And shaded half the casement-There she stood,
Like a tall crystal column, in the flood

Of the fair moonshine, and right thoughtful-wise
She seemed to scan the aspect of the skies;
Sudden a tremulous tear filled either eye,

Yet fell not on her check, but dubiously,

Like dew gems upon a flower, hung quivering there;
And, like a love-crazed maiden, she half sang,
Half uttered mournful fancies in despair;
And indistinctly in my ear there rung
Something of years to be,—of dark, dark years,
Laden with sorrow, madness, fury, tears—
Of days that had no sunshine-and of nights
Estranged from slumber-of harsh worldly slights-
Of cruel disappointments-of a hell

That gloweth in the bosom, fierce and fell,
Which may not be extinguished-of the pains
Of journeying through lone and trackless plains
Which have no limits-and of savage faces,
That showed no trait of pity!

Then that maid

Stretched her long arms to heaven, and wept for shame;
And as upon her soul dim bodements came,

Once more, in veriest sadness, thus she said:
66 I may not cheer him more! I may not breathe
Life in his wasting limbs, nor healthy fire
In his grief-sunken eye-I may not wreathe
Fresh flowers for him to gaze on, nor inspire
Delicious dreamings when the paly host
Of cares and troubles weigh his spirit down,
And hopes delayed, in worse despair are lost;
Unaided, he may sink upon the path,
No hand of succour near, nor melting eye
To yield its pittance poor of sympathy;
Already, too successful have I weaved
My tiny web of folly; undeceived,

At length, he'll view his baseless fabric pass,
Like fleeting shadows o'er the brittle glass,
Leaving no substance there; and he may curse,
With bitter malison, his too partial nurse,
And charge her with his sufferings !"

So wept

That maid, in seeming sorrow, till there fell
From her lips Grief's volume-word-Farewell!
And then, methought, she softly passed away,
As a thin mist of glory on a ray

Of purest moonshine; or like starlet bright
Sailed onward through the ocean of the night!

And then, meseems, I heard the wailing sound

Of a wind-harp afar, and voice of one

Who sung thereto a plaintive melody ;

And some words reached me, but the rest were drowned

In dimest distance, and the hollow moan

Of the night-breezes fitful sweeping by ;

Yet these stray words, erewhile on earth they fell,

Told Hope had pitying smiled before her last farewell.

Then all grew dark and loveless, and afar
I saw the falling down of many a star,
As the moon paled in sorrow-And the roar
Of darkly tumbling floods I heard, that dashed
Through the deep fissures of the rifted rock—
While phantoms flitted by with ghastly mock,
And jeers malign—and demons on me glar'd
Looks of infernal meaning; then in silence
Troop'd onwards to their doom!

Starting, I broke

and awoke,

Sleep's leaden bonds of sorrow,
Wondering to find my eye-balls red with tears!
And my breast heaving with sepulchral fears,

CXXVI.

THIS IS NO SOLITUDE.

THIS is no Solitude; These brown woods speak
In tones most musical-this limpid river
Chaunts a low song, to be forgotten never !—
These my beloved companions are so meek,
So soul-sustaining, I were crazed to seek

Again the tumult, the o'erpowering hum,
Which of the ever busy hiving city come-
Parting us from ourselves.-Still let us breathe
The heavenly air of contemplation here;

And with old trees, grey stones, and runnels clear,
Claim kindred and hold converse. He that seeth
Upon this vesper spot no lovliness,

Nor hears therein a voice of tenderness,
Calling him friend, Nature in vain would bless!

CXXVII.

THE LONE THORN.

BENEATH the scant shade of an aged thorn,
Silvered with age, and mossy with decay,
I stood, and there bethought me of its morn
Of verdant lustyhood, long passed away;
Of its meridian vigour, now outworn

By cankering years, and by the tempest's sway
Bared to the pitying glebe.-Companionless,

Stands the gray thorn complaining to the wind

Of all the old wood's leafy loveliness

The sole memorial that lags behind;

Its compeers perished in their youthfulness,

Though round the earth their roots seem'd firmly twined: How sad it is to be so anchored here

As to outlive one's mates, and die without a tear!

CXXVIII.

THE SLAYNE MENSTREL.

ANE harper there was-ane harper gude—
Cam' harpin' at the gloamin fa’—
And he has won to the bonnie bield
Quhilk callit is the Newtoun Ha'.

"Brume, brume on hil "--the harper sang"And rose on brier are blythe to seeI would I saw the brume sae lang,

Quhilk cleidis the braes o' my ain countree !"

"Out on ye, out, ye prydefu' loun,
Wi' me ye winna lig the nicht-
Hie to some bordel in borrowe toun :

Of harpand craft I haud but licht!

"Out on ye, out, ye menstrel lewde❞—

Sayd the crewel Laird o' the Newtoun Ha'

"Ye'll nae bide here, by blessit Rude, Gif harpe or lyf ye reck ava'!"

“I care na for mie lyf ane plack”—

Quoth that auld harper sturdilie"But this gude harpe upon mie back

Sal ne'er be fylit by ane lyk thee !"

"Thou liest there, thou menstrel wicht!"

Outspak the Laird o' the Newtoun Ha'—

"For ye to death bedene art dicht,

Haif at thee here and mend thy saw !"

Alace, Alace, the harper gude

Was borne back aganis the wa',

And wi' the best o' his auld hertis blude,
They weetit hae the Newtoun Ha'!

Yet did he die wi' harpe in han',

Maist lyk ane menstrel o' degree

There was na ane in a' the land

Might matche wi' him o' the North countree!

Erle Douglas chauncit to ryde therebye

Ane gallant gentleman was he

Wi' four score o' weel harnessit men,

To harrie in the South countree.

66 Quhat novelles now, bauld Laird, hae ye?" "It's I haif slayne a worthlesse wicht,

Ane menstrel lewde, as you may see!"

"Now schaw to me the harper's heid,

And schaw to me the harper's hand, For sair I fear you've causeless spilt

As gentil blude as in a' Scotland!"

"Kep then his heid, thou black Douglas"-
Sayd boastfullie fase Newtoun Ha'—
"And kep his hand, thou black Douglas,
His fingers slim his craft may schaw!"

The stout Erle vysit first the heid,

Then neist he lukit on the hand—

"It's foul befa' ye, Newtoun Ha',

Ye've slayne the pryde o' gude Scotland.

"Now stir ye, stir, my merrie men,

The faggot licht, and bete the flame,

A fire sal rise o'er this buirdly bield,

And its saulless Laird in the lowe we'll tame!"

The bleeze blew up, the bleeze clipt roun'

The bonnie towers o' the Newtoun Ha',

And evir as armit men ran out,

Black Douglas slewe them ane and a'.