Strewed o'er by loving hands!-But then 't would grieve me
Too sore, forsooth! the scene my fancy drew ;-

I could not bear the thought, to die and leave ye;
And I have lived, dear friends! to weep for you.

And I have lived to prove that fading flowers

Are life's best joys, and all we love and prizeWhat chilling rains succeed the summer showers, What bitter drops, wrung slow from elder eyes.

And I have lived to look on Death and dying,

To count the sinking pulse-the shortening breath,-
To watch the last faint life-streak flying-flying,-
To stoop-to start-to be alone with-Death.

And I have lived to wear the smile of gladness,
When all within was cheerless, dark, and cold-
When all earth's joys seemed mockery and madness,
And life more tedious than "a tale twice told."

And now-and now, pale pining Melancholy!
No longer veil'd for me your haggard brow
In pensive sweetness-such as youthful folly
Fondly conceited- I abjure ye now!

Away-avaunt! No longer now I call ye
"Divinest Melancholy! mild, meek maid!"
No longer may your siren spells enthrall me,
A willing captive in your baleful shade.

Give me the voice of mirth, the sound of laughter--
The sparkling glance of Pleasure's roving eye.
The past is past.-Avaunt, thou dark hereafter!
"Come, eat and drink-to-morrow we must die!"

So, in his desperate mood, the fool hath spoken-
The fool whose heart hath said "there is no God."
But for the stricken heart, the spirit broken,
There's balm in Gilead yet. The very rod,

If we but kiss it, as the stroke descendeth,
Distilleth balm to allay the inflicted smart,
And "Peace that passeth understanding," blendeth
With the deep sighing of the contrite heart.

Mine be that holy, humble tribulation

No longer feign'd distress-fantastic woe,I know my griefs,-but then my consolationMy trust, and my immortal hopes, I know.

A FAIRY TALE.*

A SHORT time before the rising of the Presbyterians, which terminated in the rout at Pentland, a young gentleman, of the naine of Elliot, had been called by business to Edinburgh. On his way homeward, he resolved to pay a visit to an old friend of the name of Scott, whose residence was either upon the banks of the Tweed or some of its larger tributaries, for on this point the tradition is not very distinct. Elliot stopped at a small house of entertainment not far from Scott's mansion, in order to give his parting directions to a servant he was despatching home with some commissions.

The signs of the times had not altogether escaped the notice of our hero. The people were quiet, but reserved, and their looks expressed any thing but satisfaction. In Edinburgh there were musterings and inspections of troops, and expresses to and from London were hourly departing and arriving. As Elliot travelled along, he had more than once encountered small parties of military reconnoitring the country, or hastening to some post which had been assigned them. Fewer labourers were to be seen in the fields than was usual at the season. The cottars lounged before their doors, ind gazed after the passing warriors with an air of sullen apathy. There was no violence or disturbance on the part of the peoplethere had as yet been no arrestments-but it was evident to the most careless, that hostile suspicion was rapidly taking the place of that inactive dislike which had previously existed between the governors and the governed.

It was natural that, in such a state of the national temper, affairs of state should form the chief subject of gossip around the fireside of a country inn. Elliot was not surprised, while sitting at the long deal table, giving directions to his servant, to hear the name of his friend frequent in the mouths of the peasantry. It was a matterof-course that at such a period the motions and inclinations of a wealthy and active landholder of old family should be jealously watched. But it struck him that Scott's name was always uttered in a low hesitating tone, as if the speakers were labouring under a high degree of awe. He continued, therefore, sometime after he had dismissed his attendant, sitting as if lost in thought, but anxiously listening to the desultory conversation dropping around him, like the few shots of a distant skirmish. The allusions of the peasants were chiefly directed to his friend's wife. She was beautiful and kind, but there was an unearthly light in her dark eye.

From "The Edinburgh Literary Journal.”

Then there was a dark allusion to a marriage on the hill-side-far from human habitation-to the terror of the clergyman who officiated, at meeting so lovely a creature in so lonely a place. The Episcopalian predilections of the family of Scott were not passed unnoticed. And it seemed universally admitted, that the house had been given over to the glamour and fascination of some unearthly being. The power of a leader so connected, in the impending strife, was the subject of dark forebodings.

Rather amused to find his old crony become a person of such consequence, Elliot discharged his reckoning, mounted his steed, and on reaching Scott's residence, was warmly and cheerfully welcomed. He was immediately introduced to the lady, whom he regarded with a degree of attention which he would have been ashamed to confess to himself was in some degree owing to the conversation he had lately overheard. She was a figure of a fairy size, delicately proportioned, with not one feature or point of her form to which any objection could be urged. Her rich brown hair clustered down her neck, and lay in massive curls upon her bosom. Her complexion was delicate in the extreme, and the rich blood mantled in her face at every word. Her eyes were a rich brownish hazel, and emitted an almost preternatural light, but there was nothing ungentle in their expression. The honey-moon had not elapsed, and she stood before the admiring traveller in all the beauty of a bride-the most beautiful state of woman's existence-when, to the unfolding delicate beauty of girlhood, is superadded the flush of a fuller consciousness of existence, the warmth of affection which dare now utter itself unchecked, the first half-serious, half-playful assumption of matronly dignity. After a brief interchange of compliment with her guest, she left the apartment, either because "the house affairs called her thence," or because she wished to leave the friends to the indulgence of an unrestrained confidential conversation.

"A perfect fairy queen," said Elliot, as the door closed behind her. "So you have already heard that silly story?" answered his host. "Well! I have no right to complain, for I have only myself to thank for it." Elliot requested that he would explain his meaning, and he in compliance narrated "his whole course of wooing." "I was detained abroad, as you well know, for some years after his majesty's restoration, partly on account of the dilapidated state of my fortunes, and partly because I wished to prosecute the career of arms I had commenced. It is now about nine months since I returned to my native country. It was a gloomy day as I approached home. You remember the foot-path which strikes across the hill behind the house, from the bed of the stream which

mingles, about a mile below us, with that on whose banks we now are. Where it separates from the public road, I gave my horse to the servant, intending to pursue the by-path alone, resolved that no one should watch my emotions when I again beheld the home of my fathers. I was looking after the lad, when I heard the tread of horses close behind me. On turning, I saw a tall, elderly gentleman, of commanding aspect, and by his side a young lady upon a slender milk-white palfrey. I need not describe her, you have seen her to-day. I was struck with the delicacy of her features, the sweet smile upon her lips, and the living fire that sparkled from her eyes. I gazed after her until a turning of the road concealed her from my view.

"It was in vain that I inquired among my relations and acquaintances. No person was known in the neighbourhood such as I described her. The impression she left upon me, vivid though it was at the moment, had died away, when one day, as I was walking near the turn of the road where I had lost her, she again rode past me with the same companion. The sweet smile, the glance of the eye, were heightened this time by a blush of recognition. The pair were soon lost to me round the elbow of the road. I hurried on, but they had disappeared. The straggling trees which obscured the view, ceased at a bridge which stood a couple of gunshots before me. Before I could reach it, I caught a glimpse of the companions. They were at the edge of the stream, a little above the bridge their horses were drinking. I pressed onward, but before I cleared the intervening trees and reached the bridge, they had disappeared. There was a small break in the water immediately beneath the place where they had stood. For a moment, I thought I must have mistaken its whiteness for the white palfrey, but the glance I had got of them was too clear to have been an illusion. Yet no road led in that direction. I examined the banks on both sides of the river, but that on which I saw them was too hard to receive a hoof-print, and the opposite bank was loose shingle, which refused to retain it when made. The exceeding beauty of the maiden, the mysterious nature of her disappearance, the irritable humour into which I had worked myself by conjectures and an unavailing search, riveted her impression upon my memory. I traversed the country, telling my story, and making incessant inquiry. In vain! No one knew of such a person. The peasants began to look strangely on me, and whisper in each other's ears, I had been deluded by some Nixy. And God knows what old prophecies regarding my family were remembered, or manufactured for the occasion.

"Five months passed away in vain pursuit. My pertinacity was

beginning to relax, when one evening, returning from a visit to our friend Whitelee, I heard a clashing of swords on the road before me. Two fellows ran off as I rode hastily up, leaving a gentleman, who had vigorously defended himself against their joint assault. Are you hurt, sir?' was my first inquiry.-'I fear I am,' replied the stranger, whom I immediately recognised as the companion of the mysterious beauty. Can I assist you?'-He looked earnestly at me, and with an expression of hesitation on his countenance. Henry Scott, you are a man of honour.'-He paused, but immediately resumed. I have no choice, and I dare trust a soldier. Lend me your arm, sir. My dwelling is not far from here.' I accompanied him, he leaning heavily upon me, for the exertion of the combat had shaken his frame, and the loss of blood weakened him. We followed the direction he indicated for nearly half an hour round the trackless base of a hill, until we came in sight of one of those old grey towers which stud our ravines. 'There,' said my companion, pointing to the ruins. I recognised it immediately. It stood not far distant from the place where he and his fair fellow-traveller had disappeared, and had often been examined by me, but always in vain.

Turning an angle of the building we approached a heap of debris, which in one part encumbered its base. Putting aside some tangled briers which clustered around, he showed me a narrow entry between the ruins and the wall. Passing up this, he stopped before a door, and gave three gentle knocks; it opened, and we were admitted into a rude narrow vault. It was tenanted, as I had anticipated, by his fair companion. As soon as her alarm at seeing her father return exhausted, bleeding, and in company with a stranger, was stilled, and the old man's wound dressed, he turned to explain to me the circumstances in which I found him. His story was brief. He was of good family; had killed a cadet of a noble house, and was obliged to screen himself from its resentment by darning in ruins and holes of the earth. In all his wanderings his gentle daughter had never quitted his side.

"I need not weary you with the further details of our growing acquaintance. It is the common story of a young man and woman thrown frequently into each other's company in a lonely place. But oh! tame though it may appear to others, the mere memory of the three months of my life which followed is ecstasy. I saw her daily-in that unfrequented spot there was small danger of intrusion, and she dared range the hill-side freely. We walked, and sat, and talked together in the birchen wood beneath the tower. And we felt our love unfold itself as their leaves spread out to the advancing summer. There was no check in the tranquil progress