn round your face; why, ay, thou lookest pale; Hast thou a sweetheart?' 'La, Sir!' 'Nay, confess it.' 'There's Harry-' 'Ay! he keeps your company, Does he not?' 'Yes.' 'Then marry, and be well! Eh! more? Come, mother, tell me your complaint; Illness, no doubt.' 'I've had the Poticar.' Ay, and grew worse.' 'He gave me store of drugs, And when my gold was gone—' 'He sent you here.' 'Just so.' 'It is their customary wont; They deluge you with drugs to drain your purse; Until your veins and stores be emptied out; GORDALE. THESE are thy fragments, thus in chaos strewn, Making a sepulchre of all below. An awe is on the place: a presence here Incumbent broods, to which all creatures bow. He comes! he comes! not riding on the sphere— Not in the fire, the earthquake, or the wind- THE LUCK OF EDEN-HALL. BY J. H. WIFFEN, ESQ. It is currently believed in Scotland, and on the Borders, that he who has courage to rush upon a fairy festival, and snatch away the drinking-cup, shall find it prove to him a cornucopia of good fortune, if he can bear it in safety across a running stream. A goblet is still carefully preserved in Eden-hall, Cumberland, which is supposed to have been seized, at such a banquet, by one of the ancient family of Musgrave. The fairy train vanished, crying aloud, "If that glass either break or fall, Farewell the luck of Eden-hall !" From this prophecy the goblet took the name it bears-the Luck of Eden-hall. MINSTRELSY OF THE SCOTTISH BORDER. ON Eden's wild, romantic bowers There, lonely in the deepening night, And trims her taper's wavering light, But little can her idle lute Beguile the weary moments now; Her wistful eye, and anxious brow: For, as the chord her finger sweeps, Ofttimes she checks her simple song, And listens, as the wind sweeps by, C In, lady, to thy bower! fast weep The noon was sultry, long the chase, And when the wild stag stood at bay, BURBEK reflected from its face The purple lights of dying day. Through many a dale must Musgrave hie, But twilight deepens,-o'er the wolds No ready vassal rides in sight; He blows his bugle, but the call Roused echo mocks; farewell, to-night, The homefelt joys of Eden-hall! His steed he to an alder ties, His limbs he on the green-sward flings; And, tired and languid, to his eyes Woos sorceress-Slumber's balmy wings. A prayer, a sigh, in murmurs faint, The Ave to his patron saint, The sigh was to his lady fair. 'Twas well that in that Elfin wood He breathed the supplicating charm, Which binds the Guardians of the good To shield from all unearthly harm. |