For fear and melancholy meet; But this is calm; there cannot be Does then the Bard sleep here indeed? But something deeper far than these: VIII. STEPPING WESTWARD. While my Fellow-traveller and I were walking by the side of Loch Ketterine, one fine evening after sunset, in our road to a Hut where, in the course of our Tour, we had been hospitably entertained some weeks before, we met, in one of the loneliest parts of that solitary region, two well-dressed Women, one of whom said to us, by way of greeting, “What, you are stepping westward?" "WHAT, you are stepping westward?"Twould be a wildish destiny, If we, who thus together roam "Yea." In a strange Land, and far from home, The dewy ground was dark and cold; I liked the greeting; 'twas a sound The voice was soft, and she who spake The very sound of courtesy: 5 10 15 20 Its power was felt; and while my eye way. IX. THE SOLITARY REAPER. BEHOLD her, single in the field, Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 5 O listen! for the Vale profound No Nightingale did ever chaunt A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard Will no one tell me what she sings ?- Or is it some more humble lay, Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, 10 15 20 Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang 25 30 X. ADDRESS TO KILCHURN CASTLE, UPON LOCH AWE. "From the top of the hill a most impressive_scene opened upon our view,-a ruined Castle on an Island (for an Island the flood had made it) at some distance from the shore, backed by a Cove of the Mountain Cruachan, down which came a foaming stream. The Castle occupied every foot of the Island that was visible to us, appearing to rise out of the water,— mists rested upon the mountain side, with spots of sunshine; there was a mild desolation in the low grounds, a solemn grandeur in the mountains, and the Castle was wild, yet stately-not dismantled of turrets-nor the walls broken down, though obviously a ruin.”—Extract from the Journal of my Companion. CHILD of loud-throated War! the mountain Roars in thy hearing; but thy hour of rest Ambiguous, neither wholly thine nor theirs. 5 Oh! there is life that breathes not; Powers there are That touch each other to the quick in modes Which the gross world no sense hath to per ceive, 10 No soul to dream of. What art Thou, from care seem But a mere footstool to yon sovereign Lord, Huge Cruachan, (a thing that meaner hills Might crush, nor know that it had suffered harm ;) Yet he, not loth, in favour of thy claims 15 20 To reverence, suspends his own; submitting 25 To pay thee homage; and with these are joined, In willing admiration and respect, Two Hearts, which in thy presence might be called 30 Youthful as Spring.-Shade of departed Power, The chronicle were welcome that should call The toils and struggles of thy infant years! 35 Thy fierce beginnings, softened and subdued 40 Lost on the aërial heights of the Crusades!1 1 The tradition is, that the Castle was built by a Lady during the absence of her Lord in Palestine. |