"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? "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! "O father! O father! now, now, keep your hold! 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, And starting around me the echoes replied. 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. How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber? 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, 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, 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. 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, 66 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; The glen is white with the drifted snow; "No Outlaw seeks your castle-gate, Though even an Outlaw's wretched state "A weary Palmer, worn and weak, Oh, open, for your lady's sake, "I'll give you pardons from the Pope, "The hare is crouching in her form, "You hear the Ettricke's sullen roar, And I must ford the Ettricke o'er, "The iron gate is bolted hard, At which I knock in vain; 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, A corpse amid the alders rank, The Palmer weltered there. WANDERING WILLIE. ALL joy was bereft me the day that you left me, And banned it for parting my Willie and me. 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 e'er o'er Inchkeith drove the dark ocean faem. When the lights they did blaze, and the guns they did rattle, 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 een they may glisten; And, oh, how we doubt when there's distance 'tween lovers, And the love of the faithfullest ebbs like the sea. Till, at times-could I help it?-I pined and I pondered, Welcome, my wanderer, to Jeanie and hame. Enough now thy story in annals of glory Has humbled the pride of France, Holland, and Spain 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. |