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“ Nor he nor I did e'er incline

“ Has not love,” says Elizabeth in To mar or pluck the blossoms white-- her Preface, “ a deeper mystery than How should I know but that they might wisdom, and a more ineffable lustre Lead lives as glad as mine?

than power? I believe it has. I ven

ture to believe those beautiful and of. To make my hermit-home complete, ten-quoted words, • God is Love,' to I brought clear water from the spring be even less an expression of conde. Praised in its own low murmuring,

scension towards the finite, than an asAnd cresses glossy wet.

sertion of essential dignity in Him,

who is infinite." To illustrate that “ And so, I thought my likeness grew

attribute she wrote “ The Seraphim." ( Without the melancholy tale)

But there is nothing in that poem so To gentle hermit of the dale,

affecting as the following simple lines. And Angelina too!

They cannot be read without bringOs For oft I read within my nook

ing to mind the sum of all consolation, Such minstrel stories! till the breeze

• Come unto me all ye who labour Made sounds poetic in the trees,

and are heavy laden, and I will give And then I shut the book.

you rest.”

THE SLEEP. “ If I shut this wherein I write, I hear no more the wind athwart

“ Of all the thoughts of God that are Those trees !--nor feel that childish heart Borne inward unto souls afar, Delighting in delight !

Along the Psalmist's music deep

Now tell me if that any is, 6 My childhood from my life is parted;

For gift or grace, surpassing this My footstep from the moss wbich drew

• He giveth His beloved, sleep?' Its fairy circle round : anew The garden is deserted !

" What would we give to our beloved ?

The hero's heart, to be unmoved “ Another thrush may there rehearse

The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweepThe madrigals which sweetest are

The senate's shout to patriot vowsNo more for me !--myself afar

The monarch's crown, to light the brows? Do sing a sadder verse !

• He giveth His beloved, sleep.'

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“ When wiser, meeker thoughts are given, “ His dews drop mutely on the hill ; And I have learnt to lift my face,

His cloud above it saileth still, Remembering earth's greenest place Though on its slope men toil and reap! The colour draws from heaven

More softly than the dew is shed,

Or cloud is floated overhead,
“ It something saith for earthly pain, • He giveth His beloved, sleep.'
But more for Heavenly promise free,
That I who was, would shrink to be

" Yea! men may wonder while they scan That happy child again."

A living, thinking, feeling man,

In such a rest his heart to keep ;

Nor ever shall he be in praise, But angels say-and through the word By wise or good forsaken ; I ween their blessed smile is heard

Named softly, as the household name • He giveth His beloved, sleep!'

Of one whom God hath taken !

“ For me my heart that erst did go sWith sadness that is calm, not gloom, Most like a tired child at a show,

I learn to think upon him ; That sees through tears the jugglers leap, With meekness that is gratefulnes Would now its wearied vision close,

On God whose heaven hath won him Would childlike on His love repose,

Who suffered once the madness-cloud, Who giveth His beloved, sleep!

Toward His love to blind him ;

But gently led the blind along “ And friends !-dear friends ! — when it Where breath and bird could find shall be

him ; That this low breath is gone from me, And round my bier ye come to weep “ And wrought within his shattered brain, Let one, most loving of you all,

Such quick poetic senses, Say, Not a tear must o'er her fall

As hills have language for, and stars, • He giveth His beloved, sleep!'”

Harmonious influences !

The pulse of dew upon the grass, Cowper has found at last the best of His own did calmly number; biographers in Southey; and Southey And silent shadow from the trees

-should he see them, and surely he fell o'er him like a slumber. will-though we think he has somewhere said that he seldom reads the “ The very world, by God's constraint, verses of the day will not withhold From falsehood's chill removing, his praise from the affecting and beau. Its women and its men became tiful lines on Cowper's Grave. Had Beside him, true and loving !they been anonymous, we should have And timid hares were drawn from woods attributed them to Caroline Bowles. To share his home caresses,

Uplooking to his human eyes

With silvan tendernesses. COWPER'S GRAVE. “ It is a place where poets crowned “ But while, in blindness he remained May feel the heart's decaying

Unconscious of the guiding, It is a place where happy saints

And things provided came without May weep amid their praying

The sweet sense of providing, Yet let the grief and humbleness,

He testified this solemn truth, As low as silence, languish ;

• Though frenzy desolated Earth surely now may give her calm

Nor man, nor nature satisfy,
To whom she gave her anguish.

When only God created !

" () poets ! from a maniac's tongue

Was poured the deathless singing !
O Christians ! at your cross of hope

A hopeless hand was clinging!
O men ! this man, in brotherhood,

Your weary paths beguiling,
Groaned inly while he taught you peace,

And died while ye were smiling!

" Like a sick child that knoweth not

His mother while she blesses,
And droppeth on his burning brow

The coolness of her kisses ;
That turns his fevered eyes around-

My mother! where's my mother?'
As if such tender words and looks

Could come from any other !

And now, what time ye all may read “« The fever gone, with leaps of heart Through dimming tears his story

He sees her bending o'er him ;
How discord on the music fell,

Her face all pale from watchful love,
And darkness on the glory-

Th' unweary love she bore him!
And how, when one by one, sweet sounds Thus, woke the poet from the dream
And wandering lights departed,

His life's long fever gave him,
He wore no less a loving face,

Beneath these deep pathetic eyes
Because so broken-hearted

Which closed in death, to save him!

“ He shall be strong to sanctify

The poet's high vocation,
And bow the meekest Christian down

In meeker adoration :

“ Thus! oh, not thus ! no type of earth

Could image that awaking, Wherein he scarcely heard the chant

Of seraphs, round him breaking

Or felt the new immortal throb

-and ceased almost to be beautiful ; Of soul from body parted ;

but the solemnity of the mountainBut felt those eyes alone, and knew

ranges, lying far and wide in the blue ' My Saviour ! not deserted !'

haze that precedes the twilight, at.

tracts the eyes of a spirit desirous of “ Deserted! who hath dreamt that when the calm momently settling deeper and The cross in darkness rested,

deeper on them all—the uniting calm Upon the Victim's hidden face

of earth and heaven. No love was manifested ?

Strange and sad to say—but it is What frantic hands outstretched have e'er

ve e er

the truth

the truth—seldom during all this long Th’ atoning drops averted

lonely day-only then when writing What tears have washed them from the

down a few words concerning themsoul That one should be deserted ?

have we thought of them whom we

visited in the Castle_last time we were “ Deserted ! God could separate

there and who so soon afterwards From His own essence rather :

were dust! To-night we shall go to

the Old Burial Place, and sit by their And Adam's sins have swept between The righteous Son and Father--

Tomb. Yea! once, Immanuel's orphaned cry,

Like subterranean music the noise His universe hath shaken

of the Bagpipe comes from the Castle It went up single, echoless,

to our Cave. That oldest of CeltsMy God, I am forsaken !'

no raven can be his contemporary

is now strutting like a Turkey-cock “ It went up from the Holy's lips

with his tail up, to and fro on the esAmid his lost creation,

planade-blowing out from below his That of the lost, no son should use elbow “ The Gathering of the Clans" Those words of desolation ;

--for the Yacht is coming up the Loch That earth's worst frenzies, marring hope, goose-winged before the wind, and Should mar not hope's fruition ;

Donald is saluting the advent of his And I, on Cowper's grave, should see

Chieftain, on his return from a victoHis rapture, in a vision !!!

rious expedition into the Forest against

the King of the Red-Deer. And there More to the mind than to the eye

e goes the Gong—struck by the Hindu. -or rather to some perception be

An hour to dinner-time--and we must longing to all the senses—is manifest

descend to our toilet--for there is to ed the change that steals over nature

be a brilliant company this evening at towards the to-fall of the day—such

the Castle, and we shall show them in change as is now going on among the fun

full fig a Lowland Gentleman of the mountains, and informs us, who have

Old School. been taking no heed of time, of the

Ha! Heaven bless thee! and hath very hour, which we could name

our own Genevieve come again to the within a few minutes as surely as if

Cave to tend our steps down the dell there were a clock to look at in the

and across the bridges ? A kiss-not niche above our head. Is that the

on thy lips--but on thy foreheadmurmur of insects or of the sea ?

ample and serene ! Ay - let us That hoarser noise, till now inaudible, is of the cataract behind the Castle,

wreath our arm in thine-and and it tells of Cliff's.

“ Like Morning brought by Night,” The small Loch is smaller in sha- shall be our entrance into the Home dow-has lost much of its expression of thy Fathers.

Edinburgh: Printed by Ballantyne and Company, Paul's Work.



Vol. XLIV.


Forgive us, thou most beautiful of for many days—as if this cottage were Mornings! for having overslept the indeed our dwelling-place-and we assignation hour, and allowed thee to had retired hither to await the closing remain all by thy self in the solitude, of our life. Were we never here bewondering why thy worshipper could fore-in the olden and golden time? prefer to thy presence the fairest Those dips in the summits of the phantoms that ever visited a dream. mountains seem to recall from oblivion And thou hast forgiven us—for not memories of a morning all the same as clouds of displeasure these that have this, enjoyed by us with a different settled on thy forehead-the unre. joy, almost as if then we were a difproaching light of thy countenance is ferent being, joy then the very element upon us-a loving murmur steals into in which we drew our breath, satisfied our heart from thine-and pure and now to live in the atmosphere of sadholy as a child's, or an angel's, Daugh. ness often thickened with grief. 'Tis ter of Heaven! is thy breath.

thus that there grows a confusion In the spirit of that invocation we among the past times in the dormitory look around us, and as the Idea of -call it not the burial-place-overMorning dies, sufficient for our happi- shadowed by sweet or solemn imagery ness is "the light of common day" –in the inland regions of our soul; the imagery of common earth. There nor can we question the recollections as has been rain during the night - they rise— being ghosts, they are sienough, and no more, to enliven the lent_their coming and their going burn, and to brighten its banks—the alike a mystery—but sometimes—as mists are ascending composedly, with now—they are happy hauntings-and promise of gentle weather-and the age is almost gladdened into illusion sun, so mild that we can look him in of returning youth. the face with unwinking eyes, gives 'Tis a lovely little glen as in all the assurance, that as he has risen, so will Highlands-yet we know not that a he reign, and so will he set in peace. painter would see in it the subject of

Yestreen we came into this glen at a picture--for the sprinklings of young gloaming,-and rather felt than saw trees seem to have been sown capri. that it was beautiful-we lay down at ciously by nature, and there seems no dark, and let the moon and stars ca- reason why on that hillside, and not nopy our sleep. Therefore it is als on any other, should survive the remost altogether new to us; yet so con- mains of an old wood. Among the mulgenial its quiet to the longings of our titude of knolls a few are eminent heart, that all at once it is familiar to with rocks and shrubs, but there is no us as if we had been sojourning here central assemblage, and the green wil.


derness wantons in such disorder mal! A tame fawn, by all that is wild that you might believe the pools there -kneeling down-to drink-no_no to be, not belonging as they are to the -at its lady's feet. The colley catchsame running water, but each itself a ed it—thou sayest-on the edge of small separate lakelet fed by its own the Auld wood-and by the time its spring. True, that above its home wounds were cured, it seemed to have bills there are mountains—and these forgot its mother, and soon learnt to are cliffs on which the eagle might not follow thee about to far-off places disdain to build—but the range wheels quite out of sight of this—and to play away in its grandeur to face a loftier gamesome tricks like a creature born region, of which we see here but the among human dwellings. What! it summits swimming in the distant dances like a kid-does it-and someclouds.

times you put a garland of wild flowGod bless this hut! and have its in- ers round its neck and pursue it like mates in his holy keeping! They are a huntress, as it pretends to be making but few-an aged couple--and their its escape into the forest ! grandchild—a pretty creature and a Look, child, here is a pretty green good_and happy as a bird. Four or purse for you, that opens and shuts tive liours' sleep is all we need. This with a spring-S0-and in it there is night it was deep-and our thoughts, a gold coin, called a sovereign, and a refreshed by its dew, have unfolded crooked sixpence. Don't blush-that themselves of their own accord, along was a graceful curtsey. Keep the with the flowers around our feet. Ha! crooked sixpence for good luck, and thou art up and singing, thou human you never will want. With the yel. Fairy! Start not at the Figure sitting low fellow buy a Sunday gown and a beside the well-'tis he who read the pair of Sunday shoes, and what else Chapter-and knelt along with thee you like ; and now-you two lead the and them at the Evening-Prayer. way-try a race to the door—and old

Set down thy pitcher, my child, and Christopher North will carry the pitlet us have a look at thy happiness cher_balancing it on his head_thus for though thou mayst wonder at our -ha! The Fawn has it, and, by a words, and think us a strange old man, neck, has beat Camilla. coming and going, once and for ever, We shall breakfast ere we go-and to thee and thine a shadow and no breakfast well too,-for this is a poor more, yet lean thy head towards us man's, not a pauper's hut, and Heathat we may lay our hands on it and ven still grants his prayer-"give us bless it-and promise, as thou art this day our daily bread." Sweetergrowing up here, sometimes to think richer bannocks o' barley-meal never of the voice that spake to thee by met the mouth of mortal man--nor the Birk-tree-well. Love, fear, and more delicious butter. “We salt it, serve God as the Bible teaches-and sir, for a friend in Glasgow-but now whatever happens thee, quake not, and then we take a bite of the freshbut put thy trust in Ileaven.

let me put another spoonful of sugar Nay_weep not, though we know into your tea, sir- do oblige us a', that thy father is dead, and that thou sir, by eatin' as many eggs as you ha'e haast neither sister nor brother. Smile a mind to, for our hens are gran' -langh-sing--as thou wert doing layers- you'll maybe find the muttona minute ago - as thou hast done ham no that bad, though I've kent it for many a moruing—and shall do forfatter-and, as you ha'e a long walk many a morning more on thy way to afore you, excuse me, sir, for being the well-in the woods-on the braes sae bauld as to suggest a glass o' spee

in the house-often all by thyself rit in your neist cup. The gudeman when the old people are out of doors is temperate, and he's been sae a' his not far off-or when sometimes they life—but we keep it for a cordial-and have for a whole day been from home that bottle-to be sure it's a gae big out of the glen. Forget not our words ane-and would thole replenishing

and no evil can befall thee that may has lasted us syne the New Year." not, weak as thou art, be borne-and S o presseth us to take care of numnothing wicked that is allowed to walk ber one the gude. wife, while the gudethe earth, will ever be able to hurt a man, busy as ourselves, eyes her with hair on thy head.

a well-pleased face, but saith nothing, My stars ! what a lovely little ani. and the bonnie wee bit Jassie sits on

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