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Fresh blows the wind, a western wind,
And from the shores of Erin,
Across the wave, a Rover brave
To Binnorie is steering :
Right onward to the Scottish strand
The gallant ship is borne;
The Warriors leap upon the land,
And hark! the Leader of the Band
Hath blown in bugle-horn.
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The Solitude of Binnorie.

Beside a Grotto of their own,
With boughs above them closing,
The Seven are laid, and in the shade
'They lie like Fawns reposing.
But now, upstarting with affright
At noise of Man and Steed,
Away they fly to left to right-
of your fair household, Father Knight,
Methinks you take small heed !
Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully,
The Solitude of Binnorie.

PLEASURES OF THE PEDESTRIAN. No sad vacuities his heart annoy ;Blows not a Zephyr but it whispers joy ; For him lost flowers their idle sweets exhale ; He tastes the meanest note that swells the

gale; For him sod-seats the cottage-door adorn, And peeps the far-off spire,his evening bourn! Dear is the forest frowning o'er his head, And dear the green-sward to his velvet tread; Moves there a cloud o'er mid-day's flaming

eye? Upward he looks-and calls it luxury ; Kind Nature's charities his steps attend, In every babbling brook he finds a friend, While chast’ning thoughts of sweetest use,

bestowed By Wisdom, moralize his pensive road. Host of his welcome inn, the noon-tide bower. To his spare meal he calls the passing poor; He views the Sun uplift his golden fire, Or sink, with heart alive like Memnon's lyre: Blesses the Moon that comes with kindest ray To light him shaken by his viewless way. With bashful fear no cottage-children steal

Away the seven fair Campbells fly, And, over hill and hollow,



From him, a brother at the cottage-meal;| Or marks, 'mid opening cliffs, fair dark-eyed
His humble looks no shy restraint impart,

Around him plays at will the virgin heart. Tend the small harvest of their garden glades,
While unsuspended wheels the village-dance, Or stops the solemn mountain-shades to view
The maidens eye him with inquiring glance, Stretch, o'er the pictured mirror, broad and
Much wondering what sad stroke of crazing


Tracking the yellow sun from steep to steep, Or desperate Love could lead a wanderer there. As up the opposing hills, with tortoise-foot,

they creep.

Here half a village shines, in gold arrayed, I sigh at hoary Chartreuse' doom.

Bright as the moon; half hides itself in shade. Where now is fled that Power whose frown From the dark sylvan roofs the restless spire

Inconstant glancing mounts like springing fire. Tamed sober Reason till she crouched in fear? There, all unshaded, blazing forests throw That breathed a death-like peace these woods Rich golden verdure on the waves below.


Slow glides the sail along th’illumined shore,
And steals into the shade the lazy oar.

Soft bosoms breathe around contagious sighs,
The cloister startles at the gleam of arms,

And amorous music on the water dies.
And Blasphemy the shuddering fane alarms;
Nod the clond-piercing pines their troubled

How bless'd, delicious scene! the eye that Spires, rocks, and lawns, a browner night

greets o'erspreads. Thy open beauties, or thy lone retreats ; Strong terror checks the female peasant's Th’unwearied sweep of wood thy cliffs that sighs,

scales; And start the astonished shades at female eyes. The never-ending waters of thy vales; The thundering tube the aged angler hears, The cots, those dim religious groves emAnd swells the groaning torrent with his


Or, under rocks that from the water tower From Bruno's forest screams the affrighted Insinuated, sprinkling all the shore,


Each with his household-boat beside the door, And slow the insulted eagle wheels away. Whose flaccid sails in forms fantastic droop, The cross with hideous laughter Demons Bright’ning the gloom where thick the forests mock,

stoop; By Angels planted on the aereal rock.

-Thy torrents shooting from the clear-blue The parting Genius sighs with hollow breath

sky, Along the mystic streams of Life and Death. Thy towns, like swallows' nests that cleave Swelling the outery dull, that long resounds

on high; Portentous, through her old woods' trackless That glimmer hoar in eve's last light, bounds,

descry'a Vallombre, 'mid her falling fanes deplores, Dim from the twilight water's shaggy side, For ever broke, the sabbath of her bowers. Whence lutes and voices down the enchanted

woods More pleased, my foot the hidden margin While Evening's solemn bird melodious

Steal, and compose the oar-forgotten floods, of Como bosomed deep in chesnut-groves.

weeps, No meadows thrown between, the giddy

Heard, by star-spotted bays, beneath the

steeps ; steeps Tower, bare or sylvan, from the narrow

-Thy lake, 'mid smoking woods, that blue

deeps. To towns, whose shades of no rude sound Gleams, streaked or dappled, hid from morn

complain, To ringing team unknown and grating wain, Slow travelling down the western hills, to

fold To flat-roofed towns, that touch the water's Its green-tinged margin in a blaze of gold;

bound, Or lurk in woody sunless glens profound,

From thickly-glittering spires the matin-bell Or from the bending rocks obtrusive cling, A summons to the sound of oars, that pass,

Calling the woodman from his desert cell, And o'er the whitened wave their shadows


Spotting the steaming deeps, to early mass ; Wild round the steeps the little pathway While fill each pause the ringing woods of

Siow swells the service o'er the water borne, twines,

morn. And Silence loves its purple roof of vines. The viewless lingerer hence, at evening, sees Froin rock-hewn steps the sail between the Now, passing Urseren's open vale serene,

Her quiet streams, and hills of downy green,



and gray

ing's ray


Plunge with the Russ embrowned by Ter- A garden-plot the monntain-air perfumes,

ror's breath, 'Mid the dark pines a little orchard blooms; Where danger roofs the narrow walks of A zig-zag path from the domestic skiff,


Threading the painful crag, surmounts the By floods, that, thundering from their dizzy

cliff. height,

-Before those hermit-doors, that never know Swell more gigantic on the stedfast sight; The face of traveller passing to and fro, Black drizzling crags, that beaten by the din, No peasant leans upon his polo to tell Vibrate, as if a voice complained within; For whom at morning tolled the funeral Bare stecps, where Desolation stalks afraid, Unstedfast, by a blasted yew upstayed; Their watch-dog ne'er his angry bark foreBy cells whose image, trembling as he prays,

goes, Awe -struck, the kneeling peasant scarce Touched by the beggar's moan of human surveys;

woes; Loose hanging rocks the Day's bless'd eye The grassy seat beneath their casement shade

that hide,

The pilgrim's wistful eye hath never stayed. And crosses reared to Death on every side, –There, did the iron Genius not disdain Which with cold kiss Devotion planted near, The gentle power that haunts the myrtleAnd bending water'd with the human tear;

plain, That faded silent from her upward eye, There might the love-sick Maiden sit, and Unmoved with each rude form of Danger

chide nigh,

Th' insuperable rocks and severing tide, Fixed on the anchor left by Him who saves There watch at eve her Lover's sun- gilt Alike in whelming snows and roaring waves.

sail Approaching, and upbraid the tardy gale,

There list at midnight, till is heard no more, On as we move a softer prospect opes, Below, the echo of his parting oar, Calm huts, and lawns between, and sylvan There hang in fear, when growls the frozen slopes,

stream, While mists, suspended on the expiring gale, To guide his dangerous tread, the taper's Moveless o'er-hang the deep secluded vale,

gleam. The beams of evening, slipping soft between, Light up of tranquil joy a sober scene. Winding its dark-green wood and emerald ?Mid stormy vapours ever driving by,


Where ospreys, cormorants, and herons cry; The still vale lengthens underneath the Where hardly given the hopeless waste to

cheer, While in soft gloom the scattering bowers Denied the bread of life the foodful ear,


Dwindles the pear on autumn's latest spray, Green dewy lights adorn the freshened mead, And apple sickens pale in summer's ray; On the low brown wood-huts delighted sleep Ev’n here content has fixed her smiling reiga Along the brightened gloom reposing deep. With Independence, child of high Disdain. While pastoral pipes and streams the land- Exulting 'mid the winter of the skies,

Shy as the jealous chamois, freedom flies, And bells of passing mules that tinkle dull, And often grasps her sword, and often eyes: In solemn shapes before the admiring eye Her crest a bough of Winter's bleakest pipe, Dilated hang the misty pines on high, Strange weeds and alpine plants her helm Huge convent - domes with pinnacles and

entwine, towers,

And wildly pausing oft she hangs aghast. And antique castles seen through drizzling While thrills the Spartan fife between the showers.



scape lull,

From such romantic dreams my soul awake, 'Tis storm, and hid in mist from hour to Lo! Fear looks silent down on Uri's lake;

hour, Where by the unpathwayed margin still All day the floods a deepening murmur pour;

and dread

The sky is veiled, and every cheerful sight: Was never heard the plodding peasant's tread: Dark is the region as with coming night; Tower like a wall the naked rocks, or reach But what a sudden burst of overpowering Far o'er the secret water dark with beach;

light! More high, to where creation seems to end, Triumphant on the bosom of the storm, Shade above shade the desert pines ascend. Glances the fire-clad eagle's wheeling form; Yet, with his infants, man undaunted creeps, Eastward, in long perspective glittering, And hangs his small wood-hut upon the steeps,

shine Where'er, below, amid the savage scene The wood-crowned cliffs that oe'r the lake Peeps out a little speck of smiling green.


Wide o'er the Alps a hundred streams anfold, ThenSummer lengthened out his season bland, At once to pillars turned that flame with gold; And with rock-honey flowed the happy land. Behind his sail the peasant strives to shun Continual fountains welling cheered the The west that burns like one dilated sun,

waste, Where in a mighty crucible expire And plants were wholesome, now of deadly The mountains,glowing hot,like coals of fire.

taste. Nor Winter yet his frozen stores had piled

Usurping where the fairest herbage smiled; And sure there is a secret Power that Nor Hunger forced the herds from pastures reigns

bare Here, where no trace of man the spot pro- For scanty food the treacherous cliffs to dare.


Then the milk - thistle bade those herds Nought but the herds that pastaring upward

demand creep

Three times a day the pail and welcome hand. Hung dim - discover'd from the dangerous But human vices have provoked the rod


Of angry Nature to avenge her God. Or summer-hamlet, flat and bare, on high Thus does the father to his sons relate, Suspended, 'mid the quiet of the sky. On the lone mountain - top, their changed How still! no irreligious sound or sight

estate. Rouses the soul from her severe delight. Still, Nature, ever just, to him imparts An idle voice the sabbath-region fills Joys only given to uncorrupted hearts. Of Deep that calls to Deep across the hills, When downward to his winter-hat he goes, Broke only by the melancholy sound, Dear and more dear the lessening circlegrows, of drowsy bells for ever tinkling round; That hut which from the hills his eyes Faint wail of eagle melting into blue

employs Beneath the cliffs, and pine - woods steady So oft, the central point of all his joys,


Where safely guarded by the woods behind The solitary heifer's deepend low; He hears the chiding of the baffled wind; Or rumbling heard remote of falling snow; Hears Winter, calling all his Terrors round, Save that, the stranger seen below, the boy Rush down the living rocks with whirlwindShouts from the echoing hills with savage

i sound. joy. Through Nature's vale his homely pleasures

glide :

Unstained by envy, discontent, and pride; When warm from myrtle-bays and tranquil The bound of all his vanity to deck

With one bright bell a favourite heifer's Comes on, to whisper hope, the vernal breeze;

neck: When hums the mountain-bee in May's glad Content, upon some simple annual feast,


(Remembered half the year, and hoped the And emerald isles to spot the heights appear;

rest,) When shouts and lowing herds the valley fill

, If dairy-produce, from his inner horrd, And louder torrents stun the noon-tide hill; Of thrice ten summers consecrate the board. When fragrant scents beneath th'enchanted

tread Spring up, his choicest wealth around him Gay lark of hope thy silent song resume!


Fair smiling lights the purpled hills illume! The pastoral Swiss begins the cliffs to scale, Soft gales and dews of life's delicious morn, To silence leaving the deserted vale, And thou, lost fragrance of the heart, return! Mounts, where the verdure leads, from stage Soon flies the little joy to man allowed,

to stage,

And grief before him travels like a cloud: And pastures on, as in the Patriarch's age: For come Diseases on, and Pennry's rage, O'er lofty heights serene and still they go, Labour and Care, and Pain, and dismal Age, And hear the rattling thunder far below. 'Till, hope-deserted, long in vain his breath They cross the chasmy torrent's foam-lit bed, Implores the dreadful untried sleep of Death. Rocked on the dizzy larch's narrow tread; -'Mid savage rocks, and seas of snow that Or steal beneath loose mountains, half de

shine terr'd,

Between interminable tracts of pine, That sigh and shudder to the lowing herd. A Temple stands;which holds an awful shrine, - see him, up the midway cliff he creeps By an uncertain light revealed, that falls To where a scanty knot of verdure peeps, On the mute Image and the troubled walls : Thence down the steep a pile of grass he Pale, dreadful faces round the shrine appear,


Abortive Joy, and Hope that works in fear; The fodder of his herds in winter-enowe. While strives a secret Power to hush the Far different life to what tradition hoar

crowd, Transmits of days more blest in times of Pain's wild rebellions burst proclaims her yore ;

righta aloud.



Oh! give not me that eye of hard disdain | But many days, and many months, That views undimmed Einsiedlen's wretched And many years ensuing,


This wretched Knight did vainly seek 'Mid muttering prayers all sounds of torment | The death that he was wooing :


| And coming back across the wave,
Dire clap of hands, distracted chafe of feet; Without a groan on Ellens grave
While loud and dull ascends the weeping cry, His body he extended,
Surely in other thoughts contempt may die. And there his sorrow ended.
If the sad grave of human ignorance bear
One flower of hope-Oh, pass and leave it


Now ye, who willingly have heard
The tale I have been telling,
May in Kirkonnel-churchyard view,
The grave of lovely Ellen:

By Ellen's side the Bruce is laid;

And, for the stone upon his head,
May no rude hand deface it,

And its forlorn Hic jacet!
Fair Ellen Irwin, when she sate
Upon the Braes of Kirtle,
Was lovely as a Grecian Maid
Adorned with wreaths of myrtle.
Young Adam Bruce beside her lay;

And there did they beguile the day
With love and gentle speeches,

I Met Louisa in the shade ;
Beneath the budding beeches.

And, having seen that lovely Maid,
Why should I fear to say

That she is ruddy, fleet, and strong ; From many Knights and many Squires And down the rocks can leap along, The Bruce had been selected;

Like rivulets in May ?
And Gordon, fairest of them all,
By Ellen was rejected.

And she hath smiles to earth unknown; Sad tidings to that noble Youth!

Smiles, that with motion of their own For it may be proclaimed with truth, Do spread, and sink, and rise; If Bruce hath loved sincerely,

That come and go with endless play,
That Gordon loves as dearly.

And ever, as they pass away,
Are hidden in her eyes.



But what is Gordon's beauteous face?
And what are Gordon's crosses
To them who sit by Kirtle's Braes
Upon the verdant mosses ?
Alas that ever he was born!
The Gordon, couched behind a thorn,
Sees them and their caressing,
Beholds them blest and blessing.

She loves her fire, her cottage-home;
Yet o'er the moorland will she roam
In weather rough and bleak;
And when against the wind she strains,
Oh! might I kiss the mountain-rains
That sparkle on her cheek.
Take all that's mine beneath the moon,
If I with her but half a noon
May sit beneath the walls
of some old cave, or mossy nook,
When up she winds along the brook,
To hunt the waterfalls.

Proud Gordon cannot bear the thoughts
That through his brain are travelling,
And, starting up, to Bruce's heart
He launched a deadly javelin !
Fair Ellen saw it when it came,
And, stepping forth to meet the same,
Did with her body cover
The Youth, her chosen lover,


And falling into Bruce's arms,
Thus died the beauteous Ellen,
Thus from the heart of her True-love
The mortal spear repelling.
And Bruce, as soon as he had slain
The Gordon, sailed away to Spain;
And fought with rage incessant
Against the Moorish Crescent.

'Tis said, that some have died for love:
And here and there a church-yard-grave is

In the cold North's unhallowed ground. -
Because the wretched man himself had slain,
His love was such a grievous pain.
And there is one, whom I five years have

known; He dwells alone

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