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The Lark drops down to the dewy earth,
And as silence smooths his yearning breast
In the gentle fold of his lowly nest,
The Linnet takes up the hymn, unseen
In the yellow broom or the bracken green.
And now, as the morning-hours are glowing,
From the hillside cots the cocks are crowing,
And the Shepherd's Dog is barking shrill
From the mist fast rising from the hill,
And the Shepherd's-self, with locks of gray,
Hath blessed the Maiden on her way;
And now she sees her own dear flock
On a verdant mound beneath the rock,
All close together in beauty and love,
Like the small fair clouds in heaven above,
And her innocent soul at the peaceful sight
Is swimming o'er with a still delight.

And how shall sweet Edith pass the day,
From her home and her sister so far away,
With none to whom she may speak the
while,

Or share the silence and the smile, When the stream of thought flows calm and deep,

And the face of Joy is like that of sleep?

Fear not the long, still Summer-day
On downy wings hath sailed away,
And is melting unawares in Even,
Like a pure cloud in the heart of Heaven,
Nor Weariness nor Woe hath paid
One visit to the happy Maid
Sitting in sunshine or in shade.
For many a wild Tale doth she know,
Framed in these valleys long ago
By pensive Shepherds, unto whom
The sweet breath of the heather-bloom
Brought inspiration, and the Sky
Folding the hill-tops silently,
And airs so spirit-like, and streams
Aye murmuring through a world of dreams.
A hundred plaintive tunes hath she-
A hundred chants of sober glee-
And she hath sung them o'er and o'er,-
As on some solitary shore,

'Tis said the Mermaid oft doth sing
Beneath some cliffs o'ershadowing,
While melteth o'er the waters clear
A song which there is none to hear!
Still at the close of each wild strain
Hath gentle Edith lived again,
O'er long-past hours-while smiles and sighs
Obeyed their own loved Melodies.

Now rose to sight the hawthorn-glade,
Where that old blind Musician played
So blithely to the dancing ring-
Or, in a fit of sorrowing,
Sung mournful Songs of other years
That filled his own dim eyes with tears.
And then the Sabbath seemed to rise
In stillness o'er the placid skies,
And from the small Kirk in the Dell
Came the clear chime of holy Bell,
Solemnly ceasing, when appeared
The grey-haired Man beloved and feared-
The Man of God-whose eyes were filled
With visions in the heavens beheld,
And rightfully inspired fear,
Whose yoke, like Love's, is light to bear.

-And thus sole-sitting on the Brae,
From human voices far away,
Even like the flowers round Edith's feet,
Shone forth her fancies wild or sweet;
Some in the shades of memory
Unfolding out reluctantly,
But breathing from that tender gloom
A faint etherial-pure perfume;
Some burning in their full-blown pride,
And by the Sun's love beautified;"
None wither'd-for the air is holy,
Of a pure spirit's melancholy;
And God's own gracious eye hath smiled
On the sorrows of this Orphan Child;
Therefore, her Parents' Grave appears
Green, calm, and sunbright thro' her tears,
Beneath the deep'ning hush of years.
An Image of young Edith's Life,
This one still day-no noise-no strife-
Alike calm-morning-noon-and even-
And Earth to her as pure as Heaven.
Now night comes wavering down the sky :
The clouds like ships at anchor lie,
All gathered in the glimmering air,
After their pleasant voyage: there
One solitary bark glides on

So slow, that its haven will ne'er be won.
But a wandering wind hath lent it motion,
And the last Sail hath passed o'er the heaven-
ly ocean.

Are these the Hills so steeped by day,
In a greenness that seemed to mock decay,
And that stole from the Sun so strong and

light,

That it well might dare th' eclipse of night? Where is the sound that filled the air Around-and above-and every where ? Soft wild pipes hushed! and a world of

wings

All shut with their radiant shiverings!
The wild becs now are all at rest

In their earthen cell-or their mossy nest-
Save when some lated labourers come
From the far-off hills with a weary hum,
And drop down mid the flowers, till morn
Shall awaken to life each tiny horn.
Dew sprinkles sleep on every flower,
And each bending stalk has lost its power-
No toils have they, but in beauty blest,
They seem to partake in Nature's rest.
And a dream just moves it in faintest mirth.
Sleep calms the bosom of the Earth,

The slumber of the Hills and Sky
Hath hushed into a reverie
The soul of Edith-by degrees,
With half-closed eyes she nothing sees
But the glimmer of twilight stretched afar,
And one bright solitary star,

That comes like an angel with his beams,
To lead her on thro' the world of dreams.
She feels the soft grass beneath her head,
And the smell of flowers around her shed,
Breathing of Earth, as yet, she knows
Whence is the sound that past her flows,
(The flowery fount in its hillside cell-)
But a beauty there is which she cannot tell
To her soul that beholds it, spread all around;
And she feels a rapture, oh! more profound

Thane'er by a dream was breathed, or driven Thro' a bosom, all suddenly filled with heaven.

Oh! come ye from heaven ye blessed Things,
So silent with your silvery wings
Folded in moonlight glimmerings?
-They have dropt like two soft gleams of
light,

Those gracious forms, on the verdant height

Where Edith in her slumber lies,

With calm face meeting the calm skies,
Like one whose earthly course is o'er,
And sleepeth to awake no more!
Gazing upon the Child they stand,
Till one with small soft silent hand
Lifts from that brow the golden hair-
"Was ever mortal face so fair?
God gives to us the sleeping maid!"
And scarcely are the kind words said,
Than Edith's lovely neck is wreathed
With arms as soft as zephyrs breathed
O'er sleeping lilies, and slowly raised
The still form of the child, amazed
To see those visages divine,
And eyes so filled with pity, shine
On her, a simple Shepherdess,
An orphan in the wilderness!

"O, happy child! who livest in mirth

And joy of thine own on this sinful Earth, Whose heart, like a lonely stream, keeps singing,

Or, like a holy bell, is ringing
So sweetly in the silent wild-
Wilt thou come with us, thou happy child,
And live in a land where woe and pain
Are heard but as a far-off strain
Of mournful music,-where the breath
Of Life is murmuring not of Death;
And Happiness alone doth weep,
And nought but Bliss doth break our sleep.
Wilt thou come with us to the Land of
Dreams ?"

-A kiss as soft as moonlight seems
To fall on Edith's brow and cheek-
As that voice no more is heard to speak;
And bright before her half-closed eyes
Stand up these Shapes from Paradise,
Breathing sweet fear into her heart!
-She trembleth lest their beauty part,
Cloudlike, e'er she be full awake,
And leave her weeping for their sake,
An orphan Shepherdess again,
Left all by herself in that lonely glen!
"Fear not, sweet Edith! to come along
With us, tho' the voice of the Fairy's Song
Sound strange to thy soul thus murmuring

near

Fear not, for thou hast nought to fear!
Oft hast thou heard our voice before,
Hymnlike pass by thy cottage door
When thou and thy sister were at prayers,—
Oft hast thou heard it in wild low airs,
Circling thy couch on the heathery hill,-
And when all the stars in heaven were still,
As their images in the lake below,
That was our voice that seemed to flow,
Like softest waters thro' the night,
The music breathed from our delight.

Then, come with us, sweet Edith! come
And dwell in the Lake-Fairy's home;
And happier none can be in heaven,
By Nature's kind beneficence
Than we in those green vallies, given

To us, who live in innocence;

And on our gentle missions go,
Up to the human world of woe,
To make by our music mortal Elves
For a dream as happy as ourselves;
All flitting back e'er the morn arise,
To our own untroubled Paradise.

"O waft me there, e'er my dream is gone, For dreams have a wild world all their own! And never was vision like to this

O waft me away e'er I wake from bliss!
But where is my little sister? Where
The child whom her mother with dying
prayer

Put into my bosom, and bade us be
True to each other, as on the sea
Two loving birds, whom a wave may di-
vide,

But who float back soon to each other's side!
Bring Nora here, and we two will take
Our journey with you deep down the Lake,
And let its waters for ever close

O'er the upper world of human woes,
For young though we be, and have known
Yet we start at the shadows of mortal life;
no strife,
And many a tear have we two shed
In each others' arms, on an orphan bed,—
So let Nora to my heart be given,
And with you will we fly, and trust in
Heaven."

A sound of parting wings is heard,
As when at night some wandering bird
Flits by us, absent from its nest
Beyond the hour of the Songster's rest.
For, the younger Fairy away hath flown,
And hath Nora found in her sleep alone,
Hath raised her up between her wings,
And lulled her with gentlest murmurings,
And borne her over plain and steep
With soft swift glide that breaks not sleep,
And laid her down as still as death
By Edith's side on the balmy heath,
And all e'er twice ten waves have broke
On the Lake's smooth sand, or the aged
oak

Hath ceased to shiver it's leaves so red
Beneath the breeze that just touched it's

head.

The heath-flowers all are shining bright,
And every star has its own soft light,
And all the quiet clouds are there
And the same sweet sound is in the air,
From stream and echo mingling well
In the silence of the glimmering dell,-
But no more is seen the radiant fold
Of Fairy-wings bedropt with gold,
Nor those sweet human faces! They
Have melted like the dew away,
And Edith and Nora never more
Shall be sitting seen on the earthly shore!
For they drift away with peaceful motion,
Like birds into the heart of ocean,

Some silent spot secure from storms—
Who float on with their soft-plumed forms
Whiter than the white sea-foam,
Still dancing on from home to home;
Fair Creatures! in their lonely glee
Happier than Stars in Heaven or Sea.

Long years are past—and every stone
Of the Orphans' cot is with moss o'ergrown,
And wild-stalks beautiful and tall
Hang o'er the little garden-wall,
And the clear well within the rock
Lies with its smiling calm unbroke
By dipping pitcher! There the Hives!
But no faint feeble hum survives-
Dead is that Cottage once so sweet,
Shrouded as in a winding-sheet-
Nor even the sobbing of the air
Mourns o'er the life that once was there!

O happy ye! who have flown afar
From the sword of those ruthless men of war,
That, for many a year, have bathed in blood
Scotland's green glens of solitude!

Orphans were ye-but your lips were calm
When together ye sang the evening psalm;
Nor sound of terror on the breeze,
E'er startled you up from your humble knees,
When on the dewy daisied sod,
In heaven ye worshipp'd your Father's God,
After the simple way approved
By men whom God and Angels loved.
Dark-dark days come-when holy prayers
Are sinful held, and snow-white hairs
By ruffian hands are torn and strewed,
Even where the Old Man bows to God!
Sabbath is heavy to the soul,
When no kirk-bell is heard to toll,
Struck dumb as ice-no bridal show
Shines cheerful thro' these days of woe-
Now are the blest baptismal rites
Done by lone streams, in moonless nights
Now every lover loves in dread-
Sleep flies from cradle and from bed-
The silent meal in fear is blest
In fear the mother gives her breast
To the infant, whose dim eyes can trace
A trouble in her smiling face.
The little girl her hair has braided,
Over a brow by terror shaded;
And virgins, in youth's lovely years,
Who fear not death, have far worse fears--
Wailing is heard o'er all the land,
For, by day and night, a bloody hand
A bloody sword doth widely wave,
And peace is none, but in the grave.
But Edith and Nora lead happy hours
In the Queen Lake-Fairy's palace-bowers,
Nor troubles from the world of ill

E'er reach that kingdom calm and still,
A dream-like kingdom sunk below,
The fatal reach of waking woe!
There, radiant water-drops are shed,
Like strings of pearl round each Orphan's
head,

Glistening with many a lovely ray,
Yet, all so light, that they melt away,
Unfelt by the locks they beautify-

The flowers that bloom there never die,

Breathing forever thro' the calm
A gentle breath of honeyed balm;
Nor ever happy Fairy grieves

O'er the yellow fall of the Forest leaves,―
Nor mourns to hear the rustling dry
Of their faded pride in the frosty sky,
For all is young and deathless there,
All things unlike-but all things fair-
Nor is that saddest beauty known
That lies in the thoughts of pleasure flown-
Nor doth joy ever need to borrow

A charm to its soul from the smiles of sorrow.

Nor are the upper world and skies Withheld, when they list, from these Orphan's eyes

The shadow of green trees on earth
Falls on the Lake-and the small bird's
mirth

Doth often through the silence ring
In sweet, shrill, merry jargoning-
So that the Orphans almost think
They are lying again on the broomy brink
Of their native Dee-and scarcely know
If the change hath been to bliss or woe,
As, mid that music wild, they seem
To start back to life from a fairy dream.
So all that most beautiful is above
Sends down to their rest its soul of love-

Nor have they in their bliss forgot

The walls, roof, and door, of their native

cot

Nor the bed in which their Parents died, And they themselves slept side by side! They know that Heaven hath brought them

here,

To shield them from the clouds of fear;
And therefore on their sinless breasts
When they go to sleep the Bible rests,
The Bible that they read of old,
Beside their lambs in the mountain-fold,
Unseen but by one gracious eye,
That blest their infant piety!

On what doth the wondering shepherd gaze,
As o'er Loch-Ken the moonlight plays,
And in the Planet's silvery glow,

Far shines the smooth sand, white as snow?
In Heaven or Lake there is no breeze,
Yet a glimmering Sail that Shepherd sees,
Swanlike steer on its stately way
Into the little Crescent bay;
Now jocundly its fair gleam rearing,
And now in darkness disappearing,
Till mid the water-lilies riding
It hangs, and to the green shore gliding
Two lovely Creatures silently
Sit down beneath the star-light sky,
And look around, in deep delight,
On all the sweet still smiles of night.
As they sit in beauty on the shore,
The Shepherd feels he has seen before
The quiet of their heavenly eyes:
""Tis the Orphans come back from Paradise,
Edith and Nora! They now return,
When this woe-worn Land hath ceased to

mourn.

We thought them dead, but at Heaven's command,

For years have they lived in Fairy Land,

And they glide back by night to their little cot, O absent long, but by none forgot!"

The Boat with its snow-white sail is gone, And the Creatures it brought to shore are flown!

Still the crowd of water-lilies shake,
And a long bright line shines o'er the Lake,
But nought else tells that a bark was near;
While the wildered Shepherd seems to hear
A wild hymn wandering through the wood,
Till it dies up the mountain solitude;
And a dreamy thought, as the sounds depart,
Of Edith and Nora comes o'er his heart.
At Morning's first pure silent glow,
A band of simple Shepherds go
To the Orphan's Cot, and they there behold
The Dove so bright, with its plumes of gold,
And the radiant Lamb, that used to glide
So spirit-like by fair Edith's side.

Fair Creatures! that no more were seen
On the sunny thatch or the flowery green,
Since the lovely Sisters had flown away,
And left their Cottage to decay!
Back to this world returned again,
They seem in sadness and in pain,
And coo and bleat is like the breath'
Of sorrow mourning over death.
Lo! smiling on their rushy bed,
Lie Edith and Nora-embraced-and dead!
A gentle frost has closed their eyes,
And hushed-just hushed-their balmy
sighs.

Over their lips, yet rosy red,
A faint, pale, cold decay is shed;
A dimness hangs o'er their golden hair,
That sadly tells no life is there ;
There beats no heart, no current flows
In bosoms sunk in such repose;
Limbs may not that chill quiet have,
Unless laid ready for the grave.
Silence lies there from face to feet,

And the bed she loves best is a winding

sheet.

Let the Coffin sink down soft and slowly,
And calm be the burial of the holy !
One long look in that mournful cell-
Let the green turf heave-and then, farewell!
No need of tears! in this church-yard shade
Oft had the happy orphans played
Above these quiet graves! and well they lie
After a calm bright life of purity,
Beneath the flowers that once sprung to meet
The motion of their now still feet!
The mourners are leaving the buried clay,
To the holy hush of the Sabbath day,
When a Lamb comes sadly bleating by,
And a Dove soft wavering through the sky,

And both lie down without a sound,
In beauty on the funeral mound!
What may these lovely creatures be?
-Two sisters who died in infancy,
And thus had those they loved attended,
And been by those they loved befriended!
Whate'er fair Creatures! might be their

birth

Never more were they seen on earth;
But to young and old belief was given
That with Edith and Nora they went to
Heaven.

N.

OF THE EFFECTS OF KNOWLEDGE UPON SOCIETY.

TOWARDS the close of last century, it was thought by many philosophers, that the faults and vices of mankind arose chiefly from intellectual darkness, and that if prejudice and misconception were removed from the earth, moral evil would speedily depart also. The French metaphysicians seemed to consider man as a being in whom reason was the predominating faculty. They concluded, too hastily, that his desires and inclinations resulted from his opinions, and were posterior to the conclusions of his understanding. Their attention had been so much directed towards the evils which spring from prejudices of education, that they supposed the root and essence of the mischief lay in the prejudices themselves, and did not advert to the fact, that prejudices serve only as domicils for the elementary passions, which, although they may change their abode and their apparel, never change their nature. Opinion can do no more than transfer the operations of the passions from one object to another; and in doing so, it may effect either good or mischief, according to circumstances. Vanity and ambition, for instance, have always the same bent, namely, that of seeking after pre-eminence and distinction; but what constitutes distinction depends, in a great measure, upon the opinions of society. If value is set upon useless objects, so much human energy is expended to no purpose; if value is set on pernicious objects, so much ambition is turned to so much mischief; but if the palm is affixed to useful and noble objects, the nature of the ambitious man is improved in pursuing them, and society profits by his activity.

For rendering service to society, vanity and ambition are much more to be depended on than the feeling of duty. They are personal sentiments, and therefore much more active and constant in their operation. But it is by the virtuous feelings of society at large that they are controled and guided towards beneficial ends. It would be the interest even of a profligate society, to reward nothing but serviceable and well directed ambition with admiration and consequence; but here the natural feelings of mankind are found to work too powerfully against

the calculations of their own interest. Men every where confer their admiration upon those things in which they themselves wish to excel, and accordingly a profligate society gives premiums to so many spurious kinds of ambition, that little of the useful sort is produced. Thus no ambitious man can ever be tempted to pursue a much more virtuous course than corresponds with the habits of thought prevalent in the society where he lives. The services done to society, through motives purely consciencious, must always be a precarious and uncertain fund, from what we know of the average constitution of human nature; and no nation can count upon great and meritorious exertions, until it has drawn into its service the personal passions, which constitute the main spring of activity in the minds of mankind. A degenerate and vicious society thus is constantly giving way to feelings which react perniciously upon itself. It is insincere or divided in its approbation of what is good; and therefore it is not rewarded by the growth of what is good. The good deeds which happen to be performed in such a society, by disinterested persons, are like contributions casually dropt into an alms-box.

The more we reflect upon the nature of man, the more we shall be convinced, that what decides his fate is to be found chiefly within himself, and not in extrinsic circumstances. The philosophers of the last century overlooked the mechanism which nature implants in nations and individuals, and sought for the cause of every thing from without. They attributed an almost creative power to knowledge and to institutions. But there is reason to suspect, that the power exerted by mere intellect over human destiny is much less than they were inclined to suppose. Man is of a nature which includes part of the brute, and part of the percipient being; but the elements which decide his destiny are his passions and his moral sentiments. All that knowledge can do is to remove errors and mistakes. It operates as a guide in relation to the human character, but it has no productive power. It can not create a single new moral impulse or propension which does not already exist within us. It is often of service in awakening the latent sentiments, VOL. IV.

and making them acquainted with opportunities of action; but if the sentiments do not exist, its words are idle, and are of no more use than the compass is to the pilot when there is no wind to fill his sails. Forms of government are equally unproductive in the species of their influence. A free government only gives fair play to the human character, and allows national energies, talents, and virtues to manifest themselves in their greatest strength and beauty. A bad government stifles and oppresses the talents and energies of a nation, and exerts a destructive power; but a good government exerts no creative power, nor does more for mankind than is done for the different kinds of animals by free air and exercise, which perfect their natural qualities, but confer no

new ones.

To suppose that the intellectual calculation of utility can ever become the regulating principle of human existence, is to suppose that the elements of human nature exist in totally different proportions from the real ones. Remote views of interest, however clear, give way to the personal feelings of the moment; and it is only by the continual activity of just sentiments throughout society, that a nation can be sure of preserving itself from political disasters. Vainly do knowledge and foresight hope to regulate the course of moral events, by inves tigating into the sequence of causes and effects, if knowledge and foresight are unable, when the crisis arrives, to evoke those virtues and energies which would be necessary to form part of the chain upon which a fortunate result depends. In controling the movements of the physical world, man finds no scarcity of objects by which to act upon their objects, and accomplish his desires; but the causes which elevate or degrade the moral nature of his species can only be grasped now and then; and even when he does not appear" to ride on the whirlwind and direct the storm," it is scarcely by means of his own power that he assumes such an office, but rather because the whirlwind happens to stoop of its own accord, and take up the puny rider. When legislators succeed in establishing a good system of laws, they have to thank the course of events for presenting them with what was most essential to their enterprize

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