AN INVASION BEING EXPECTED, OCTOBER 1803.

Six thousand Veterans practised in War's game,
Tried Men, at Killicranky were arrayed
Against an equal Host that wore the Plaid,
Shepherds and Herdsmen. Like a whirlwind came
The Highlanders, the slaughter spread like flame;
And Garry, thundering down his mountain road,
Was stopped, and could not breathe beneath the load
Of the dead bodies. -"T was a day of shame
For them whom precept and the pedantry
Of cold mechanic battle do enslave.

O for a single hour of that Dundee,
Who on that day the word of onset gave!
Like conquest would the Men of England see;
And her Foes find a like inglorious Grave.

XIII.

THE MATRON OF JEDBOROUGH,

AND HER HUSBAND.

At Jedborough, my companion and I went into private Lodgings for a few days; and the following Verses were called forth by the character and domestic situation of our Hostess.

AGE! twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers,
And call a train of laughing Hours;
And bid them dance, and bid them sing;
And thou, too, mingle in the Ring!
Take to thy heart a new delight;
If not, make merry in despite,

That there is One who scorns thy power
But dance for under Jedborough Tower,
A Matron dwells, who though she bears
Our mortal complement of years,
Lives in the light of youthful glee,
And she will dance and sing with thee.
Nay! start not at that Figure-there!
Him who is rooted to his chair!
Look at him-look again! for He
Hath long been of thy Family.
With legs that move not, if they can,
And useless arms, a Trunk of Man,
He sits, and with a vacant eye;

A Sight to make a stranger sigh!
Deaf, drooping, that is now his doom:
His world is in this single room:

Is this a place for mirthful cheer?
Can merry-making enter here?

The joyous Woman is the Mate
Of him in that forlorn estate !
He breathes a subterraneous damp;
But bright as Vesper shines her lamp:
He is as mute as Jedborough Tower;
She jocund as it was of yore,
With all its bravery on; in times
When all alive with merry chimes,
Upon a sun-bright morn of May,
It roused the Vale to Holiday.

I praise thee, Matron! and thy due
Is praise, heroic praise, and true!
With admiration I behold

Thy gladness unsubdued and bold:
Thy looks, thy gestures, all present
The picture of a life well spent:
This do I see; and something more;
A strength unthought of heretofore!
Delighted am I for thy sake;
And yet a higher joy partake.
Our Human-nature throws away
Its second Twilight, and looks gay;
A land of promise and of pride
Unfolding, wide as life is wide.

Ah! see her helpless Charge! enclosed
Within himself as seems, composed;
To fear of loss, and hope of gain,
The strife of happiness and pain,
Utterly dead! yet in the guise
Of little Infants, when their eyes
Begin to follow to and fro
The persons that before them go,
He tracks her motions, quick or slow.
Her buoyant Spirit can prevail
Where common cheerfulness would fail;
She strikes upon him with the heat
Of July Suns; he feels it sweet;
An animal delight though dim!
"Tis all that now remains for him!

The more I looked I wondered more-
And, while I scanned them o'er and o'er,
A moment gave me to espy

A trouble in her strong black eye;
A remnant of uneasy light,

A flash of something over-bright!
Nor long this mystery did detain

My thoughts-she told in pensive strain
That, she had borne a heavy yoke,
Been stricken by a twofold stroke;

Ill health of body; and had pined
Beneath worse ailments of the mind.

So be it! - but let praise ascend
To Him who is our Lord and Friend!
Who from disease and suffering.
Hath called for thee a second Spring;
Repaid thee for that sore distress
By no untimely joyousness;
Which makes of thine a blissful state;
And cheers thy melancholy Mate!

XIV.

FLY, some kind Spirit, fly to Grasmere-dale,
Say that we come, and come by this day's light;
Glad tidings!-spread them over field and height;
But chiefly let one Cottage hear the tale;
There let a mystery of joy prevail,
The happy Kitten bound with frolic might,
And Rover whine, as at a second sight
Of near-approaching good that shall not fail;-
And from that Infant's face let joy appear;
Yea, let our Mary's one Companion Child,
That hath her six weeks' solitude beguiled
With intimations manifold and dear,
While we have wandered over wood and wild,
Smile on his Mother now with bolder cheer.

Yet he had many a restless dream; Both when he heard the Eagles scream, And when he heard the torrents roar, And heard the water beat the shore

Near which their Cottage stood.

Beside a lake their Cottage stood,
Not small like ours, a peaceful flood;
But one of mighty size, and strange;
That, rough or smooth, is full of change,
And stirring in its bed.

For to this Lake, by night and day,
The great Sea-water finds its way
Through long, long windings of the hills;
And drinks up all the pretty rills,
And rivers large and strong:

Then hurries back the road it came Returns, on errand still the same; This did it when the earth was new; And this for evermore will do,

As long as earth shall last.

And, with the coming of the Tide, Come Boats and Ships that safely ride, Between the woods and lofty rocks: And to the Shepherds with their flocks Bring tales of distant Lands.

All vanished; -'t was a heartfelt cross
To him, a heavy, bitter loss,
As he had ever known.

But hark! a gratulating voice,
With which the very hills rejoice:
"Tis from the crowd, who tremblingly
Had watched the event, and now can see
That he is safe at last.

And then, when he was brought to land,
Full sure they were a happy band,
Which, gathering round, did on the banks
Of that great water give God thanks,
And welcomed the poor Child.

And in the general joy of heart
The blind Boy's little Dog took part;
He leapt about, and oft did kiss
His master's hands in sign of bliss,

With sound like lamentation.

But most of all, his Mother dear,
She who had fainted with her fear,
Rejoiced when waking she espies
The Child; when she can trust her eyes,
And touches the blind Boy.

She led him home, and wept amain,
When he was in the house again:
Tears flowed in torrents from her eyes:
She kissed him-how could she chastise?
She was too happy far.

Thus, after he had fondly braved
The perilous Deep, the Boy was saved;
And, though his fancies had been wild,
Yet he was pleased and reconciled

To live in peace on shore.

And in the lonely Highland Dell
Still do they keep the Turtle Shell;
And long the Story will repeat
Of the blind Boy's adventurous feat,
And how he was preserved.*

* It is recorded in Dampier's Voyages, that a boy, the Son of Captain of a Man-of-War, seated himself in a Turtle Shell, and floated in it from the shore to his Father's ship, which lay at anchor at the distance of half a mile. In deference to the opinion of a Friend, I have substituted such a shell for the less elegant Vessel in which my Blind Voyager did actually entrust himself to the dangerous current of Loch Leven, as was related to me bv an eye-witness.

I.

Suggested by a beautiful Ruin upon one of the Islands of Loch

No right had he but what he made To this small spot, his leafy shade;

from whom this habitation acquired the name of

THE BROWNIE'S CELL.

To barren heath, and quaking fen,

Or depth of labyrinthine glen;

Or into trackless forest set

With trees, whose lofty umbrage met;
World-wearied men withdrew of yore, -
(Penance their trust, and Prayer their store;)
And in the wilderness were bound
To such apartments as they found;
Or with a new ambition raised;

That God might suitably be praised.

High lodged the Warrior, like a bird of prey;
Or where broad waters round him lay:
But this wild Ruin is no ghost
Of his devices-buried, lost!
Within this little lonely Isle

There stood a consecrated Pile;

Where tapers burned, and mass was sung,
For them whose timid Spirits clung
To mortal succour, though the tomb
Had fixed, for ever fixed, their doom!

All, all were dispossessed, save him whose smile Shot lightning through this lonely Isle !

To which he only dared to cling;
Renouncing here, as worse than dead,
The craven few who bowed the head
Beneath the change, who heard a claim
How loud! yet lived in peace with shame.

From year to year this shaggy Mortal went
(So seemed it) down a strange descent:
Till they, who saw his outward frame,
Fixed on him an unhallowed name;
Him-free from all malicious taint,
And guiding, like the Patmos Saint,
A pen unwearied to indite,
In his lone Isle, the dreams of night;
Impassioned dreams, that strove to span
The faded glories of his Clan!