Withered at eve. Frem 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.
(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 steamboat eager in pursuit,
As eagerly pursued; the umbrella spread
To weather-fend the Celtic herdsman's head,
All speak of manners withering to the root,
And of old honors, too, and passions high:
Then may we ask, though pleased that thought
should range

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-colored mists,Of far-stretched Meres whose salt flood never rests,

Of tuneful Caves and playful Waterfalls,
Of Mountains varying momently their crests,
Proud be this Land! whose poorest huts are halls
Where Fancy entertains becoming guests;
While native song the heroic Past recalls."
Thus, in the net of her own wishes caught,
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 Dunolly Castle in the Bay of Oban. DISHONORED Rock and Ruin! that, by law Tyrannic, keep the Bird of Jove embarred 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
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.

X.

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 honor misconceived, or fancied wrong,
What feuds, not quenched but fed by mutual woe.
Yet, though a wild, vindictive Race, untamed
By civil arts and labors 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?"*

*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
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
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

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
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.

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?

talk

Whether cheered by

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

shine

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
Absolute stillness, poised aloft in air,

And fishes front, unmoved, the torrent's sweep, –