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At once she strikes with a dreadful shock,
One only sound could the rover hear,
COMPOSED BY MOONLIGHT.
O LONELY is the woodland scene,
Far off the herds are browsing seen,
And all around this lonely place
No step is heard, nor cry,
And the moon-beam in the water's face
Is trembling silently.
But loudly blew the autumnal breeze
It shower'd the foliage from the trees
And wildly on the mountain's side,
Through gathering tempests stern,
*The murder of Kenneth II., King of Scotland, by Finella, of whom many wonders are related, is well known. These lines are founded on some erroneous traditions, still related in the parishes of Fettercairn and Garvock, regarding the manner of that murder, and the witch's subsequent death.
By fits the moonbeam was descried
Then from her bower Finella fled,
Through bush and brake she trembling sped,
The fiends forbade the witch to rest,
And faster now, through moss and mire,
And onward still, by Fordoun's hill,
And onward still their course they hold,
While on her brow stood deadly chill
On Garvock's lonely moor, the lake
With iron grasp the witch they take,
For they knew the lake accursed, where once The monarch's corse was thrown ;
And they bade the witch her crimes renounce, Where her foulest deed was done.
Still mid the lonely shades at even
But to me the haunted scenes are dear,
Revives the supernatural cheer,
With which my lone hours are beguiled.
Then sweetly on the water's face
BY MR SURTEES, MAINSFORTH.
AND shall the minstrel harp in silence rest
By silver Tweed, or Yarrow hung with flowers; Or where, reflected on Loch Katrine's breast,
High o'er the pine-clad hills Benledi towers ; Save when the blast that sweeps the mountain crest, Wakes the wild chorus of Eolian song;
Save when at twilight grey the dewy west
Strays with soft touch the trembling chords among ; Whilst as the notes with wayward cadence rise,
Some love-lorn maniac's plaint seems swelling to the skies?
Thrice has she flung her witch-notes on the gale,
And thrice has raptured echo caught the tale
From hill, from dell, from tower, and haunted wood:
And if for aye the magic numbers fail,
With them shall fancy quit the woodlands sear; And every genius, wreathed with primrose pale, From his wan brow the withered chaplet tear. Hark! fairy shrieks are heard in every glade, And Scotland's wild-rose bowers and glens of hawthorn fade,
Yet once again the magic lyre shall ring,
And Scotland's falchion drawn to fence her king,
The warning sprite was heard on lake and hill,
And thrice the bittern shriek'd, and echo clamour'd shrill.
Lives there the man to party-rage a prey,
Can blame the noble, blame the generous part ;
And freeze the life-blood streaming from the heart? Far be from such my hand, my heart away:
Though all mistaken be the clansman's creed, Yet sure where kindred fealty led the way,
Bright was the path, and gallant was the deed! The chieftain calls, with shouts the clan reply, Nor heed the low'ring storm that veils the southern sky.
Wild music peals, the clansman grasps his glaive,
Shed" dews and wild flowers" on the wanderer's head.
Ah! bathe in drops of balm his fever'd brain Ah! hide the murder'd friend, the ghastly spectre train.
THE bale is up, the bugles call,
From hill and dale, from hut and hall,
He's don'd his targe, he's slung his bow,
He's grasp'd his massy glaive;
His bride, one kiss before he go
"O go not forth, my lord, my life,
Thy kinsmen true will quell the strife,
"Last night a fearful dream I dream'd;
Pride of an hundred summers, seem'd
* The natives of Aberfoyle, in Perthshire, have a superstitious tradition, that when a portion of a certain rock in that neighbourhood falls to the plain, it denotes the approaching death of some Graham of distinction. And when the river Teith overflows the beautiful peninsula of Little Lennie, near Callender, where the burying place of the Buchanans is situated, the immediate death of some person of that name is expected as the infallible consequence.