If, then, some natural shadows spread The soul's deep valley was not slow Eternal blessings on the Muse, 40 And her divine employment! The blameless Muse, who trains her Sons Albeit sickness, lingering yet, And Care waylays their steps-a Sprite For thee, O SCOTT! compelled to change For warm Vesuvio's vine-clad slopes; O! while they minister to thee, With Strength, her venturous brother; And Tiber, and each brook and rill With unimagined beauty shine, For Thou, upon a hundred streams, 45 50 55 60 65 And streams unknown, hills yet unseen, A gracious welcome shall be thine, Dreams treasured up from early days, And what, for this frail world, were all Did no responsive harp, no pen, Yea, what were mighty Nature's self? Unhelped by the poetic voice That hourly speaks within us? Nor deem that localised Romance 70 75 80 85 90 Ah, no! the visions of the past Life as she is our changeful Life, 95 Bear witness, Ye, whose thoughts that day 100 And clomb the winding stair that once By the "last Minstrel," (not the last!) Flow on for ever, Yarrow Stream! Well pleased that future Bards should chant To dream-light dear while yet unseen, To memory's shadowy moonshine! 105 110 II. ON THE DEPARTURE OF SIR WALTER SCOTT FROM ABBOTSFORD, FOR NAPLES. A TROUBLE, not of clouds, or weeping rain, Nor of the setting sun's pathetic light Engendered, hangs o'er Eildon's triple height: Spirits of Power, assembled there, complain 4 For kindred Power departing from their sight; While Tweed, best pleased in chanting a blithe strain, Saddens his voice again, and yet again. Lift up your hearts, ye Mourners! for the might Of the whole world's good wishes with him goes; Blessings and prayers in nobler retinue 10 Than sceptered king or laurelled conqueror knows, Follow this wondrous Potentate. Be true, III. A PLACE OF BURIAL IN THE SOUTH OF SCOTLAND. PART fenced by man, part by a rugged steep That curbs a foaming brook, a Grave-yard lies; The hare's best couching - place for fearless sleep; Which moonlit elves, far seen by credulous eyes, Enter in dance. Of church, or sabbath ties, 5 No vestige now remains; yet thither creep Bereft Ones, and in lowly anguish weep Their prayers out to the wind and naked skies. Proud tomb is none; but rudely-sculptured knights, By humble choice of plain old times, are seen 10 Level with earth, among the hillocks green: Union not sad, when sunny daybreak smites The spangled turf, and neighbouring thickets ring With jubilate from the choirs of spring! IV. ON THE SIGHT OF A MANSE IN THE SOUTH SAY, ye far-travelled clouds, far-seeing hills- And o'er wide plains cheered by the lark that trills 5 His sky-born warblings-does aught meet your ken More fit to animate the Poet's pen, Aught that more surely by its aspect fills Pure minds with sinless envy, than the Abode Of the good Priest: who, faithful through all hours IO To his high charge, and truly serving God, Has yet a heart and hand for trees and flowers, Enjoys the walks his predecessors trod, Nor covets lineal rights in lands and towers. V. COMPOSED IN ROSLIN CHAPEL, DURING A STORM. THE wind is now thy organist ; -a clank (We know not whence) ministers for a bell To mark some change of service. As the swell Of music reached its height, and even when sank 5 The notes, in prelude, ROSLIN! to a blank Came those live herbs? by what hand were they sown Where dew falls not, where rain-drops seem unknown? Yet in the Temple they a friendly niche grown, Copy their beauty more and more, and preach, Though mute, of all things blending into one. VI. THE TROSACHS. THERE'S not a nook within this solemn Pass |