MISCELLANEOUS. HELLVELLYN. Is the spring of 1805, a young gentleman of talents, and of a most amiable disposition, perished by losing his way on the mountain Hellvellyn. His remains were not discovered till three months afterwards, when they were found guarded by a faithful terrier-bitch, his constant attendant during frequent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmorland. I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn, On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died. Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown mountain-heather, How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber? When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded, And pages stand mute by the canopied pall: Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming, Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming, But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb, THE MAID OF TORO. O, Low shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro, Sorely sighed to the breezes, and wept to the flood. All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle, With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they fail, Life's ebbing tide marked his footsteps so weary, "O, save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying ! ~ And scarce could she hear them, benumbed with despair: THE PALMER. "O OPEN the door, some pity to show; No Outlaw seeks your castle-gate, Though even an Outlaw's wretched state Might claim compassion here. A weary Palmer, worn and weak, O open, for your lady's sake, I'll give you pardons from the pope, The hair is crouching in her form, The hart beside the hind; You hear the Ettricke's sullen roar, The iron gate is bolted hard, Farewell, farewell! and Mary grant, The Ranger on his couch lay warm, For lo, when, through the vapours dank, A corpse amid the alders rank, WANDERING WILLIE. ALL joy was bereft me the day that you left me, And climbed the tall vessel to sail yon wide sea; O weary betide it! I wandered beside it, And banned it for parting my Willie and me. Far o'er the wave hast thou followed thy fortune; Ae kiss of welcome worth twenty at parting, When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they were wailing, And thought o' the bark where my Willie was sailing, Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring, That ere o'er Inch Keith drove the dark ocean faem. When the lights they did blaze, and the guns they did rattle, And blithe was each heart for the great victory, In secret I wept for the dangers of battle, And thy glory itself was scarce comfort to me. But now shalt thou tell, while I eagerly listen, And, trust me, I'll smile, though my e'en they may glisten; And oh, how we doubt when there's distance 'tween lovers. When there's naething to speak to the heart through the e'c. How often the kindest and warmest prove rovers, And the love of the faithfullest ebbs like the sea. Till, at times, could I help it? I pined and I pondered, Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through channel, Furnishing story for glory's bright annal, Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and hame. Enough now thy story in annals of glory Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and Spain; No more shalt thou grieve me, no more shalt thou leave me, I never will part with my Willie again. THE MAID OF NEIDPATH. THERE is a tradition in Tweeddale that, when Neidpath Castle, near Peebles, was inhabited by the Earls of March, a mutual passion subsisted between a daughter of that noble family and a son of the laird of Tushielaw, in Ettricke Forest. As the alliance was thought unsuitable by her parents, the young man went abroad. During his absence the lady fell in a consumption; and at length, as the only means of saving her life, her father consented that her lover should be recalled. On the day when he was expected to pass through Peebles, on the road to Tushielaw, the young lady, though much exhausted, caused herself to be carried to the balcony of a house in Peebles, belonging to the family, that she might see him as he rode past. Her anxiety and eagerness gave such force to her organs. that she is said to have distinguished his horse's footsteps at an incredible distance. But Tushielaw, unprepared for the change in her appearance, and not expecting to see her in that place, rode on, without recognising her, or even slackening his pace. The lady was unable to support the shock, and, after a short struggle, died in the arms of her attendants. There is an incident similar to this traditional tale in Count Hamilton's "Fleur d'Epine." O LOVERS' eyes are sharp to see, Can lend an hour of cheering. All sunk and dim her eyes so bright, Across her cheek was flying; Yet keenest powers, to see and hear, Ere scarce a distant form was kenned, He came he passed-a heedless gaze, THE BARD'S INCANTATION. WRITTEN UNDER THE THREAT OF INVASION, IN THE AUTUMN OF 1801. Published in the Edinburgh Annual Register, 1808. THE Forest of Glenmore is drear, It is all of black pine, and the dark oak-tree; |