On beauty soonest will the eye In summer skies are soonest seen The clouds that shade their light serene; That scene which spread those towers before, In silence his young comrade near, Yon fearful, sable midnight bow To form so wild and fair a sight Of gloom and brilliance, darkness, light, Of all, and aught save bliss. Well know that oft some fearful cry Seems with their hollow sounds to break. Unhappy Charles!-that gale replied, O'er some new victim they are scowling! No livid fires, no flames were streaming ; One pallid watch-light's ray alone Was through the dark apartment gleaming. And not one echo of that sound Was heard throughout the palace round; Did with those lurid meteors die, Save where the sound arose, 'Tis known to all, that men have said, : That day was come :-around his bed O'er the lost ruler of their land. And if thou wilt but hear my cry, Aye,-Now the genial warmth returns again; Brings with it shafts of fire and scorching pain, Whence come those flames that round my couch are spreading? Seize My guards there,Ho! ye upon that demon,-chain that fiend, I am a monarch yet, and to the end I will be so ! What forms are these whose glances shed He ceased and from a source unknown That Charles of Navarre breathed no more. He fell, and round the regal tower Where once he lived, where thus he died, E'en in that dark and dreadful hour, It spread o'er all created things THE LEGEND OF DUNMORVEN. The traveller shall come, he who knew me in health and beauty shall come, his eyes shall search the meads, but shall not find me. SUPERSTITION in all ages has predominated more or less over the minds of the weak, the credulous, and the ignorant; and more especially when the Catholic religion was the established faith, when the belief in miracles, the adoration attached to sacred relics, and the unequivocal dominion the priests held over the minds of the uninformed, contributed to render the light of reason more obscure. Yet in those ages this credulity was not entirely confined to the uncultivated intellects of the vulgar, and even now all classes cling with romantic fondness to the long cherished and far-traced traditions of the days of their father's; for time having enwrapt their origin in his own dark mantle of obscurity, renders them still dearer from the mystery in which they are enveloped. Now, as formerly, the natives of the more remote parts of the Highlands of Scotland will sit around their peat fires, through the long winter nights, when -OSSIAN. the northern blast "wi angry sough" whistles bleakly over the heath-covered hills, listening to the gude wife as she relates the tales" of other times;" tales still replete with interest, as they cherish that national attachment, which so particularly distinguishes this free and brave people. The inhabitants of the mountain huts even yet remember the Legend of Dun morven. When the storm shall rage bleak, Shall meet with his doom; Find a watery tomb. O'er auld Aughtercla's grave, Will sink in the wave. The wandering stranger, or way-worn traveller, often found an hospitable welcome beneath the stately roof of Dun morven Castle, whose lofty turrets proudly overlooked the northern wave, which lashed with incessant violence the rock on which it stood. The tower, to which the tradition alluded, was the remains of a small fortress, placed at the base of the rock, as a watch-tower, to guard the castle from the incursions of the Danish invaders, or hostile chieftains of their own mountains. The prophecy had long been sung by the old minstrels of the house of Dunmorven, when the halls resounded with festivity and mirth, and the wassail bowl was drained to the health of the laird; and so strongly was the truth of it impressed on the minds of each succeeding generation, that the boldest of the clan could 1 ot pass the grave of auld Aughtercla, or view the nodding tower rock fearfully with the wintry blast, without trembling for the fate of the then existing heir. Yet time rolled on, and generation after generation mouldered into dust; the tradition was enrolled among the current superstitions of the mountains, and the cradle of each infant heir was lulled to the lay that recorded the fearful warning. At length the terrors of the devoted vassals were raised to new apprehensions, by the death of Donald, the oldest son of the laird, which left Allan, the younger, the last and sole remaining heir of the noble house of Dunmorven. Allan, to the grief and dismay of his father, cherished an unfortunate attachment for the lovely daughter of one of the humblest of his clansmen. Sweet as the violet rears its azure head beneath the clustered fern, and as unheeded, bloomed the innocent Annie; and though the unfeeling proud one, in all the haughtiness inspired by superior rank, might regard her with disdain, yet the eye of affection could not find a more pure and spotless heart than that which resided in her fair bosom. Love, free as the mountain wind, refused to bow to the mandate of an imperious parent; and, though forced to resign his Annie, young Allan preferred a temporary exile from the house of his father to plighting his vows to another, and therefore prepared to lead his clan to the assistance of a neighbouring chieftain. Yet his brave and generous mind disdained to bend at the shrine of interest or ambition, and still wished to cherish a lingering hope of future bliss. It was evening when he bent his way to the lonely hovel where she resided, and the awful stillness that reigned through the air proclaimed an approaching storm; the sun, like a ball of fire, rolled on a mountain cloud, into whose dark bosom it sunk, as if in eternal night, for the darkness that succeeded was horrible; yet neither the darkness, the sullen brooding tempest, nor the rising blast which fearfully swept along the plain, could deter Allan from urging his dreary way to the habitation of his soul's best treasure. He arrived there, the door was opened, and amid a pious circle, where the little family were assembled, he beheld her he sought; every eye was raised to heaven in heartfelt devotion; hers seemed to have assumed an expression of piety still more celestial. The smile that welcomed his approach quickly gave place to a deep sigh of silent anguish, when she understood he had come to bid her a last farewell. He perceived that sorrow was deeply rooted in her heart, and that, in wishing to transplant this fair blossom to his bosom, he had caused a blight to descend on its sweetness, which had sapped its strength, and withered its bloom. Her words spoke resignation, but her look betrayed it was rather the effort of calm despair; and when he would have soothed her, when he would have awakened a hope of future happiness, it was too evident that even the delusions of hope had lost their charms for her. She had long acknowledged a conviction that she could never become the bride of the heir of Dunmorven, and she had long struggled to conquer an affection which daily gained strength in her heart; but the effort was now past, and she was prepared for their final separation. The night ad |