"O father! see yonder, see yonder!" he says.

My boy, upon what dost thou fearfully gaze?"-Oh, 'tis the Erl-King with his staff and his shroud!”— "No, my love! it is but a dark wreath of the cloud."

The Phantom speaks.

"Oh, wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest child?
By many gay sports shall thy hours be beguiled;
My mother keeps for thee full many a fair toy,
And many a fine flower shall she pluck for my boy.”—

"O father! my father! and did you not hear

The Erl-King whisper so close in my ear?"

"Be still, my loved darling, my child, be at ease!

It was but the wild blast as it howled through the trees.” The Phantom.

"Oh, wilt thou go with me, thou loveliest boy?

My daughter shall tend thee with care and with joy;

She shall bear thee so lightly through wet and through wild And hug thee, and kiss thee, and sing to my child."

"O father! my father! and saw you not plain

The Erl-King's pale daughter glide past through the rain?' "Oh no, my heart's treasure! I knew it full soon, It was the gray willow that danced to the moon.'

The Phantom.

"Come with me, come with me, no longer delay!
Or else, silly child, I will drag thee away."

"O father! O father! now, now, keep your hold!
The Erl-King has seized me-his grasp is so cold.”....-
Sore trembled the father; he spurred through the wild,
Clasping close to his bosom his shuddering child.
He reaches his dwelling in doubt and in dread;
But, clasp to his bosom, the infant was dead!

1

MISCELLANEOUS.

HELLVELLYN.

In 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 fre quent solitary rambles through the wilds of Cumberland and Westmoreland.

I CLIMBED the dark brow of the mighty Hellvellyn,
Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide;
All was still, save, by fits, when the eagle was yelling,

And starting around me the echoes replied.

On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending,
And Catchedicam its left verge was defending,

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,
Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretched in decay,
Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather,
Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay.
Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended,
For, faithful in death, his mute favourite attended,
The much-loved remains of her master defended,
Ard chased the hill-fox and the raven away.

How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber?
When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start?
How many long days and long nights didst thou number
Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart?
And, oh! was it meet, that, no requiem read o'er him,
No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him,
And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before him,-
Unhonoured the Pilgrim from life should depart?
When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded,
The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall
With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded,

And pages stand mute by the canopied pall:

Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming;
In the proudly arched chapel the banners are beaming;

Far adown the long aisle sacred music is streaming,

Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall.

But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature,

To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb, When, wildered, he drops from some cliff huge in stature, And draws his last sob by the side of his dam.

And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying,
Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying,
With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying,

In the arms of Hellvellyn and Catchedicam.

THE MAID OF TORO.

OH, low shone the sun on the fair lake of Toro,

And weak were the whispers that waved the dark wood, All as a fair maiden, bewildered in sorrow,

Sorely sighed to the breezes, and wept to the flood.
"O saints! from the mansions of bliss lowly bending;
Sweet Virgin! who hearest the suppliant's cry;
Now grant my petition, in anguish ascending,
My Henry restore, or let Eleanor die!"-

All distant and faint were the sounds of the battle,

With the breezes they rise, with the breezes they fail,
Till the shout, and the groan, and the conflict's dread rattle,
And the chase's wild clamour, came loading the gale.
Breathless she gazed on the woodlands so dreary;
Slowly approaching a warrior was seen;

Life's ebbing tide marked his footsteps so weary,
Cleft was his helmet, and woe was his mien.

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Oh, save thee, fair maid, for our armies are flying! Oh, save thee, fair maid, for thy guardian is low! Deadly cold on yon heath thy brave Henry is lying; And fast through the woodland approaches the foe."Scarce could he falter the tidings of sorrow,

And scarce could she hear them, benumbed with despair: And when the sun sunk on the sweet lake of Toro,

For ever he set to the Brave, and the Fair.

THE PALMER.

"Он, open the door, some pity to show;
Keen blows the northern wind,

The glen is white with the drifted snow;
And the path is hard to find.

"No Outlaw seeks your castle-gate,
From chasing the king's deer,

Though even an Outlaw's wretched state
Might claim compassion here.

"A weary Palmer, worn and weak,
I wander for my sin;

Oh, open, for your lady's sake,
A pilgrim's blessing win!

"I'll give you pardons from the Pope,
And reliques from o'er the sea,—
Oh, if for these you will not ope,
Yet open for charity.

"The hare is crouching in her form,
The hart beside the hind;
An aged man, amid the storm,
No shelter can I find.

"You hear the Ettricke's sullen roar,
Dark, deep, and strong is he,

And I must ford the Ettricke o'er,
Unless you pity me.

"The iron gate is bolted hard,

At which I knock in vain;
The owner's heart is closer barred,
Who hears me thus complain.
"Farewell, farewell! and Mary grant,
When old and frail you be,
You never may the shelter want,
That's now denied to me."

The Ranger on his couch lay warm,

And heard him plead in vain;

But oft amid December's storm,

He'll hear that voice again.

For, lo, when through the vapours dank,
Morn shone on Ettricke fair,

A corpse amid the alders rank,

The Palmer weltered there.

WANDERING WILLIE.

ALL joy was bereft me the day that you left me,
And climbed the tall vessel to sail yon wide sea;
Oh, 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;
Oft fought the squadrons of France and of Spain;
Ae kiss of welcome's worth twenty at parting,
Now I hae gotten my Willie again.

When the sky it was mirk, and the winds they were wailing,
I sate on the beach wi' the tear in my ee,

And thought o' the bark where my Willie was sailing,
And wished that the tempest could a' blaw on me.

Now that thy gallant ship rides at her mooring,
Now that my wanderer 's in safety at hame,
Music to me were the wildest winds roaring,

That e'er o'er Inchkeith 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,
Of each bold adventure, of every brave scar:

And, trust me, I'll smile, though my een they may glisten;
For sweet after danger's the tale of the war.

And, oh, how we doubt when there's distance 'tween lovers,
When there's naething to speak to the heart through the ee;
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,
If love would change notes like the bird on the tree-
Now I'll ne'er ask if thine eyes may hae wandered,
Enough, thy leal heart has been constant to me.
Welcome, from sweeping o'er sea and through channel,
Hardships and danger despising for fame,
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 into 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."

OH! lovers' eyes are sharp to see,

And lovers' ears in hearing;

And love, in life's extremity,

Can lend an hour of cheering.