The wet rock slide with a trickling gleam
Right down to the cataract's feet;
While towards the crimson islands,
Where the sea-birds flutter and skirl,

A cormorant flaps o'er a sleek ocean floor
Of tremulous mother-of-pearl.

Ah me! as wearily I tread

The winding hill-road mute and slow,
Each rock and rill are to my heart
So conscious of the long-ago.
My passion with its fulness ached,
I filled this region with my love,
Ye listened to me, barrier crags,
Thou heard'st me singing, blue above.
O, never can I know again

The sweetness of that happy dream,
But thou remember'st, iron crag,
And thou remember'st, falling stream!
O, look not so on me, ye rocks.
The past is past, and let it be;
Thy music, ever-falling stream,
Brings more of pain than joy to me.
O cloud, high dozing on the peak,
O tarn, that gleams so far below,

O distant ocean, blue and sleek,

On which the white sails come and go,

Ye look the same; thou sound'st the same,

Thou ever-falling, falling stream,

Ye are the changeless dial-face

And I the passing beam.

As adown the long glen I hurried,
With the torrent from fall to fall,
The invisible spirit of Blaavin
Seemed ever on me to call.

As I passed the red lake fringed with rushes
A duck burst away from its breast,

And before the bright circles and wrinkles
Had subsided again into rest,

At a clear open turn of the roadway

My passion went up in a cry,

For the wonderful mountain of Blaavin
Was bearing his huge bulk on high,
Each precipice keen and purple
Against the yellow sky.

Alexander Smith.

Blackford Hill.

BLACKFORD HILL.

LACKFORD! on whose uncultured breast,

BLAC

Among the broom, and thorn, and whin, A truant-boy, I sought the nest, Or listed, as I lay at rest,

While rose, on breezes thin,

The murmur of the city crowd,
And, from his steeple jangling loud,

Saint Giles's mingling din.

Now, from the summit to the plain,
Waves all the hill with yellow grain;

And o'er the landscape as I look,
Naught do I see unchanged remain,
Save the rude cliffs and chiming brook.
To me they make a heavy moan,

Of early friendships past and gone.

Sir Walter Scott.

Bothwell Castle.

BOTHWELL CASTLE.

PASSED UNSEEN, ON ACCOUNT OF STORMY WEATHER.

MMURED in Bothwell's towers, at times the brave

IMMU

(So beautiful is Clyde) forgot to mourn

The liberty they lost at Bannockburn.

Once on those steeps I roamed at large, and have
In mind the landscape, as if still in sight;
The river glides, the woods before me wave;
Then why repine that now in vain I crave
Needless renewal of an old delight?
Better to thank a dear and long-past day
For joy its sunny hours were free to give

Than blame the present, that our wish hath crossed.
Memory, like sleep, hath powers which dreams obey,
Dreams, vivid dreams, that are not fugitive:

How little that she cherishes is lost!

William Wordsworth.

Brackley.

GORDON OF BRACKLEY.

DOWN

Whistling and playing;

And called loud at Brackley gate, Ere the day dawing,

Come, Gordon of Brackley, Proud Gordon, come down; A sword's at your threshold, Mair sharp than your own."

"Arise now, gay Gordon," His lady gan cry;

"Look, there is bold Inveraye Driving your kye."

"How can I go, ladye,

To win them agen?

I have but ae sword,
And rude Inveraye ten."

"Arise, all my maidens,
With roke and with fan;
How blest had I been

Had I married a man!

Arise, all my maidens,

Take buckler and sword; Go milk the ewes, Gordon, And I shall be lord."

The Gordon sprang up,

Put his helm on his head; Laid his hand on his sword,

And his thigh on his steed, And stooped low and said,

As he kissed his young dame, "There's a Gordon rides out That will never ride hame."

Wi' sword and wi' dagger
He rushed on him rude;
And the gay gallant Gordon
Lies bathed in his blude.
Frae the sources of Dee

To the mouth of the Spey,
The Highlanders mourn for him
And curse Inveraye.

"O, came ye by Brackley,
And what saw ye there?
Was his young widow weeping

And tearing her hair?"

"I came in by Brackley,

I came in, and O,

There was mirth, there was feasting,

But nothing of woe.

"As a rose bloomed the lady,

And blithe as a bride;

Like a bridegroom bold Inveraye

Smiled at her side.