Imatges de pÓgina
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shepherds knew it themselves, did Fingal know that they were anxious to reach Glencoe. He led the way as if he were in moonlight; and often stood still when they were shifting their burden, and whined as if in grief. He knew where the bridges were-stones or logs; and he rounded the marshes where at springs the wild fowl feed. And thus instinct, and reason, and faith, conducted the saving band along,-and now they are at Glencoe, and at the door of the hut.

39. To life were brought the dead; and there, at midnight, sat they up like ghosts. Strange seemed they for a while to each others' eyes, and at each other they looked as if they had forgotten how dearly once they loved. Then, as if in holy fear, they gazed in each others' faces, thinking that they had awoke together in heaven. "Flora!" said Ronald,—and that sweet word, the first he had been able to speak, reminded him of all that had passed, and he knew that the God in whom they had put their trust had sent them deliverance. Flora, too, knew her parents, who were on their knees; and she strove to rise up and kneel down beside them, but she was powerless as a broken reed; and when she thought to join with them in thanksgiving, her voice was gone. Still as death sat all the people in the hut, and one or two who were fathers were not ashamed to weep.-John Wilson (Christopher North).

ant'-lers

un-hes'-it-at-ing

mo'-ment-ar-i-ly
de-liv'-er-ance

pow'-er-less
gleam'-ings

MISCELLANEOUS POETRY.

XX.

THE FUGITIVES.

[The idea of this poem is the following. The daughter of the lord of the castle is about to be married, against her will, to a bridegroom chosen by her father. On a wild stormy night the lover whom she prefers carries her off by sea.]

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II.

"Our boat has one sail,

And the helmsman is pale—
A bold pilot, I trow,"

Who should follow us now?
Shouted he.

And she cried: “Ply the oar;
Put off gaily from shore!"

1

As she spoke, bolts of death,
Mixed with hail, specked their path
O'er the sea:

And from isle, tower, and rock,
The blue beacon-cloud broke:
And, though dumb in the blast,
The red cannon flashed fast

From the lee.

III.

And "Fear'st thou ?" and "Fear'st thou ? "2

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And "See'st thou ? and "Hear'st thou ?"

And "Drive we not free

O'er the terrible sea,

I and thou ?"

One boat-cloak did cover

The loved and the lover:

Their blood beats one measure,
They murmur proud pleasure
Soft and low :-

While around the lashed ocean,
Like mountains in motion,

Is withdrawn and uplifted,
Sunk, shattered, and shifted,
To and fro.

IV.

In the court of the fortress,
Beside the pale portress,

Like a bloodhound well beaten
The bridegroom stands, eaten
By shame.

On the topmost watch-turret,
As a death-boding spirit,
Stands the gray tyrant father;
To his voice the mad weather
Seems tame;

And with curses as wild
As e'er clung to child,
He devotes to the blast

The best, loveliest, and last,
Of his name!

light'-nings

Shelley.

helms'-man 1 can'-non

XXI.

ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE (1).

THE GIFT OF MY COUSIN, ANN BODHAM.

OH that those lips had language! Life has pass'd With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Those lips are thine-thy own sweet smile I see, The same that oft in childhood solaced me;

5 Voice only fails, else how distinct they say,
"Grieve not my child, chase all thy fears away
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes
Blest be the art that can immortalise,"

The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim 10 To quench it1!) here shines on me still the same. Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,

O welcome guest, though unexpected here!
Who bidst me honour, with an artless song,
Affectionate, a mother lost so long.

15 I will obey, not willingly alone,

But gladly, as the precept were her own;
And, while that face renews my filial grief,
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief,
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,*

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20 A momentary dream that thou art she.

My mother! when I learn'd that thou wast dead, Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed? Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, Wretch even then,2 life's journey just begun ? 25 Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in blissAh, that maternal smile!-it answers-Yes. I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, 30 And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! But was it such ?-It was. -Where thou art gone Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, 35 The parting words shall pass my lips no more! Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern, Oft gave me promise of thy quick return.

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