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When alternations came of rage
Yet fiercer, in a darker age; 50
And feuds, where, clan encountering clan,
The weaker perished to a man;
For maid and mother, when despair
Might else have triumphed, baffling prayer,
One small possession lacked not power, 55
Provided in a calmer hour,
To meet such need as might befall—
Roof, raiment, bread, or burial:
For woman, even of tears bereft,
The hidden silver Broach was left. 60
As generations come and go,
Their arts, their customs, ebb and flow;
Fate, fortune, sweep strong powers away,
And feeble, of themselves, decay;
What poor abodes the heir-loom hide, 65
In which the castle once took pride!
Tokens, once kept as boasted wealth,
If saved at all, are saved by stealth.
Lo! ships, from seas by nature barred,
Mount along ways by man prepared; 70
And in far-stretching vales, whose streams
Seek other seas, their canvass gleams.
Lo! busy towns spring up, on coasts
Thronged yesterday by airy ghosts;
Soon, like a lingering star forlorn 75
Among the novelties of morn,
While young delights on old encroach,
Will vanish the last Highland Broach.
But when, from out their viewless bed,
Or torrent from the mountain's brow,
Or whirlwind, reckless what his might 85
Entombs, or forces into light;
Blind Chance, a volunteer ally,
That oft befriends Antiquity,
And clears Oblivion from reproach,
May render back the Highland Broach.1 90
Upon a small Island, not far from the head of Loch Lomond, are some remains of an ancient building, which was for several years the abode of a solitary Individual, one of the last survivors of the clan of Macfarlane, once powerful in that neighbourhood. Passing along the shore opposite this island in the year 1814, the Author learned these particulars, and that this person then living there had acquired the appellation of " The Brownie." See "The Brownie's Cell," to which the following is a seque1.
"How disappeared he?" Ask the newt and
toad; Ask of his fellow men, and they will tell How he was found, cold as an icicle, Under an arch of that forlorn abode; Where he, unpropped, and by the gathering flood Of years hemmed round, had dwelt, prepared to
1 How much the Broach is sometimes prized by persons in humble stations may be gathered from an occurrence mentioned to me by a female friend. She had had an opportunity of benefiting a poor old woman in her own hut, who, wishing to make a return, said to her daughter in Erse, in a tone of plaintive earnestness, "I would give anything I have, but I hope she does not wish for my Broach!" and, uttering these words, she put her hand upon the Broach which fastened her kerchief, and which, she imagined, had attracted the eye of her benefactress.
Privation's worst extremities, and die
With no one near save the omnipresent God.
Verily so to live was an awful choice—
A choice that wears the aspect of a doom; 10
But in the mould of mercy all is cast
For Souls familiar with the eternal Voice;
And this forgotten Taper to the last
Drove from itself, we trust, all frightful gloom.
Composed at Loch Lomond.
Though joy attend Thee orient at the birth
Of dawn, it cheers the lofty spirit most
To watch thy course when Day-light, fled from
earth, In the grey sky hath left his lingering Ghost, Perplexed as if between a splendour lost 5
And splendour slowly mustering. Since the Sun,
(Passed unseen, on account of stormy weather.)
Immured in Bothwell's towers, at times the
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; 5 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 10 Than blame the present, that our wish hath
crost. Memory, like sleep, ha,to powers which dreams
obey, Dreams, vivid dreams, that are not fugitive; How little that she cherishes is lost!
PICTURE OF DANIEL IN THE LION'S DEN, AT
Amid a fertile region green with wood
Children of Art, that claim strange brotherhood
large Over the burning wilderness, and charge The wind with terror while they roar for food. Satiate are these; and stilled to eye and ear; Hence, while we gaze, a more enduring fear! 10 Yet is the Prophet calm, nor would the cave Daunt him—if his Companions, now be-drowsed O utstretched and listless, were by hunger roused: Man placed him here, and G-od, he knows, can
(A feeder of the Annan.)
Avon—a precious, an immortal name!
Of Streams to Nature's love, where'er they flow;
blame. But Praise can waste her voice on work of tears, Anguish, and death: full oft where innocent
Has mixed its current with the limpid flood,
SUGGESTED BY A VIEW FROM AN EMINENCE IN INGLEWOOD FOREST.
The forest huge of ancient Caledon
Is but a name, no more is Inglewood,
That swept from hill to hill, from flood to flood:
On her last thorn the nightly moon has shone;
Yet still, though unappropriate Wild be none, 5
Fair parks spread wide where Adam Bell might
deign With Clym o' the Clough, were they alive again, To kill for merry feast their venison. Nor wants the holy Abbot's gliding Shade His church with monumental wreck bestrown; 10