STEPPING WESTWARD.

[While my fellow-traveller and I were walking by the side of Loch Katrine, 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, we 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 ?"Twould be a wildish destiny, ["Yea." 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;
Behind, all gloomy to behold;
And stepping westward seemed to be
A kind of heavenly destiny;

I liked the greeting; 'twas a sound
Of something without place or bound;
And seemed to give me spiritual right
To travel through that region bright.

The voice was soft, and she who spake
Was walking by her native lake;
The salutation had to me
The very sound of courtesy:
Its power was felt; and while my eye
Was fixed upon the glowing sky,
The echo of the voice inwrought
A human sweetness with the thought
Of travelling through the world that lay
Before me in my endless way.

THE SOLITARY REAPER.
BEHOLD her, single in the field,
Yon solitary Highland lass!
Reaping and singing by herself;
Stop here, or gently pass!
Alone she cuts, and binds the grain,
And sings a melancholy strain;
Dh, listen! for the vale profound
Is overflowing with the sound.

No nightingale did ever chant
More welcome notes to weary bands
Of travellers in some shady haunt,
Among Arabian sands:

Such thrilling voice was never heard In spring-time from the cuckoo-bird, Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides.

Will no one tell me what she sings?
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow
For old, unhappy, far-off things,
And battles long ago:

Or is it some more humble lay,
Familiar matter of to-day?

Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain,
That has been, and may be again!

Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang
As if her song could have no ending;
I saw her singing at her work,
And o'er the sickle bending ;
I listened-motionless and still;
And as I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.

ADDRESS TO KILCHURN CASTLE UPON LOCH AWE.

"From the top of the hill a most impressive scene opened upon our view,-a ruined castle on an island 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 stately-not 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 moun

But a mere footstool to yon sovereign lord, Hugh Cruachan, (a thing that meaner hills Might crush, nor know that it had suffered harm ;)

Yet he, not loth, in favour of thy claims To reverence suspends his own; submitting All that the God of nature hath conferred, All that he has in common with the stars, To the memorial majesty of time Impersonated in thy calm decay!

Youthful as spring.

Take, then, thy seat, vicegerent unreproved!
Now, while a farewell gleam of evening light
Is fondly lingering on thy shattered front,
Do thou, in turn, be paramount; and rule
Over the pomp and beauty of a scene
Whose mountains, torrents, lake, and
woods, unite
[joined,
To pay thee homage; and with these are
In willing admiration and respect,
Two hearts, which in thy presence might
be called
[power,
Shade of departed
Skeleton of unfleshed humanity, [call
The chronicle were welcome that should
Into the compass of distinct regard
The toils and struggles of thy infancy!
Yon foaming flood seems motionless as ice;
Its dizzy turbulence eludes the eye,
Frozen by distance so, majestic pile,
To the perception of this age, appear
Thy fierce beginnings, softened and subdued
And quieted in character; the strife,
The pride, the fury uncontrollable,
Lost on the aërial heights of the Crusades !*

ROB ROY'S GRAVE.

The history of Rob Roy is sufficiently known; his grave is near the head of Loch Katrine, 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 FAMOUS man is Robin Hood,
The English ballad-singer's joy!
And Scotland has a thief as good,
An outlaw of as daring mood;
She has her brave Rob Roy !

Then clear the weeds from off his grave,
And let us chant a passing stave
In honour of that hero brave!

The tradition is that the castle was built by a lady during the absence of her lord in Pales

tine.

The creatures see of flood and field,
And those that travel on the wind!
With them no strife can last: they live
In peace, and peace of mind.
"For why?—because the good old rule
Sufficeth them, the simple plan,
That they should take who have the power,
And they should keep who can.
"A lesson that is quickly learned,
A signal this which all can see !
Thus nothing here provokes the strong
To wanton cruelty.

"All freakishness of mind is checked;
He tamed, who foolishly aspires;
While to the measure of his might
Each fashions his desires.

And thus among these rocks he lived, Through summer heat and winter snow : The eagle, he was lord above,

And Rob was lord below.

So was it would, at least, have been
But through untowardness of fate:
For polity was then too strong;
He came an age too late.

Or shall we say an age too soon?
For, were the bold man living now,
How might he flourish in his pride,

With buds on every bough!

Then rents and factors, rights of chase, Sheriffs, and lairds and their domains, Would all have seemed but paltry things, Not worth a moment's pains.

Rob Roy had never lingered here,
To these few meagre vales confined;
But thought how wide the world, the times
How fairly to his mind!

And to his sword he would have said,
"Do thou my sovereign will enact
From land to land through half the earth!
Judge thou of law and fact !

""Tis fit that we should do our part ;
Becoming, that mankind should learn
That we are not to be surpassed
In fatherly concern.

"Of old things all are over old,

Of good things none are good enough :We'll show that we can help to frame

A world of other stuff.

"I, too, will have my kings that take
From me the sign of life and death:
Kingdoms shall shift about, like clouds,
Obedient to my breath."

And, if the word had been fulfilled,
As might have been, then, thought of joy!
France would have had her present boast;
And we our own Rob Roy !

Oh! say not so; compare them not;
I would not wrong thee, champion brave!
Would wrong thee nowhere; least of all

Here standing by thy grave.

For thou, although with some wild thoughts,
Wild chieftain of a savage clan!
Hadst this to boast of; thou didst love
The liberty of man.

The treasured dreams of times leng past,
We'll keep them, winsome marrow !
For when we're there, although tis 'fair,
"Twill be another Yarrow!

"If care, with freezing years should come,
And wandering seem but folly,-
Should we be loth to stir from home,
And yet be melancholy;

Should life be dull, and spirits low,
'Twill soothe us in our sorrow,
That earth has something yet to show,
The bonny holms of Yarrow !''

IN THE PASS OF KILLICRANKIE, AN INVASION BEING EXPECTED, OCTOBER 1803.

Six thousand veterans practised in war's

game,

Tried men at Killicrankie were arrayed Against an equal host that wore the plaid, Shepherds and herdsmen.-Like a whirlwind came [flame: The Highlanders, the slaughter spread like And Garry, thundering down his mountain road,

Was stopped, and could not breathe beneath the load

Of the dead bodies.-"Twas a day of shame
For them whom precept and the pedantry
Of cold mechanic battle do enslave.
Oh, for a single hour of that Dundee,
Who on that day the word of onset gave!
Like conquest would the men of England

see;

And her foes find a like inglorious grave.

THE MATRON OF JEDBURGH AND HER HUSBAND.

[At Jedburgh, my companion and I went into private lodgings for a few days; and the fol lowing verses were called forth by the character and domestic situation of our hos tess.]

AGE! twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers,

And call a train of laughing hours;
And bid them dance and bid them sing;
And thou, too, mingle in the ring!
Take to thy heart a new delight;
If not, make merry in despite

That there is one who scorns thy power:-
But dance! for under Jedburgh tower,

A matron dwells, who though she bears
Our mortal complement of years,
Lives in the light of youthful glee,
And she will dance and sing with thee.

Nay! start not at that figure-there!
Him who is rooted to his chair!
Look at him-look again! for he
Hath long been of thy family.
With legs that move not, if they can,
And useless arms, a trunk of man,
He sits, and with a vacant eye;
A sight to make a stranger sigh!
Deaf, drooping, that is now his doom:
His world is in this single room;
Is this a place for mirthful cheer?
Can merrymaking enter here?

The joyous woman is the mate
Of him in that forlorn estate!
He breathes a subterraneous damp;
But bright as vesper shines her lamp ;
He is as mute as Jedburgh tower ;
She jocund as it was of yore,
With all its bravery on; in times
When all alive with merry chimes,
Upon a sun-bright morn of May,
It roused the vale to holiday.

I praise thee, matron! and thy due
Is praise; heroic praise, and true¿
With admiration I behold

Thy gladness unsubdued and bold :
Thy looks, thy gestures, all present
The picture of a life well spent:
This do I see; and something more:
A strength unthought of heretofore!
Delighted am I for thy sake;
And yet a higher joy partake.
Our human nature throws away
Its second twilight, and looks gay;
A land of promise and of pride
Unfolding, wide as life is wide.

Ah! see her helpless charge! inclosed
Within himself as seems, composed;
To fear of loss, and hope of gain,
The strife of happiness and pain,
Utterly dead! yet in the guise
Of little infants, when their eyes
Begin to follow to and fro
The persons that before them go,
He tracks her motions, quick or slow.
Her buoyant spirit can prevail
Where common cheerfulness would fail;
She strikes upon him with the heat
Of July suns: he feels it sweet;
An animal delight, though dim!
'Tis all that now remains for him!

The more I looked, I wondered moreAnd, while I scanned them o'er and o'er, A moment gave me to espy

A trouble in her strong black eye;
A remnant of uneasy light,

A flash of something over bright!
Nor long this mystery did detain
My thoughts; she told in pensive strain
That she had borne a heavy yoke,
Been stricken by a twofold stroke;
Ill health of body; and had pined
Beneath worse ailments of the mind.

So be it !-but let praise ascend
To Him who is our Lord and friend!
Who from disease and suffering
Hath called for thee a second spring;
Repaid thee for that sore distress
By no untimely joyousness;
Which makes of thine a blissful state:
And cheers thy melancholy mate!