'Twas a blithe morning in the aureate month
Of July, when, in pride of summer power,
The sun enliven'd nature: dew-besprent,
A wilderness of flowers their scent exhaled
Into the soft, warm zephyr; early a-foot,
On public roads, and by each hedge-way path,
From the far North, and from Hybernia's strand,
With vestures many-hued, and ceaseless chat,
The reapers to the coming harvest plied—
Father and mother, stripling and young child,
On back or shoulder borne. I trode again
A scene of youth, bright in its natural lines
Even to a stranger's eyes when first time seen,
But sanctified to mine by many a fond
And faithful recognition. O'er the Esk,
Swoln by nocturnal showers, the hawthorn hung
Its garland of green berries, and the bramble
Trail'd 'mid the camomile its ripening fruit.
Most lovely was the verdure of the hills—
A rich luxuriant green, o'er which the sky
Of blue, translucent, clear without a cloud,
Outspread its arching amplitude serene.
With many a gush of music, from each brake
Sang forth the choral linnets; and the lark,
Ascending from the clover field, by fits
Soar'd as it sang, and dwindled from the sight.
"Mid the tall meadow grass the ox reclined,
Or bent his knee, or from beneath the shade

Of the broad beech, with ruminant mouth, gazed forth.
Rustling with wealth, a tissue of fair fields,
Outstretch'd to left and right in luxury;
And the fir forests on the upland slopes
Contrasted darkly with the golden grain.

II.

Pensively by the river's bank I stray'd-
Now gazing on the corn-fields ripe and rich;
Now listening to the carol of the birds

From bush and brake, that with mellifluous notes
Fill'd the wide air; and now in mournful thought—
That yet was full of pleasure-running through
The mazy past. I know not how it was,

But from the sounds-the season-and the scene--
Soften'd my heart; and, as the swallow wings
In autumn back to softer sunnier climes-
When summer, like a bright fallacious dream,
Hath with its flowers and fragrance pass'd away —

:

So, from the turmoil of maturer years,
In boyish thoughts my spirit sought relief.

III.

Embathed in beauty pass'd before my sight, Like blossoms that with sunlight shut and ope, The half-lost dreams of many a holiday,

In boyhood spent on that blue river side

With those whose names, even now, as alien sounds
Ring in the ear, though then our cordial arms
Enwreathed each other's necks, while on we roam'd,
Singing or silent, pranksome, never at rest,
As life were but a jocund pilgrimage,

Whose pleasant wanderings found a goal in heaven.
But when I reach'd a winding of the stream,
By hazels overarch'd, whose swollen nuts
Hung in rich clusters, from his marginal bank
Of yellow sand, ribb'd by receding waves,
I scared the ousel, that, like elfin sprite,
Amid the water-lilies lithe and green,

Zig-zagg'd from stone to stone; and, turning round.
The sudden jut, reveal'd before me stood,
Silent, within that solitary place-

In that green solitude so calm and deep-
An aged angler, plying wistfully,

Amid o'erhanging banks and shelvy rocks,
Far from the bustle and the din of men,
His sinless pastime. Silver were his locks,
His figure lank; his dark eye, like a hawk's,
Glisten'd beneath his hat of whitest straw,
Lightsome of wear, with flies and gut begirt:
The osier creel, athwart his shoulders slung,
Became full well his coat of velveteen,
Square-tail'd, four-pocket'd, and worn for years,
As told by weather stains. His quarter-boots,
Lash'd with stout leather thongs, and ankles bare,.
Spoke the adept-and of full many a day,
Through many a changeable and checquer'd year,"
By mountain torrent, or smooth meadow stream,
To that calm sport devoted. O'er him spread
A tall, broad sycamore; and, at his feet,
Amid the yellow ragwort, rough and high,
An undisturbing spaniel lay, whose lids,
Half-opening, told his master my approach.

IV.

I turn'd away, I could not bear to gaze
On that grey angler with his rod and line;
I turn'd away-for to my heart the sight
Brought back, from out the twilight labyrinth
Of bypast things, the memory of a day,
So sever'd from the present by the lapse
Of many a motley'd, life-destroying year,
That on my thoughts the recognition came
Faintly at first-as breaks the timid dawn
Above the sea, or evening's earliest star
Through the pavilion of the twilight dim-
Faintly at first-then kindling to the glow
Of that refulgent sunshine, only known
To boyhood's careless and unclouded hours.

V.

Even yet I feel around my heart the flush Of that calm, windless morning, glorified With summer sunshine brilliant and intense! A tiny boy, scarcely ten summers old, Along blue Esk, under the whispering trees, And by the crumbling banks, daisy-o'ergrown, A cloudless, livelong day I trode with one Whose soul was in his pastime, and whose skill Upon its shores that day no equal saw :O'er my small shoulders was the wicker creel Slung proudly, and the net whose meshes held The minnow, from the shallows deftly raised. Hour after hour augmenting our success, Turn'd what was pleasure first, to pleasant toil, Lent languor to my loitering steps, and gave Red to the cheek, and dew-damp to the brow: It was a day that cannot be forgot

A jubilee in childhood's calendar

A green hill-top seen o'er the billowy waste
Of dim oblivion's flood:-and so it is,

That on my morning couch-what time the sun
Tinges the honeysuckle flowers with gold,
That cluster round the porch-and in the calm
Of evening meditation, when the past
Spontaneously unfolds the treasuries

Of half-forgotten and fragmental things,
To memory's ceaseless roamings-it comes back,
Fragrant and fresh, as if 'twere yesterday.
From morn till noon, his light assiduous toil
The angler plied; and when the mid-day sun
Was high in heaven, under a spreading tree,
(Methinks I hear the hum amid its leaves!)
Upon a couch of wild-flowers, down we sat
With healthful palates to our slight repast
Of biscuits, and of cheese, and bottled milk;
The sward our table, and the boughs our roof:
And oh! in banquet hall, where richest cates
Luxurious woo the pamper'd appetite,
Never did viands proffer such delight,
To Sybarite upon his silken couch,
As did to us our simple fair that day.

vi.

Bright shone the afternoon, say rather burn'd,
In floods of molten gold, with all its rich
Array of blossoms by that river's side-
Wild camomile, and lychnis in whose cups
The bee delights to murmur, harebells blue,
And violets breathing fragrance; nor remote
The aureate furze, that to the west-winds sigh,
Lent its peculiar perfume blandly soft.

At times we near'd the wild-duck and her brood
In the far angle of some dim-seen pool,
Silent and sable, underneath the boughs
Of low hung willow; and, at times, the bleat
Of a stray lamb would bid us raise our eyes
To where it stood above us on the rock,
Knee-deep amid the broom-a sportive elf.

Enshrined in recollection-sleep those hours
So brilliant and so beautiful-the scene
So full of pastoral loveliness-the heart
With pleasure overflowing-and the sky
Pavilion'd over all, an arch of peace-
God with his fair creation reconciled:
And oh! to be forgotten only with
The last fond thoughts of memory, I behold
That grand and gorgeous evening, in whose blaze
Homeward with laden paniers we return'd.
Through the green woods outshot the level rays
Of flooding sunlight, tinging the hoar bark
Of the old pine-trees, and in crimson dyes
Bathing the waste of flowers that sprang beneath:
It was an hour of Paradise restored-
Eden forth mirror'd to the view again,
As yet ere Happiness forsook its bowers,
Or sinless creatures own'd the sway of death.
All was repose-and peace-and harmony;
The flocks upon the soft knolls resting lay,
Or straying nibbled at the pastures green;
Up from its clovery lurking-place, the hare
Arose; the pheasant from the coppice stray'd;
The cony from its hole disporting leapt ;
The cattle in the bloomy meadows lay
Ruminant; the shy foal scarcely swerved aside
At our approach from under the tall tree
Of his delight, shaking his forelocks long
In wanton play; while, overhead, his hymn,
As 'twere to herald the approach of night,
With all her gathering stars, the blackbird sang
Melodiously, mellifluously, and Earth

Look'd up, reflecting back the smiles of Heaven!
For Innocence, o'er hill and dale again

Seem'd to have spread her mantle, and the voice
Of all but joy in grove and glade was hush'd.

VIL.

Thro' the deep glen of Roslin—where arise
Proud castle and chapelle of high St Clair,
And Scotland's prowess speaking-we had traced
The mazy Esk by cavern'd Hawthornden,
Perch'd like an eagle's nest upon the cliffs,

And eloquent for aye with Drummond's song-
Through Melville's flowery glades-and down the park
Of fair Dalkeith, scaring the antler'd deer,
'Neath the huge oaks of Morton and of Monk,

Whispering, as stir their boughs the midnight winds.
These left behind, with purpling evening, now
We stood beside St Michael's holy fane,
With its nine centuries of gravestones girt;
And, from the slopes of Inveresk, gazed down
Upon the Frith of Forth, whose waveless tide
Glow'd like a plain of fire. In majesty,
O'ercanopied with many-vestured clouds,
The mighty sun, low in the farthest west,
With orb dilated, o'er the Grampian chain,
Mountain up-piled on mountain, huge and blue,
Was shedding his last rays, adorn'd the shores
Of Fife, with all its towns, and woods, and fields,