This delightful creature and her demeanour are particularly described in my Sister's Journal. The sort of prophecy with which the verses conclude has, through God's goodness, been realised; and now, approaching the close of my 73d year, I have a most vivid remembrance of her and the beautiful objects with which she was surrounded. She is alluded to in the Poem of "The Three Cottage Girls" among my Continental Memorials. In illustration of this class of poems I have scarcely anything to say beyond what is anticipated in my Sister's faithful and admirable Journal. SWEET Highland Girl, a very shower Of beauty is thy earthly dower! Twice seven consenting years have shed Their utmost bounty on thy head: And these grey rocks; that household lawn; Those trees, a veil just half withdrawn; A murmur near the silent lake; 10 20 With earnest feeling I shall pray In which more plainly I could trace Thou art to me but as a wave 30 40 50 60 Now thanks to Heaven! that of its grace Hath led me to this lonely place. As fair before me shall behold, 70 Where sights were rough, and sounds were wild, And everything unreconciled; In some complaining, dim retreat, Does then the Bard sleep here indeed? Was moved; and in such way expressed But something deeper far than these: VII STEPPING WESTWARD 1803. 1807 20 30 While my Fellow-traveller and I were walking by the side of Loch Ketterine, one fine evening after sunset, in our road to a Hut where, in the course of our Tour, we had been hospitably entertained some weeks before, wa met, in one of the loneliest parts of that solitary region, two well-dressed Women, one of whom said to us, by way of greeting, "What, you are stepping westward ?" "What, you are stepping westward?". "Yea." 'T would be a wildish destiny, If we, who thus together roam In a strange Land, and far from home, Were in this place the guests of Chance: Yet who would stop, or fear to advance, Though home or shelter he had none, With such a sky to lead him on ? The dewy ground was dark and cold; I liked the greeting; 't was a sound The voice was soft, and she who spake Its power was felt; and while my eye The first three lines were thrown off at the moment I first caught sight of the Ruin from a small eminence by the wayside; the rest was added many years after. "From the top of the hill a most impressive scene opened upon our view, a ruined Castle on an Island (for an Island the flood had made it) at some distance from the shore, backed by a Cove of the Mountain Cruachan, down which came a foaming stream. The Castle occupied every foot of the Island that was visible to us, appearing to rise out of the water, -mists rested upon the mountain side, with spots of sunshine; there was a mild desolation in the low grounds, a solemn grandeur in the mountains, and the Castle was wild, yet statelynot dismantled of turrets - nor the walls broken down, though obviously a ruin." — Extract from the Journal of my Companion. CHILD of loud-throated War! the mountain Stream Roars in thy hearing; but thy hour of rest Is come, and thou art silent in thy age; Save when the wind sweeps by and sounds are caught Ambiguous, neither wholly thine nor theirs. Youthful as Spring. Shade of departed Power, Skeleton of unfleshed humanity, The chronicle were welcome that should call Into the compass of distinct regard Its dizzy turbulence eludes the eye, 40 And quieted in character — the strife, X ROB ROY'S GRAVE 1803. 1807 I have since been told that I was misinformed as to the burial-place of Rob Roy. If so, I may plead in excuse that I wrote on apparently good authority, namely, that of a welleducated Lady who lived at the head of the Lake, within a mile or less of the point indicated as containing the remains of One so famous in the neighbourhood. The history of Rob Roy is sufficiently known; his grave is near the head of Loch Ketterine, in one of those small pinfold-like Burial-grounds, of neglected and desolate appearance, which the traveller meets with in the Highlands of Scotland. "A lesson that is quickly learned, The Castle here mentioned was Nidpath near Peebles. The person alluded to was the then Duke of Queensbury. The fact was told me by Walter Scott. DEGENERATE Douglas! oh, the unworthy Lord! Whom mere despite of heart could so far please, And love of havoc, (for with such disease Fame taxes him,) that he could send forth word To level with the dust a noble horde, A brotherhood of venerable Trees, Leaving an ancient dome, and towers like these, Beggared and outraged! - Many hearts deplored The fate of those old Trees; and oft with pain The traveller, at this day, will stop and gaze On wrongs, which Nature scarcely seems to heed: For sheltered places, bosoms, nooks, and bays, And the pure mountains, and the gentle Tweed, And the green silent pastures, yet remain. XII YARROW UNVISITED 1803. 1807 See the various Poems the scene of which is laid upon the banks of the Yarrow; in particular, the exquisite Ballad of Hamilton beginning "Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny, bonny Bride, FROM Stirling castle we had seen Had trod the banks of Clyde, and Tay, |