And let him, let him

go his

way,

Alone, and innocent, and gay!

For, if good Angels love to wait
On the forlorn unfortunate,

This Child will take no harm.

But now the passionate lament,

Which from the crowd on shore was sent, The cries which broke from old and young In Gaelic, or the English tongue,

Are stifled, all is still.

And quickly, with a silent crew,
A boat is ready to pursue;

And from the shore their course they take,
And swiftly down the running lake
They follow the blind Boy.

But soon they move with softer pace;
So have ye seen the fowler chase,
On Grasmere's clear, unruffled breast,
A youngling of the wild-duck's nest,
With deftly lifted oar;

Or as the wily sailors crept

To seize (while on the Deep it slept)
The hapless creature which did dwell
Erewhile within the dancing shell,

They steal upon their prey.

With sound the least that can be made,
They follow, more and more afraid,
More cautious as they draw more near;
But in his darkness he can hear,
And guesses their intent.

"Lei-gha,-Lei-gha," he then cried out, "Lei-gha,-Lei-gha,"-with eager shout; Thus did he cry, and thus did pray, And what he meant was, "Keep away, And leave me to myself!"

Alas! and when he felt their hands
You've often heard of magic wands,
That with a motion overthrow
A palace of the proudest show,

Or melt it into air:

So all his dreams, — that inward light

With which his soul had shone so bright,

All vanished; -'t was a heartfelt cross
To him, a heavy, bitter loss,

As he had ever known.

But hark! a gratulating voice,
With which the very hills rejoice:

"T is from the crowd, who tremblingly Have watched the event, and now can see That he is safe at last.

And then, when he was brought to land,
Full sure they were a happy band,
Which, gathering round, did on the banks
Of that great Water give God thanks,
And welcomed the poor Child.

And in the general joy of heart
The blind Boy's little dog took part;
He leapt about, and oft did kiss
His master's hands in sign of bliss,
With sound like lamentation.

But most of all, his Mother dear,
She who had fainted with her fear,
Rejoiced when waking she espies
The Child; when she can trust her eyes,
And touches the blind Boy.

She led him home, and wept amain,

When he was in the house again :

Tears flowed in torrents from her eyes;

She kissed him, - how could she chastise? She was too happy far.

Thus, after he had fondly braved

The perilous Deep, the Boy was saved;
And, though his fancies had been wild,
Yet he was pleased and reconciled

To live in peace on shore.

And in the lonely Highland dell
Still do they keep the Turtle-shell;
And long the story will repeat
Of the blind Boy's adventurous feat,
And how he was preserved.

Note. It is recorded in Dampier's Voyages, that a boy, son of the captain of a Man-of-War, seated himself in a Turtle-shell, and floated in it from the shore to his father's ship, which lay at anchor at the distance of half a mile. In deference to the opinion of a Friend, I have substituted such a shell for the less elegant vessel in which my blind Voyager did actually intrust himself to the dangerous current of Loch Leven, as was related to me by an eyewitness.

MEMORIALS OF A TOUR IN

SCOTLAND.

1814.

I.

SUGGESTED BY A BEAUTIFUL RUIN UPON ONE OF THE ISLANDS OF LOCH LOMOND, A PLACE CHOSEN FOR THE RETREAT OF A SOLITARY INDIVIDUAL, FROM WHOM THIS HABITATION ACQUIRED THE NAME OF

THE BROWNIE'S CELL.

I.

To barren heath, bleak moor, and quaking fen, Or depth of labyrinthine glen;

Or into trackless forest set

With trees, whose lofty umbrage met;
World-wearied Men withdrew of yore,
(Penance their trust, and prayer their store,)
And in the wilderness were bound

To such apartments as they found,
Or with a new ambition raised,
That God might suitably be praised.

II.

High lodged the Warrior, like a bird of prey, Or where broad waters round him lay: