When weary steps forget themselves upon a pleasant turf,

Upon hot sand, or flinty road, or sea-shore iron surf, Toward the castle or the cot, where long ago was born One who was great through mortal days, and died of fame unshorn.

Light heather-bells may tremble then,- but they are far away;

Wood-lark may sing from sandy fern,-the Sun may hear his lay;

Runnels may kiss the grass on shelves and shallows clear,

But their low voices are not heard, tho' come on travels drear;

Blood-red the sun may set behind black mountain peaks,

Blue tides may sluice and drench their time in caves and weedy creeks,

Eagles may seem to sleep wing-wide upon the air, Ring-doves may fly convulsed across to some high cedared lair,

But the forgotten eye is still fast lidded to the ground. As palmer's that with weariness mid-desert shrine hath found.

At such a time the soul's a child, in childhood is the brain,

Forgotten is the worldly heart,-alone it beats in vain!

Aye, if a madman could have leave to pass a healthful day,

To tell his forehead's swoon and faint, when first began decay,

He might make tremble many a one, whose spirit had gone forth

To find a Bard's low cradle-place about the silent north!

Scanty the hour, and few the steps, beyond the bourn of care!

Beyond the sweet and bitter world,—beyond it unaware!

Scanty the hour, and few the steps,—because a longer stay

Would bar return and make a man forget his mortal way!

O horrible! to lose the sight of well-remember'd face, Of Brother's eyes, of Sister's brow,-constant to every place,

Filling the air as on we move with portraiture intense,

More warm than those heroic tints that pain a painter's sense,

When shapes of old come striding by, and visages

of old,

Locks shining black, hair scanty grey, and passions manifold!

No, no,- that horror cannot be! for at the cable's

length

Man feels the gentle anchor pull, and gladdens in its strength:

One hour, half idiot, he stands by mossy waterfall, But in the very next he reads his soul's memorial; He reads it on the mountain's height, where chance he may sit down,

Upon rough marble diadem, that hill's eternal crown. Yet be his anchor e'er so fast, room is there for

a prayer,

That man may never lose his mind in mountains black and bare;

That he may stray, league after league, some great birthplace to find,

And keep his vision clear from speck, his inward sight unblind.

STAFFA.

OT Aladdin magian

Ever such a work began;

Not the wizard of the Dee
Ever such a dream could see;
Not St. John, in Patmos' Isle,
In the passion of his toil,
When he saw the churches seven,
Golden-aisled, built up in heaven,
Gazed at such a rugged wonder,
As I stood its roofing under.
Lo! I saw one sleeping there,
On the marble cold and bare;
While the surges wash'd his feet,
And his garments white did beat
Drench'd about the sombre rocks;
On his neck his well-grown locks,
Lifted dry above the main,
Were upon the curl again.

"What is this? and what art thou?"
Whisper'd I, and touch'd his brow;
“What art thou? and what is this?”
Whisper'd I, and strove to kiss
The spirit's hand, to wake his eyes;
Up he started in a trice:
“I am Lycidas,” said he,
"Fam'd in funeral minstrelsy!
This was architectured thus
By the great Oceanus!—
Here his mighty waters play
Hollow organs all the day;
Here, by turns, his dolphins all,
Finny palmers, great and small,
Come to pay devotion due,—
Each a mouth of pearls must strew!
Many a mortal of these days,
Dares to pass our sacred ways;
Dares to touch, audaciously,
This cathedral of the sea!
I have been the pontiff-priest,
Where the waters never rest,
Where a fledgy sea-bird choir
Soars for ever! Holy fire

I have hid from mortal man;
Proteus is my Sacristan!

But the dulled eye of mortal
Hath pass'd beyond the rocky portal;
So for ever will I leave

Such a taint, and soon unweave

All the magic of the place."

So saying, with a Spirit's glance
He dived!

BEN NEVIS.

"When on the summit a cloud enveloped him, and sitting on the stones, as it slowly wafted away, showing a tremendous precipice into the valley below, he wrote these lines."

R

EAD me a lesson, Muse, and speak it loud
Upon the top of Nevis, blind in mist!
I look into the chasms, and a shroud

Vapourous doth hide them,-just so much I wist
Mankind do know of hell; I look o'erhead,
And there is sullen mist,-even so much
Mankind can tell of heaven; mist is spread
Before the earth, beneath me,- even such,
Even so vague is man's sight of himself!
Here are the craggy stones beneath my feet,-
Thus much I know that, a poor witless elf,
I tread on them,-that all my eye doth meet
Is mist and crag, not only on this height,
But in the world of thought and mental might!