Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay,
And with the Tweed had travelled;
And when we came to Clovenford,
Then said my "winsome marrow,
"Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside,
And see the Braes of Yarrow."

"Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town,
Who have been buying, selling,
Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own;
Each maiden to her dwelling!
On Yarrow's banks let herons feed,
Hares couch, and rabbits burrow!
But we will downwards with the Tweed,
Nor turn aside to Yarrow.

"There's Gala Water, Leader Haughs,
Both lying right before us;
And Dryburgh, where with chiming Tweed
The lintwhites sing in chorus;
There's pleasant Teviotdale, a land
Made blithe with plough and harrow :
Why throw away a needful day
To go in search of Yarrow?

"What's Yarrow but a river bare,
That glides the dark hills under?
There are a thousand such elsewhere
As worthy of your wonder.'

[scorn:

Strange words they seemed of slight and
My true love sighed for sorrow :
And looked me in the face, to think
I thus could speak of Yarrow !

"Oh! green," said I, "are Yarrow's
And sweet is Yarrow flowing! [holms,
Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,*
But we will leave it growing.
O'er hilly path, and open strath,
We'll wander Scotland thorough;
But, though so near, we will not turn
Into the dale of Yarrow.

"Let beeves and home-bred kine partake
The sweets of Burn-mill meadow;
The swan on still St. Mary's Lake
Float double, swan and shadow !
We will not see them; will not go,
To-day, nor yet to-morrow;
Enough if in our hearts we know
There's such a place as Yarrow.

"Be Yarrow stream unseen, unknown!
It must, or we shall rue it :
We have a vision of our own;
Ah! why should we undo it?

* See Hamilton's ballad, as above.

The treasured dreams of times long past,
We'll keep them, winsome marrow !
For when we're there, although tis 'fair,
"Twill be another Yarrow !

"If care, with freezing years should come,
And wandering seem but folly,-
Should we be loth to stir from home,
And yet be melancholy;

Should life be dull, and spirits low,
'Twill soothe us in our sorrow,
That earth has something yet to show,
The bonny holms of Yarrow !"

IN THE PASS OF KILLICRANKIE, AN INVASION BEING EXPECTED, OCTOBER 1803.

SIX thousand veterans practised in war's

game,

Tried men at Killicrankie were arrayed Against an equal host that wore the plaid, Shepherds and herdsmen.-Like a whirlwind came [flame;

The Highlanders, the slaughter spread like And Garry, thundering down his mountain road,

Was stopped, and could not breathe beneath the load

Of the dead bodies.-'Twas a day of shame
For them whom precept and the pedantry
Of cold mechanic battle do enslave.
Oh, 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.

THE MATRON OF JEDBURGH AND HER HUSBAND.

[At Jedburgh, 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 Jedburgh 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 merrymaking 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 Jedburgh 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! inclosed
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!

A Highland boy why call him so?
Because, my darlings, ye must know,
In land where many a mountain towers,
Far higher hills than these of ours!

He from his birth had lived.

He ne'er had seen one earthly sight:
The sun, the day; the stars, the night;
Or tree, or butterfly, or flower,
Or fish in stream, or bird in bower,

Or woman, man, or child.

And yet he neither drooped nor pined,
Nor had a melancholy mind;
For God took pity on the boy,
And was his friend; and gave him joy
Of which we nothing know.

His mother, too, no doubt above
Her other children him did love :
For, was she here, or was she there,
She thought of him with constant care,
And more than mother's love.

And proud she was of heart, when clad
In crimson stockings, tartan plaid,
And bonnet with a feather gay,
To kirk he on the Sabbath-day

Went hand in hand with her.

A dog, too, had he; not for need,
But one to play with and to feed ;
Which would have led him, if bereft
Of company or friends, and left

Without a better guide.

And then the bagpipes he could blow; And thus from house to house would go, And all were pleased to hear and see; For none made sweeter melody

Than did the poor blind boy.

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.

And of those tales, whate'er they were,
The blind boy always had his share;
Whether of mighty towns, or vales
With warmer suns and softer gales,
Or wonders of the deep.

Yet more it pleased him, more it stirred,
When from the water-side he heard
The shouting, and the jolly cheers,
The bustle of the mariners

In stillness or in storm.

But what do his desires avail?
For he must never handle sail;
Nor mount the mast, nor row, nor float
In sailor's ship, or fisher's boat

Upon the rocking waves.

His mother often thought, and said,
What sin would be upon her head
If she should suffer this. "My son,
Whate'er you do, leave this undone;
The danger is so great."

Thus lived he by Loch Leven's side,
Still sounding with the sounding tide,
And heard the billows leap and dance,
Without a shadow of mischance,

Till he was ten years old.

When one day (and now mark me well,
Ye soon shall know how this befel)
He in a vessel of his own,

On the swift flood is hurrying down
Towards the mighty sea.

In such a vessel never more
May human creature leave the shore !
If this or that way he should stir,
Woe to the poor blind mariner !

For death will be his doom.

But say what bears him?--Ye have seen
The Indian's bow, his arrows keen,
Rare beasts, and birds with plumage bright;
Gifts which, for wonder or delight,

Are brought in ships from far.

Such gifts had those seafaring men
Spread round that haven in the glen;
Each hut, perchance, might have its own,
And to the boy they all were known;
He knew and prized them all.

The rarest was a turtle shell
Which he, poor child, had studied well;
A shell of ample size, and light
As the pearly car of Amphitrite,

That sportive dolphins drew.

And, as a coracle that braves
On Vaga's breast the fretful waves,
This shell upon the deep would swim,
And gaily lift its fearless brim

Above the tossing surge.

And this the little blind boy knew:
And he a story strange, yet true,
Had heard, how in a shell like this
An English boy, oh, thought of bliss!

Had stoutly launched from shore ;

Launched from the margin of a bay
Among the Indian isles, where lay
His father's ship, and had sailed far,
To join that gallant ship of war,
In his delightful shell.

Our Highland boy oft visited

The house which held this prize; and, led
By choice or chance, did thither come
One day when no one was at home,

And found the door unbarred.

But when he was first seen, oh, me,
What shrieking and what misery!
For many saw; among the rest
His mother, she who loved him best,
She saw her poor blind boy.

But for the child, the sightless boy,
It is the triumph of his joy!
The bravest traveller in balloon,
Mounting as if to reach the moon,
Was never half so blessed.

And let him, let him go his way,
Alone, and innocent, and gay!
For, if good angels love to wait
On the forlorn unfortunate,

This child will take no harm.

But now the passionate lament,

Which from the crowd on shore was sent,
The cries which broke from old and young
In Gaelic, or the English tongue,
Are stifled-all is still.

And quickly with a silent crew
A boat is ready to pursue :

And from the shore their course they take,
And swiftly down the running lake

They follow the blind boy.

But soon they move with softer pace;
So have ye seen the fowler chase
On Grasmere's clear unruffled breast
A youngling of the wild-duck's nest
With deftly-lifted oar.

Or as the wily sailors crept
To seize (while on the deep it slept)
The hapless creature which did dwell
Erewhile within the dancing shell,

They steal upon their prey..

With sound the least that can be made
They follow, more and more afraid,
More cautious as they draw more near;
But in his darkness he can hear,

And guesses their intent.

"

Lei-gha-Lei-gha "-then did he cry, Lei-gha-Lei-gha -most eagerly; Thus did he cry, and thus did pray, And what he meant was, Keep away,

And leave me to myself!"

Alas! and when he felt their hands-
You've often heard of magic wands,
That with a motion overthrow
A palace of the proudest show,
Or melt it into air.

[Suggested by a beautiful ruin upon one of the islands of Loch Lomond, a place chosen for the retreat of a solitary individual from whom this habitation acquired its name.]

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!

Upon those servants of another world When maddening power her bolts had hurled,

Their habitation shook ;-it fell,

And perished-save one narrow cell;
Whither, at length, a wretch retired :
Who neither grovelled nor aspired:
He, struggling in the net of pride,
The future scorned, the past defied ;

* It is recorded in Dampier's Voyages, that a boy, the son of a 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 intrust himself to the dangerous current of Loch Leven, as was related to me by an eye-witness.