At once she strikes with a dreadful shock, One only sound could the rover hear, FRAGMENT, COMPOSED BY MOONLIGHT. O LONELY is the woodland scene, Far off the herds are browsing seen, And all around this lonely place No step is heard, nor cry, And the moon-beam in the water's face Is trembling silently. But loudly blew the autumnal breeze It shower'd the foliage from the trees And wildly on the mountain's side, Through gathering tempests stern, *The murder of Kenneth II., King of Scotland, by Finella, of whom many won ders are related, is well known. These lines are founded on some erroneous tradi tions, still related in the parishes of Fettercairn and Garvock, regarding the manner of that murder, and the witch's subsequent death. By fits the moonbeam was descried Then from her bower Finella fied, Through bush and brake she trembling sped, The fiends forbade the witch to rest, And faster now, through moss and mire, And onward still, by Fordoun's hill, And onward still their course they hold, While on her brow stood deadly chill On Garvock's lonely moor, the lake For they knew the lake accursed, where once The monarch's corse was thrown ; And they bade the witch her crimes renounce, Where her foulest deed was done. Still mid the lonely shades at even But to me the haunted scenes are dear, Revives the supernatural cheer, With which my lone hours are beguiled. Then sweetly on the water's face VERSES, BY MR SURTEES, MAINsforth. AND shall the minstrel harp in silence rest High o'er the pine-clad hills Benledi towers; Save when at twilight grey the dewy west Strays with soft touch the trembling chords among ; Whilst as the notes with wayward cadence rise, Some love-lorn maniac's plaint seems swelling to the skies? Thrice has she flung her witch-notes on the gale, And thrice has raptured echo caught the tale From hill, from dell, from tower, and haunted wood; And if for aye the magic numbers fail, With them shall fancy quit the woodlands sear; Yet once again the magic lyre shall ring, And Scotland's falchion drawn to fence her king, 1 The warning sprite was heard on lake and hill, And thrice the bittern shriek'd, and echo clamour'd shrill. Lives there the man to party-rage a prey, Can blame the noble, blame the generous part; Can bid cold interest o'er the passions sway, And freeze the life-blood streaming from the heart? Far be from such my hand, my heart away: Though all mistaken be the clansman's creed, Bright was the path, and gallant was the deed! Wild music peals, the clansman grasps his glaive, Shed" dews and wild flowers" on the wanderer's head. Ah! bathe in drops of balm his fever'd brain; Ah! hide the murder'd friend,-the ghastly spectre train. "Its goodly boughs, its foliage fair, Its rough trunk's stately swell, Then go not forth, my lord, my life, Thy kinsmen true will quell the strife, "Last night, as on the turrets high Shot sudden down the starless sky, "And downward dash'd with shiv'ring shock, Lies buried in the plain. "With boding swell Teith's angry wave Has deluged all the mead; The wonted sign, when chieftains brave "Last night, adown the moonless dale, "And slowly o'er the twilight heath By gifted eyes were seen, With wail and woe, the train of death, "Then go not forth, my lord, my life, Thy kinsmen true will quell the strife, * * The natives of Aberfoyle, in Perthshire, have a superstitious tradition, that when a portion of a certain rock in that neighbourhood falls to the plain, it denotes the approaching death of some Graham of distinction. And when the river Teith overflows the beautiful peninsula of Little Lennie, near Callender, where the burying place of the Buchanans is situated, the immediate death of some person of that name is expected as the infallible consequence. |