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The lowly grass! water-constant mind !

Fast-ebbing holiness !--soon-failing grace
Of serious thought, as if the gushing wind

Through the low porch had wash'd it from the face
For ever! - How they lift their eyes to find

Old vanities.- Pride wins the very place
Of meekness, like a bird, and flutters now
With idle wings on the curl-conscious brow !

23.
And lo! with eager looks they seek the way

Of old temptation at the lowly gate ;
To feast on feathers, and on vain array,

And painted cheeks, and the rich glistering state
Of jewel-sprinkled locks. But where are they,

The graceless haughty ones that used to wait
With lofty neck, and nods, and stiffen'd eye?--
None challenge the old homage bending by.

24.
In vain they look for the ungracious bloom

Of rich apparel where it glow'd before,
For Vanity has faded into gloom,
And lofty Pride

has stiffen'd to the core,
And impious Life leaf-trembles at its doom,-

Set for a warning token evermore,
Whereon, as now, the giddy and the wise
Shall gaze with lifted hands and wond'ring eyes.

25.
The aged priest goes on each sabbath morn,

But shakes not sorrow under his grey hair ;
The solemn clerk goes lavender'd and shorn,

Nor stoops his back to the ungodly pair ;-
And ancient lips that pucker'd up in scorn,

Go smoothly breathing to the house of pray'r;
And in the garden-plot, from day to day,
The lily blooms its long white life away.

26.
And where two haughty maidens used to be,

In pride of plume, where plumy Death had trod,
Trailing their gorgeous velvets wantonly,

Most unmeet pall, over the holy sod ;-
There, gentle stranger, thou may'st only see

Two sombre Peacocks.Age, with sapient nod
Marking the spot, still tarries to declare

How they once lived, and wherefore they are there. If any man, in his unbelief, should doubt the truth and manner of this occurrence, he may in an easy way be assured thereof to his satisfaction, by going to Bedfont, a journey of some thirteen miles, where, in the churchyard, he may with his own eyes behold the two peacocks. They seem at first sight to be of yew-tree, which they greatly resemble; but on drawing nearer, he will perceive, cut therein, the date 1704-being, without doubt, the year of their transformation.

Ovid.

LUKE LORANCE, THE CAMERONIAN.
I sought my home-my father's home, and stood
In mute deep sorrow on the threshold stone,
Passing my palm o'er my oft dropping eyes.
No maiden sister now, nor long-gown'd dame,
Nor merry hind, nor grave grey-headed sire,
With outheld hand and kindred smile came forth
To greet and welcome me. Woe, and alas !
The hall was roofless and the hearth was cold :-
The gladsome hearth, where rustic poets sang,
Where matrons 'mongst their menial maidens smiled,
And ancient hinds, with wise saws and strange stories,
Gave wings to winter-nights-was silent now.
A hemlock large and flowering, green and long,
Shot up and shadow'd all the western nook,
Where oft I gazed in my old grandsire's face,
And heard him talk of civil wars and sorrows
At home felt and abroad. Domestic feud,
Friends' deadly enmity, nor famine dread,
Nor spotted plague, nor stroke of heaven's right hand,
Nor midnight fire far flashing o'er the walls
Had desolate laid my home, and driven my kin
To the pent city or the foreign shore.
For one had fallen in ripe and ready age,
One sank in seventeen's green and tender bud,
One perish'd in a far and friendless land,
One slew a false friend and his country fled,
One died a victor on a bloody field,
One, when the fight wax'd dubious, wound his pennon
About his breast, and with his bayonet stood
Defending it, and died. One sank at sea
In sight of hone- his mother heard his shriek,
And running wildly to the sea-merge saw
The last of her fair-hair'd sea-boy. One was struck
With shot, while he his colours to the mast
Naild, and amid the bloody foam went down,
Faint-shouting with his crew of gallant mariners.
So was my name from Scotland wede away,

And thus my house sank down. An absence of forty years in a fo- than the sunniest and richest regions reign land, amid perils and sorrows, of the east. I went ashore, and sought and all the varieties of evil fortune, the way to my native village. The had failed to subdue that love of houses, covered at my departure with home which belongs to every human heather or broom, now sparkled in heart. It was on a summer morning blue slate, and the way which forwhen my ship entered the Scottish merly winded through a wilderness of sea, and the hills and the woody hazel, holly, and wild plum, was vales of my native land began to ap- now drawn as straight as a line ; pear in succession before me as we while a rude fence of shapeless stone sailed along the coast. I had seen prevented the traveller from seeking more lovely hills and richer vallies, the company of a little brook which had wandered where we crushed at still pursued unmolested its ancient every step the clusters of ripe grapes, freakish and fairy course. The vilor trod among fragrant berries and lage had been compelled by a new scented herbs—but early joys and purchaser to dismiss its ancient name, remembrances had consecrated the and assume the sirname of an opurugged hill and the lonesome glen, lent plodder from the West Indies. and Scotland was dearer to me in This change was but partially effecther homely garb of heath and grass ed; the old people, who have no alaVol. VÍ.

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crity in forming new friendships, had taken place in the name of my treated the name of their new land- native place. The board announced lord with open scornand the young, something else-namely, the hostility who are more tractable in such mat- of the people to their new landlordters, contented themselves with mo- for, shattered by a thousand stones, it derate merriment. In leases and in required some skill in conjecture to deeds the new name appeared, and stumble on its meaning. also in a grant to the poor of the pa- In this very scrutiny I was emrish sedulously emblazoned in gold ployed, when I observed an old woon the walls of the parish kirk; but man in a white mutch and closely the old name still maintained its mauded, bent near the ground, and ground in tale, in song, and in con- leaning over a staff, gazing intently versation, and bade fair to triumph in upon me from the low door of a little time over the new one.

cottage just opposite. I approached The name of the village had not and said, “ Where are the Halbertundergone a greater change than the sons, the Hallidays, the Herries's, and houses and the people. The house all the old names of Nithsdale, which which had sheltered my name for were once so rife in this village ?" centuries-I see it before me as I She drew her eye-brows deeply over speak, with its sharp gabels, crow- her eyes, and after pondering on my stepped skews, arched door-way, person for some time, said, “ A sad floor of hewn-stone, and huge hall hour for Herries and for Halbertson, chimney, where fifty people might when the one must ask of the other find comfort in a snowy night-the what is become of their kin-I am all house of my fathers had been cast that remains of the house of Halbertdown, and a new house with a flat son, and seven fair daughters, and roof and Venetian windows'occupied seven bold sons, once sat at the board, its place. The name of the posses- and ye are all that remains of the sor too was changed from plain house of Herries--a noble name and Emanuel Herries, portioner of fifty a brave, with fair castles and broad acres of land, into “ John Macfen, lands—but wherefore need I sigh? Esq. writer," - whose ready pen and time, and civil dissension, and foreign shrewd spirit had assisted largely in war, make the lofty low and the low the transfer of property from old lofty. Names have their changes, hands to new, while every new change even as the seasons have, and I see brought a large tribute of hill and not why the Robsons and Rodans, holm, and good red gold, into the and all other names which were once possession of this region kite. Other the lowest spokes in the wheel of forhouses and other names had under- tune, should not turn uppermost at gone similar changes—there appear- last. They are a civil and a kinded more exterior beauty about the hearted people-skilful in flocks and houses, but less internal comfort—all in herds, and cunning in the culture seemed anxious to show a carved of corn-more by token William and gilded outside, but two or three Robson never passes my door from experiments taught me that the market or from mill but he leaves hearty patriarchal hospitality of the me something to remember him by. people had undergone a momentous But if ye would learn the fate of the change since my departure. My re- Herries's, go look among the long lations—my friends—the companions ranks of grave stones in the parish of my youth, were all dead, departed, kirk-yard. There they lie with their or dispersed. I enquired after some memorials above them—thou wilt of the ancient names—a shake of the find grave succeeding grave of thy head, and “ I never heard of the fa- kindred and mine; the feet of the mily before,” or “ They are all dead Halbertsons to the heads of the Her

They have gone ries's--wherefore thy name should unaway to a distant land,” were gene- dergo such humiliation I know not, rally the answers which I obtained. save that there is no precedence in the

Sick at heart, and sorrowful in spi- court of death, and his dart levels all rit, I strolled to the extremity of the distinctions-even the more pity. village, and stood looking on a tall And that reminds me to go and pole which carried a board at its ex- read a page or two of that glorious tremity exhibiting the change which youth Rutherford.” And adjusting

and gone,

or

a

a

a pair of silver-spectacles before her It stood in a sweet and lonesome dim eyes, she turned herself round to place, at the entrance of a wild and retire.

caverned linn. An old tree hung “ Dame Halbertson," I said, “ forty down from the upper ground, overyears have I remained in a far land, shadowing the roof, while through, nor heard one word of my kindred among its thick green branches, a line what is become of them and their of thin white smoke, such as ascends lands and their towers?”—“Become from a summer fire, found its way to of them,” said the old dame, appa- the wind-then visibly breathing an rently marvelling at my question— mong the boughs which waved over “the sea has had its share-so has the the linn. A brook, escaping from destroyer's sword.- Sorrow has also among woods and rocks,came streamcraved her morsel-old age came last, ing by, and, lingering amid a little and was worst served-seven years holm, formed a pleasant pool midsince, I stretched with these two wi- waist deep, where a maiden had laid thered hands all that I thought re- down a web of linen to bleach, and mained of the ancient house of Her- on the margin of which a brood of ries. His looks were stately, and his ducks sat dozing. The house itself locks were long and white as the was of rude construction-built more driven snow. I shall never look on with an eye to self-denial and penesuch a manly form again, for the tential humility, than with a desire of stamp of God is fast wearing out of rational delight and comfort. The the race of man. And of the lands walls were of clay, hardened with a did ye ask, and the old towers? Alas, inixture of gravel; the roof was cothat the enthusiastic and devout vered with a thick coating of heather, spirit of thy name should have les- while a bundle of long broom, cut in sened thy inheritance and cast down blossom, and bound with withies, thy halls--but the house of Herries formed an effectual hallan or screen stood fearlessly for the covenant to shelter the entrance. The door through a period of sore peril—and stood open-doors then were seldom the glory they won above, diminished closed save against winter storms, their substance below. They are and I entered, without any announcegone, and none to mourn their depar- inent, the residence of my ancient ture but Luke Lorance and me.” - friend. “ Luke Lorance,” I said, “and does The house seemed deserted by its my old school companion still live-I owner-and I stood for a time and shall think the sun gives little light looked on the rude furniture and the till I see him—where shall I find my scanty means of human comfort which old and merry friend?” Dame Hal- were presented. As I looked, I saw bertson laid her finger on her lip, and something in the form of a human came close to my side:—"Forty years being, stretched out the chimney change human cheer, and they have length-groveling beside and almost sorely changed Luke Lorance; much among the warm ashes of the hearth he endured in the days of per- fire. I went closer, and soon obsecution, and with a sword in his served that it was one of those quiet right hand and the Bible in his left, and gentle idiots who formerly wanhe fought and prayed, and warred, dered about their native parish findand meditated on mountain tops and ing food and shelter--the questionlonesome places, and now his spirit is able wisdom and humanity of man at times touched, and he thinks the pe- has since immured them in the counriod of dool and disaster has returned, ty mad-house, and deprived the peaand so he takes up his abode in wild santry of much harmless merriment, hills and deep glens, and prays, and social amusement, and some of those preaches, and lifts up his voice a- quaint and pithy sayings on which gainst the pressing abominations of lunacy oftener stumbles than wisdom. these godless times—till it is awful to He was clothed in very coarse grey see and fearful to hear him. He has cloth, without shoes or bonnet, and, left his ancient abode, and built him- raising himself on his hands, he lay self a house in the mouth of the Ca- and looked on me as a house dog meronian linn—and there will you find would do, and growled out what him.” And away I walked to seek seemed the remains of one of our old out the residence of Luke Lorance. minstrel ballads.

ON TWEED STREAM SAT A SCOTTISH MAIDEN,

1.
On Tweed stream sat a Scottish maiden,

A-kaming her silken hair,
To the other side came a southron dame,

To douk her white breasts there.

2.
And up then sang that southron dame,

And loudly lilted she;
Now who would swim Tweed's silver stream

To reave sic geer as thee.

3.
My gay gos-hawk flew over the Tweed,

At the rising of the sun,
And she came back wi' the Scotch thistle top,
To rowe her gorlines in.

4.
And up then sang that Scottish maiden,

And loudly lilted she,-
We pluck'd the wing of thy gay gos-hawk,

Down by the greenwood tree.

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He concluded his ballad abruptly the floor and chaunted in a slow and -gazed on me with much earnest- sorrowful tone the following verses, ness, and uttering a low and melan- which seemed to allude to the advencholy cry of recognition, lay down on tures of some of my kindred.

GENTLE HUGH HERRIES.

1.
Go seek in the wild glen,

Where streamlets are falling ;
Go seek on the lone hill,

Where curlews are calling ;
Go seek when the clear stars

Shine down without number,
For there will ye find him
My true love in slumber.

2.
They sought in the wild glen-

The glen was forsaken;
They sought on the mountain,

'Mang lang lady-bracken;
And sore, sore, they hunted

My true love to find him,
With the strong bands of airn

To fetter and bind him.

3.
Yon green hill I'll give thee,

Where the falcon is flying,
To show me the den where

This bold traitor's lying-
O make me of Nithsdale's

Fair princedom the heiress,
Is that worth one smile of

My gentle Hugh Herries?

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