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the field of victorious battle, when, mish-and that sweet word, the first without stumbling over the dead and he had been able to speak, reminded wounded, they bore away the shatter; him of all that had passed, and he ed body-yet living-of the youthful knew that the God in whom they warrior, who had shewn that of such had put their trust had sent them a Clan he was worthy to be the Chief. deliverance. Flora, too, knew her

The storm was with them all the parents, who were on their knees way down the glen-nor could they and she strove to rise up and kneel have heard each other's voices had down beside them—but powerless they spoke-but mutely they shift- was she as a broken reed-and when ed the burden from strong hand to she thought to join with them in hand--thinking of the Hut in Glenco, thanksgiving-her voice was gone. and of what would be felt there on Still as death sat all those simple their arrival with the dying or dead. shepherds in the hut-and one or two Blind people walk through what to who were fathers were not ashamed them is the night of crowded day- to weep. streets-unpausing turn round cor- Who were they—the solitary pairners-unhesitatingly plunge down all alone by themselves save a small steep stairs—wind their way fearless image of her on whose breast it hung through whirlwinds of life—and -whom-seven summers after-W reach in their serenity, each one un- came upon in our wanderings, beharmed, his own obscure house. For fore their shieling in Correi-Vollach God is with the blind. So is he with at the foot of Ben Chrulas who sees all who walk on works of mercy. his shadow in a hundred lochs? Who This saving band had no fear-and but Hamish and Flora I sitting on the therefore there was no danger on greensward. the edge of the pitfall or the cliff. They knew the countenances of the Nay, dry up-daughter of our soul! mountains shewn momentarily-by Dry up thy tears! and lo! a vision ghastly gleamings-through the fit- set before thine eyes that shall fill ful night and the hollow sound of them with unmoistened light. each particular stream beneath the Start not back, nor let the soul snow-at places where in other within thee be afraid. Oft before weather there was a pool or a water have those woods and waters—those fall. The dip of the hills in spite clouds and mountains-that sun and of the drifts-familiar to their feet, sky, held thy spirit in Elysium,-thy did not deceive them now; and then, spirit

, that then was disembodied, the dogs in their instinct were guides and living in the beauty and the glory that erred not, and as well as the shep- of the elements. 'Tis WINDERMERE herds knew it themselves, did Fingal -WINDERMERE! Never canst thou know that they were anxious to reach have forgotten the imperishable beauGlenco. He led the way-as if he ty of those more than fortunatewere in moonlight; and often stood those thrice-blessed Isles ! But when still when they were shifting their last we saw them within the still heaburden, and whined as if in grief. He ven of thy smiling eyes, summer suns knew where the bridges were- had overloaded them with beauty, stones or logs; and he rounded the and they stooped their flowers and marshes where at springs the wild- foliage down to the blushing-the fowls feed. And thus Instinct, and burning deep, that glowed in its transReason, and Faith conducted the sa- parency with other Druid groves as ving band along—and now they are at gorgeous as themselves, the whole Glenco--and at the door of the Hut! mingling, mass of reality and of

To life were brought the dead shadow forming one undistinguishand there at midnight sat they up able creation. But now, lo! Winderlike ghosts. Strange seemed 'they mere in Winter! All leafless now —for a while-to each other's eyes-- the groves that girdled her, as if shiftand at each other they looked as if ing rainbows were in love perpetuthey had forgotten how dearly once ally letting fall their colours on the they loved | Then as if in boly Queen of Lakes. Gone are her banks fear they gazed on each other's faces, of emerald, that carried our calm thinking that they had awoke toge- gazings with them, sloping away back ther in heaven. Flora!" said Ha- into the cerulean sky. Her mountains, shadowy in sunshine, and seeming all lighted up by a lurid and ghastrestless as seas, where are they?- ly splendour, in its strong suddenAnd the cloud-cleaving cliffs that shot ness sublime. But look- look, we up into the blue region where the beseech you, at the sun—the sunset buzzard sailed? All gone. But mourn -the sunset region--and all that not for that loss. Accustom thine eye kindred and corresponding heaven -and through it thy soul, to that effulgent, where even now lay in its transcendent substitution, and deep- cold glitter the blue bosom of the ly will they be reconciled. Sawest frozen lake. Who knows the laws thou ever the bosom of the Lake of light and the perpetual miracle hushed into profounder rest? No of their operation? God, not thou. white-winged pinnace glides through The snow-mountains are white no the sunshine—no clanking oar is heard more, but gorgeous in their colourleaving or approaching cape, point, oring as the clouds. Lo! Pavy-Ark bay–nomusicof voice, stop, or string -magnificent range of cliffs—seemwakens the sleeping echoes. How ing to come forward, while you gaze strangely dim and confused on the -how it glows with a rosy light, as water the fantastic frost-work image, if a flush of flowers decked the prery, yet more steadfastly hanging cipice in that ineffably delicate there than ever hung the summer splendour! Langdale-Pikes, mebanks when all the heavens were thinks, are tinged with faintest, finest still as the breath of a sleeping child! purple-and the thought of violets For all one sheet of ice now-clear is with us as we gaze on the slight as the Glass of Glamoury in which tinted beauty of the bosom of the that Lord of old beheld his Geral- mountains dearest to the setting sun. dine-is Windermere, the heaven- But that long broad slip, of orangeloving and the heaven-beloved. Not coloured sky is yellowing with its a wavelet murmurs in all her bays, reflection almost all the rest of our from the silvan Brathay to where Alps--all but yon stranger--the sumthe southern straits narrow into a mit of some mountain base belonging river, now chained, too, on his sil- to another region-ay-the Great van course, towards that perilous Es- Gabel-silent now as sleep-when tuary afar off raging on its wreck- last we clomb his cliffs, thundering strewn sands. The frost came after

in the mists of all his cataracts. In the last fall of snow—and not a single his shroud he stands like a ghost flake ever touched that surface; and pallid and colourless ;-beyond the now, that you are contented to miss reach of the setting sun he lowers -orrather no longer miss—the green

in his exclusion from the rejoicing twinkling of the large July leaves, light--and imagination, personifying does not imagination love those his solitary vastness into forsaken motionless frozen forests, cold but life, pities the doom of the forlorn not dead, serene but not sullen, and Giant. Ha! just as the eye of day is inspirative in the strangeness of about to shut, one smile seems sent their appareling wild and dreamy afar to that lonesome mountain, and thoughts and feelings about the a crown of crimson encompasses his scenery of foreign climes, far, far forehead. away among the regions of the On which of the two sunsets art North, where Nature works her thou now gazing ? Thou who art to wonders aloof from human eyes, our old loving eyes so like the and that wild architect the Frost, mountain nymph, sweet Liberty ?" during the absence of the sun, em- On the sunset in the heaven-or the ploys his long nights in building sunset in the lake ? The divine truth and dissolving his ice-palaces, mag- is-0 Daughter of our Age-that both nificent far beyond the reach of sunsets are but visions of our own any power set to work at the bid- immortal spirits, creative in their ding of earth's crowned and scep- immortality. Lo both are gone from tered kings ? All at once a hun- the outward world-and nought redred houses, high up among the

mains behind but a forbidding frown hills, seem on fire. The setting sun of the cold bleak snow ! But imperish. has smitten them, and the snow- able in thy imagination will be the tracts are illuminated by harmless sunset that owed all its beauty to the conflagrations. Their windows are beauty of thine own soul-and though it will sometimesfade away into obli- power of plumes to her small delivion-say rather retire into the re- cate limbs, unfractured by alighting cesses of thy memory, and lie there among the pointed rocks. All alone, among the unsuspected treasures of by your single solitary self, in some forgotten imagery that have been un- wide, lifeless desert, could you deny consciously accumulating there since sublimity to the unlooked-for hum first those gentle eyes of thine had of the tiniest insect, or to the sudden perfect vision given to their depths shiver of the beauty of his gauzeof blue--yet, mysteriously brought wings? Not you, indeed. Stooping back from vanishment by some one down to quench your thirst in that single silent thought, to which power little lucid well where the fairies has been yielded over that bright bathe, what if you saw the image of portion of the Past, will that sunset the evening star shining in some sometimes re-appear to thee in soli- strange subterranean world? We tude-or haply when in the very shrewdly suspect that you would heart of life. And then surely a few hold in your breath, and swear detears will fall for sake of him by voutly that it was sublime. Dead on whose side thou stoodest, when first the very evening of her marriage day that double sunset, confusing Win- is that virgin bride whose delicate dermere with heaven, enlarged thy hands were so beautiful-and as sense of beauty, and capacities of joy, she lies in her white wedding garand made thee-in thy father's eyes ments that serve for a shroud—that —the sweetest-best-and brightest emblem of eternity and of eternal poetess—whose whole life is musical love-the ring upon her finger-with inspiration-ode, elegy, and hymn, its encased star shining brightly still sung not in words but in looks- now that her eyes, once stars, are sigh-breathed, or speechlessly dis- closed-would, methinks, be sublime tilled in tears!

to all Christian hearts. In comparison So much, though but little, for the with all these beautiful sublimities, beautiful-with, perhaps, a tinge of MountÆtna, the elephant, the man-ofthe sublime. Are the two emotions war, Leviathan swimming the ocean. different and distinct-think ye-or stream, Saturn with his ring, and modifications of one and the same with his horrid hair the comet'Tis a puzzling question-and we would be all less than nothings ! the Sphinx, might wait till doomsday, Therefore beauty and sublimity are before you, Edipus, could solve the twin-feelings of the soul-one and enigma. Certainly a Rose is one the same birth of imaginationthing and Mount Ætna is another—an throughout all life inseparable-as antelope and an elephant-an insect you or any man may know-if you and a man-of-war, both sailing in the still doubt it—by becoming a firesun-a little lucid well, in which the worshipper-and singing your mornfairies bathe, and the Greenland Sea, ing and evening orisons to the rising in which Leviathan is “wallowing un- and the setting sun. wieldy, enormous in his gait” the But we have heard it whispered jewelled finger of a virgin bride, and that we are no metaphysicians-and grim Saturn with his ring-the up- though we cannot say that ward eye of a kneeling saint, and a comet," that from his horrid hair

“ The wicked whisper came, and made shakes pestilence and war.” But let

Our hearts as dry as dust;" the rose bloom on the mouldering yet as the metaphysics of most other ruins of the palace of some great men are indeed drier than the baked king-among the temples of Balbec dust of the Great Desert when driven or Syrian Tadmor--and in its beauty, by sirocco or simoom into the eyes methinks,'twill be also sublime. See and noses of pilgrims journeying to the antelope bounding across a ra- Mecca, we are off and away out of ging chasm-up among the region of our Winter Rhapsody-and beg to eternal snows on Mont Blanc-and conclude Fytte IV. (shall there be deny it, if you please-for assuredly Fyttes V. and VI. ?--Speak and it we think that there is sublimity in shall be done) with some delightful the fearless flight of that beautiful Stanzas, this instant-what a pleasant creature, to whom nature grudged coincidence !--put into our hands by pot wings, but gave, instead, the Beelzebub - Start not~'tis but a

Printer's Devil-who caught the paws, put him into too great a fright Postman at our street-door--and ha to remember to ask the postage. ving snatched the letter out of his

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