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Taught by his summer spent, his autumn

gone, That Life is but a tale of morning grass Withered at eve. From scenes of art which

chase That thought away, turn, and with watchful

eyes Feed it 'mid Nature's old felicities, Rocks, rivers, and smooth lakes more clear than

glass Untouched, unbreathed upon. Thrice happy

quest, If from a golden perch of aspen spray 10 (October's workmanship to rival May) The pensive warbler of the ruddy breast That moral sweeten by a heaven-taught lay, Lulling the year, with all its cares, to rest !

VII.

THE pibroch's note, discountenanced or mute;
The Roman kilt, degraded to a toy
Of quaint apparel for a half-spoilt boy;
The target mouldering like ungathered fruit;
The smoking steam-boat eager in pursuit, 5
As eagerly pursued; the unibrella spread
To weather-fend the Celtic herdsman's head-
All speak of manners withering to the root,
And of old honours, too, and passions high :
Then may we ask, though pleased that thought
should range

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Among the conquests of civility,
Survives imagination—to the change
Superior ? Help to virtue does she give ?
If not, O Mortals, better cease to live !

VIII.

COMPOSED IN THE GLEN OF LOCH ETIVE. “This Land of Rainbows spanning glens whose

walls, Rock-built, are hung with rainbow-coloured

mistsOf far-stretched Meres whose salt flood never

restsOf tuneful Caves and playful Waterfalls- 4 Of Mountains varying momently their crests—. Proud be this Land! whose poorest huts are

balls Where Fancy entertains becoming guests; While native song the heroic Past recalls." Thus, in the net of her own wishes caught, 9 The Muse exclaimed; but Story now must hide Her trophies, Fancy crouch; the course of

pride Has been diverted, other lessons taught, That make the Patriot-spirit bow her head Where the all-conquering Roman feared to

tread.

IX.

EAGLES. Composed at Dunollie Castle in the Bay of Oban. DISHONOURED Rock and Ruin! that, by law Tyrannic, keep the Bird of Jove em barred Like a lone criminal whose life is spared. Vexed is he, and screams loud. The last I saw Was on the wing; stooping, he struck with awe Man, bird, and beast; then, with a consort

paired,

From a bold headland, their loved aery's guard,
Flew high above Atlantic waves, to draw
Light from the fountain of the setting sun.
Such was this Prisoner once; and when his
plumes

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The sea-blast ruffles as the storm comes on,
Then, for a moment, he, in spirit, resumes
His rank 'mong freeborn creatures that live

free, His power, his beauty, and his majesty.

IN THE SOUND OF MULL. TRADITION, be thou mute! Oblivion, throw Thy veil in mercy o'er the records, hung Round strath and mountain, stamped by the

ancient tongue On rock and ruin darkening as we go,Spots where a word, ghost-like, survives to

show What crimes from hate, or desperate love, have

sprung; From honour misconceived, or fancied wrong, What feuds, not quenched but fed by mutual

woe. Yet, though a wild vindictive Race, untamed By civil arts and labours of the pen, Could gentleness be scorned by those fierce

Men, Who, to spread wide the reverence they

claimed For patriarchal occupations, named Yon towering Peaks,“ Shepherds of Etive

Glen ?"1

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1 In Gaelic, Buachaill Eite.

XI.

SUGGESTED AT TYNDRUM IN A STORM. Enough of garlands, of the Arcadian crook, And all that Greece and Italy have sung Of Swains reposing myrtle groves among ! Ours couch on naked rocks,—will cross a brook Swoln with chill rains, nor ever cast a look 5 This way or that, or give it even a thought More than by smoothest pathway may be

brought Into a vacant mind. Can written book Teach what they learn ? Up, hardy Mountaineer! And guide the Bard, ambitious to be One 10 Of Nature's privy council, as thou art, On cloud-sequestered heights, that see and hear To what dread Powers He delegates his part On Earth, who works in the heaven of heavens,

alone.

XII.

THE EARL OF BREADALBANE'S RUINED MANSION,

AND FAMILY BURIAL-PLACE, NEAR KILLIN. WELL sang the Bard who called the grave, in

strains Thoughtful and sad, the “narrow house.” No

style Of fond sepulchral flattery can beguile Grief of her sting; nor cheat, where he detains The sleeping dust, stern Death. How reconcile 5 With truth, or with each other, decked remains Of a once warm Abode, and that new Pile, For the departed, built with curious pains And mausolean pomp? Yet here they stand 9 Together,—’mid trim walks and artful bowers,

To be looked down upon by ancient hills,
That, for the living and the dead, demand
And prompt a harmony of genuine powers;
Concord that elevates the mind, and stills.

XIII.

“REST AND BE THANKFUL !"

At the Head of Glencroe. DOUBLING and doubling with laborious walk, Who, that has gained at length the wished-for

Height, This brief this simple way-side Call can slight, And rests not thankful ? Whether cheered by

talk With some loved friend, or by the unseen hawk Whistling to clouds and sky-born streams, that shine

6 At the sun's outbreak, as with light divine, Ere they descend to nourish root and stalk Of valley flowers. Nor, while the limbs repose, Will we forget that, as the fowl can keep 10 Absolute stillness, poised aloft in air, And fishes front, unmoved, the torrent’ssweep,So may the Soul, through powers that Faith

bestows, Win rest, and ease, and peace, with bliss that

Angels share.

XIV.

HIGHLAND HUT. SEE what gay wild flowers deck this earth-built

Cot, Whose smoke, forth-issuing whence and how it

may,

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