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THE SABBATH.

ARGUMENT.

Description of a Sabbath morning in the country.-The labourer at home.-The town mechanic's morning walk;-his meditation.-The sound of bells.-Crowd proceeding to Church.-Interval be fore the service begins. Scotish service.-English service. Scriptures read. The organ, with the voices of the people.-The sound borne to the sick man's couch:-His wish.-The worship of God in the solitude of the woods.-The shepherd boy among the hills.-People seen on the heights returning from church.-Contrast of the present times with those immediately preceding the Revolution. The persecution of the Covenanters :-A Sabbath conventicle:-Cameron :-Renwick:Psalms.-Night conventicles during storms.-A funeral according to the rites of the Church of England. A female character.-The Suicide.-Expostulation.-The incurable of an hospital.—A prison scene.-Debtors.-Divine service in the prison-hall.-Persons under sentence of death.-The public guilt of inflicting capital punishments on persons who have been left destitute of religious and moral instruction. Children proceeding to a Sunday school. The father. The impress.Appeal on the indiscriminate severity of criminal law. Comparative mildness of the Jewish law.The year of Jubilee.-Description of the commencement of the jubilee.-The sound of the trumpets through the land. The bondman and his family returning from their servitude to take possession of their inheritance.-Emigrants to the wilds of America.-Their Sabbath worship.-The whole inhabitants of Highland districts who have emigrated together, still regret their country.-Even the blind man regrets the objects with which he had been conversant.-An emigrant's contrast between the tropical climates and Scotland. The boy who had been born on the voyage.-Description of a person on a desert island. His Sabbath.-His release.-Missionary ship.-The Pacific Ocean.-Defence of Missionaries.-Effects of the conversion of the primitive Christians. Transition to the slave trade. The Sabbath in a slave ship.-Appeal to England on the subject of her encouragement to this horrible complication of crimes. Transition to war.-Unfortunate issue of the late war-in Francein Switzerland.-Apostrophe to TELL.-The attempt to resist too late. The treacherous foes already in possession of the passes.-Their devastating progress.-Desolation.-Address to Scotland.-Happiness of seclusion from the world.-Description of a Sabbath evening in Scotland.-Psalmody.-An aged man.-Description of an industrious female reduced to poverty by old age and disease.-Disinterested virtuous conduct to be found chiefly in the lower walks of life.-Test of charity in the opulent.-Recommendation to the rich to devote a portion of the Sabbath to the duty of visiting the sick. Invocation to Health-to Music.-The Beguine nuns.-Lazarus.-The Resurrection.-Dawnings of faith-Its progress-Consummation.

How still the morning of the hallow'd day!
Mute is the voice of rural labour, hush'd'
The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song.
The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath
Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers,
That yester-morn bloom'd waving in the breeze.
Sounds the most faint attract the ear-the hum
Of early bee, the trickling of the dew,
The distant bleating midway up the hill.
Calmness sits throned on yon unmoving cloud.
To him who wanders o'er the upland leas,
The blackbird's note comes mellower from the
dale;

And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark
Warbles his heaven-tuned song; the lulling brook
Murmurs more gently down the deep-worn glen;
While from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke
O'ermounts the mist, is heard, at intervals,
The voice of psalms-the simple song of praise.
With dove-like wings, Peace o'er yon village
broods;

The dizzying mill-wheel rests; the anvil's din
Hath ceased; all, all around is quietness.
Less fearful on this day, the limping hare
Stops, and looks back, and stops, and looks on man,
Her deadliest foe. The toil-worn horse, set free,
Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large;
And, as his stiff unwieldy bulk he rolls,
His iron-armed hoofs gleam in the morning ray.
But chiefly man the day of rest enjoys.
Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day.
On other days the man of toil is doom'd
To eat his joyless bread, lonely, the ground
Both seat and board; screen'd from the winter's,
cold

[tree;
And summer's heat, by neighbouring hedge or
But on this day, embosom'd in his home,
He shares the frugal meal with those he loves;
With those he loves he shares the heart-felt joy
Of giving thanks to God-not thanks of form,

A word and a grimace, but reverently,
With cover'd face and upward earnest eye.

Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day
The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe
The morning air, pure from the city's smoke;
While, wandering slowly up the river side,
He meditates on Him, whose power he marks
In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough,
As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom
Around its roots; and while he thus surveys,
With elevated joy, each rural charm,
He hopes, yet fears presumption in the hope,
That heaven may be one Sabbath without end.
But now his steps a welcome sound recalls:
Solemn the knell, from yonder ancient pile,
Fills all the air, inspiring joyful awe: [ground
Slowly the throng moves o'er the tomb-paved
The aged man, the bowed down, the blind
Led by the thoughtless boy, and he who breathes
With pain, and eyes the new-made grave well

pleased;

These, mingled with the young, the gay, approach
The house of God; these, spite of all their ills,
A glow of gladness feel; with silent praise
They enter in. A placid stillness reigns,
Until the man of God, worthy the name,
Arise and read the anointed shepherd's lays.
His locks of snow, his brow serene, his look
Of love, it speaks, "Ye are my children all;
The gray-hair'd man, stooping upon his staff,
As well as he, the giddy child, whose eye
Pursues the swallow flitting thwart the dome."
Loud swells the song: O how that simple song,
Though rudely chanted, how it melts the heart,
Commingling soul with soul in one full tide
Of praise, of thankfulness, of humble trust!
Next comes the unpremeditated prayer,
Breathed from the inmost heart, in accents low,
But earnest.-Alter'd is the tone; to man
Are now address'd the sacred speaker's words.

A

Instruction, admonition, comfort, peace,
Flow from his tongue: O chief let comfort flow !
It is most needed in this vale of tears:
Yes, make the widow's heart to sing for joy;
The stranger to discern the Almighty's shield
Held o'er his friendless head; the orphan child
Feel, mid his tears, I have a father still!
'Tis done. But hark that infant querulous voice
Plaint not discordant to a parent's ear;
And see the father raise the white-robed babe
In solemn dedication to the Lord:

The holy man sprinkles with forth-stretch'd hand
The face of innocence; then earnest turns,
And prays a blessing in the name of Him
Who said, Let little children come to me;
Forbid them not: The infant is replaced
Among the happy band: they, smilingly,
In gay attire, hie to the house of mirth,
The poor man's festival, a jubilee day,
Remember'd long.

Nor would I leave unsung
The lofty ritual of our sister land:
In vestment white, the minister of God
Opens the book, and reverentially
The stated portion reads. A pause ensues.
The organ breathes its distant thunder-notes,
Then swells into a diapason full:

The people rising, sing, With harp, with harp,
And voice of psalms; harmoniously attuned
The various voices blend; the long drawn aisles,
At every close, the lingering strain prolong.
And now the tubes a mellow'd stop controls,
In softer harmony the people join,
While liquid whispers from yon orphan band
Recall the soul from adoration's trance,
And fill the eye with pity's gentle tears.
Again the organ-peal, loud-rolling, meets
The halleluiahs of the choir: Sublime,
A thousand notes symphoniously ascend,
As if the whole were one, suspended high
In air, soaring heavenward: Afar they float,
Wafting glad tidings to the sick man's couch:
Raised on his arm, he lists the cadence close,
Yet thinks he hears it still: his heart is cheer'd ;
He smiles on death; but, ah! a wish will rise,-
"Would I were now beneath that echoing roof!
No lukewarm accents from my lips should flow;
My heart would sing; and many a Sabbath-day
My steps should thither turn; or, wandering får
In solitary paths, where wild flowers blow,
There would I bless his name, who led me forth
From death's dark vale, to walk amid those sweets,
Who gives the bloom of health once more to glow
Upon this cheek, and lights this languid eye."
It is not only in the sacred fane
That homage should be paid to the Most High;
There is a temple, one not made with hands-
The vaulted firmament: Far in the woods,
Almost beyond the sound of city chime,
At intervals heard through the breezeless air;
When not the limberest leaf is seen to move,
Save where the linnet lights upon the spray;
When not a floweret bends its little stalk,
Save where the bee alights upon the bloom;-
There, rapt in gratitude, in joy, and love,
The man of God will pass the Sabbath noon;
Silence his praise; his disembodied thoughts,
Loosed from the load of words, will high ascend
Beyond the empyrean.-

Nor yet less pleasing at the heavenly throne,
The Sabbath-service of the shepherd-boy.
In some lone glen, where every sound is lull'd
To slumber, save the tinkling of the rill,
Or bleat of lamb, or hovering falcon's cry,
Stretch'd on the sward, he reads of Jesse's son ;
Or sheds a tear o'er him to Egypt sold,
And wonders why he weeps; the volume closed,
With thyme-sprig laid between the leaves, he sings
The sacred lays, his weekly lesson, conn'd
With meikle care beneath the lowly roof,

"And they brought young children to him that be should touch them; and his disciples rebuked those that brought them. But when Jesus saw it, he was much displeased, and said unto them, Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of God. Verily, I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein. And he took them up in his arms, put his hands upon them, and blessed them." Mark x. 13-16.

Where humble lore is learnt, where humble worth
Pines unrewarded by a thankless state.
Thus reading, hymning, all alone, unseen,
The shepherd-boy the Sabbath holy keeps,
Till on the heights he marks the straggling bands
Returning homeward from the house of prayer.
In peace they home resort. O blissful days!
When all men worship God as conscience wills.
Far other times our fathers' grandsires knew,
A virtuous race, to godliness devote.

What though the sceptic's scorn hath dared to soil
The record of their fame! what though the men
Of wordly minds have dared to stigmatize
The sister-cause, Religion and the Law,
With Superstition's name! yet, yet their deeds,
Their constancy in torture and in death,-
These on Tradition's tongue still live; these shall
On History's honest page be pictured bright
To latest times. Perhaps some bard, whose muse
Disdains the servile strain of Fashion's quire,
May celebrate their unambitious names.
With them each day was holy, every hour
They stood prepared to die, a people doom'd
To death;-old men, and youths, and simple maids.
With them each day was holy; but that morn
On which the angel said, See where the Lord
Was laid, joyous arose; to die that day
Was bliss. Long ere the dawn, by devious ways,
O'er hills, through woods, o'er dreary wastes, they
sought

[seem

The upland muirs, where rivers, there but brooks,
Dispart to different seas: Fast by such brooks
A little glen is sometimes scoop'd, a plat
With green sward gay, and flowers that strangers
Amid the heathery wild, that all around
Fatigues the eye; in solitudes like these,
Thy persecuted children, Scotia, foil'd
A tyrant's and a bigot's bloody laws:
There, leaning on his spear, (one of the array,
Whose gleam, in former days, had scathed the

rose

On England's banner, and had powerless struck
The infatuate monarch and his wavering host,)
The lyart veteran heard the word of God
By Cameron thunder'd, or by Renwick pour'd
In gentle stream; then rose the song, the loud
Acclaim of praise. The wheeling plover ceased
Her plaint; The solitary place was glad,
And on the distant cairns the watcher's ear
Caught doubtfully at times the breeze-borne note.
But years more gloomy follow'd; and no more
The assembled people dared, in face of day,
To worship God, or even at the dead

Of night, save when the wintry storm raved fierce,
And thunder-peals compell'd the men of blood
To couch within their dens; then dauntlessly
The scatter'd few would meet, in some deep dell
By rocks o'er-canopied, to hear the voice,
Their faithful pastor's voice: He by the gleam
Of sheeted lightning oped the sacred book,
And words of comfort spake: Over their souls
His accents soothing came, as to her young
The heathfowl's plumes, when, at the close of eve,
She gathers in, mournful, her brood dispersed
By murderous sport, and o'er the remnant spreads
Fondly her wings; close nestling 'neath her breast,
They, cherish'd, cower amid the purple blooms.

But wood and wild, the mountain and the dale,
The house of prayer itself,-no place inspires
Emotions more accordant with the day,
Than does the field of graves, the land of rest:-
Oft at the close of evening-prayer, the toll,
The solemn funeral-toll, pausing, proclaims
The service of the tomb: the homeward crowds
Divide on either hand; the pomp draws near;
The choir to meet the dead go forth, and sing,
I am the resurrection and the life.

Ah me! these youthful bearers robed in white,
They tell a mournful tale; some blooming friend
Is gone, dead in her prime of years :-'Twas she,
The poor man's friend, who, when she could not
give,

With angel tongue pleaded to those who could;
With angel tongue and mild beseeching eye,
That ne'er besought in vain, save when she pray'd
For longer life, with heart resign'd to die,-
Rejoiced to die; for happy visions bless'd

Sentinels were placed on the surrounding hills to give warning of the approach of the mili tary.

Her voyage's last days, and hovering round,
Alighted on her soul, giving presage
That heaven was nigh:-O what a burst
Of rapture from her lips! what tears of joy
Her heavenward eyes suffused! Those eyes are
But all her loveliness is not yet flown:
[closed;
She smiled in death, and still her cold pale face
Retains that smile; as when a waveless lake,
In which the wintry stars all bright appear,
Is sheeted by a nightly frost with ice,
Still it reflects the face of heaven unchanged,
Unruffled by the breeze or sweeping blast.
Again that knell! The slow procession stops:
The pall withdrawn, Death's altar, thick emboss'd
With melancholy ornaments.--(the name,
The record of her blossoming age,)-appears
Unveil'd, and on dust to dust is thrown,
The final rite. Oh! hark that sullen sound!
Upon the lower'd bier the shovell'd clay
Falls fast, and fills the void.-

But who is he

That stands aloof, with haggard wistful eye,
As if he coveted the closing grave?
And he does covet it-his wish is death:
The dread resolve is fix'd; his own right-hand
Is sworn to do the deed: The day of rest
No peace, no comfort, brings his wo-worn spirit:
Self-cursed, the hallow'd dome he dreads to enter;
He dares not pray; be dares not sigh a hope;
Annihilation is his only heaven.

Loathsome the converse of his friends; he shuns
The human face; in every careless eye
Suspicion of his purpose seems to lurk.

Deep piny shades he loves, where no sweet note
Is warbled, where the rook unceasing caws:
Or far in moors, remote from house or hut,
Where animated nature seems extinct.

Where even the hum of wandering bee ne'er breaks
The quiet slumber of the level waste;
Where vegetation's traces almost fail,

Save where the leafless cannachs wave their tufts
Of silky white, or massy oaken trunks
Half-buried lie, and tell where greenwoods grew,-
There on the heathless moss outstretch'd he

broods

O'er all his ever-changing plans of death:
The time, place, means, sweep like a stormy rack,
In fleet succession, o'er his clouded soul;-
The poniard, and the opium draught, that brings
Death by degrees, but leaves an awful chasm
Between the act and consequence,-the flash
Sulphureous, fraught with instantaneous death;-
The ruin'd tower perched on some jutting rock,
So high that, 'tween the leap and dash below,
The breath might take its flight in midway air,-
This pleases for a while; but on the brink,
Back from the toppling edge his fancy shrinks
In horror: Sleep at last his breast becalms,---
He dreams 'tis done; but starting wild awakes.
Resigning to despair his dream of joy.

Then hope, faint hope, revives--hope, that Despair
May to his aid let loose the demon Frenzy,
To lead scared Conscience blindfold o'er the brink
Of self-destruction's cataract of blood.
Most miserable, most incongruous wretch!
Darest thou to spurn thy life, the boon of God,
Yet dreadest to approach his holy place?
O dare to enter in! may be some word,
Or sweetly chanted strain, will in thy heart
Awake a chord in unison with life.
What are thy fancied woes to his, whose fate
Is (sentence dire!) incurable disease,--
The outcast of a lazar-house, homeless.
Or with a home where eyes do scowl on him!
Yet he, even he, with feeble steps draws near,
With trembling voice joins in the song of praise.
Patient he waits the hour of his release;
He knows he has a home beyond the grave.

Or turn thee to that house with studded doors,
And iron-vizor'd windows; even there
The Sabbath sheds a beam of bliss, though faint;
The debtor's friends (for still be has some friends)
Have time to visit him; the blossoming pea,

Towards the end of Columbus's voyage to the New World, when he was already near, but not in sight of land, the drooping hopes of his mariners (for his own confidence seems to have remained unmoved) were revived by the appearance of birds, at nest hovering round the ship, and then alighting on the rigging.

That climbs the rust-worn bars seems fresher
And on the little turf, this day renew'd, [tinged;
The lark, his prison-mate, quivers the wing
With more than wonted joy. See, through the

bars,

That pallid face retreating from the view,
That glittering eye following, with hopeless look,
The friends of former years, now passing by
In peaceful fellowship to worship God;
With them, in days of youthful years, he roam'd
O'er hill and dale, o'er broomy knowe; and wist
As little as the blithest of the band

Of this his lot; condemn'd, condemn'd unheard,
The party for his judge;-among the throng,
The Pharisaical hard-hearted man

He sees pass on, to join the heaven-taught prayer,
Forgive our debts as we forgive our debtors:
From unforgiving lips most impious prayer!
O happier far the victim than the hand
That deals the legal stab! The injured man
Enjoys internal, settled calm; to him

The Sabbath bell sounds peace; he loves to meet
His fellow sufferers to pray and praise:

And many a prayer, as pure as e'er was breathed
In holy fanes, is sigh'd in prison halls.

Ah me! that clank of chains, as kneel and rise
The death-doom'd row. But see, a smile illumes
The face of some; perhaps they're guiltless: Oh!
And must high-minded honesty endure
The ignominy of a felon's fate!

No, 'tis not ignominious to be wrong'd:
No; conscious exultation swells their hearts
To think the day draws nigh, when in the view
Of angels, and of just men perfect made,
The mark which rashness branded on their names
Shall be effaced;-when wafted on life's storm,
Their souls shall reach the Sabbath of the skies;-
As birds from bleak Norwegia's wintry coast
Blown out to sea, strive to regain the shore,
But, vainly striving, yield them to the blast.-
Swept o'er the deep to Albion's genial isle,
Amazed they light amid the bloomy sprays
Of some green vale, there to enjoy new loves,
And join in harmony unheard before.

The land is groaning 'neath the guilt of blood
Spilt wantonly: for every death-doom'd man,
Who, in his boyhood, has been left untaught
That Wisdom's rays are ways of pleasantness,
And all her paths are peace, unjustly dies.
But, ah! how many are thus left untaught,-
How many would be left, but for the band
United to keep holy to the Lord

A portion of his day, by teaching those
Whom Jesus loved with forth-stretched hand to
bless!

Behold yon motley train, by two and two,
Each with a Bible 'neath its little arm,
Approach well-pleased, as if they went to play,
The dome where simple lore is learnt unbought:
And mark the father 'mid the sideway throng;
Well do I know him by his glistening eye,
That follows steadfastly one of the line,
A dark seafaring man he looks to be;
And much it glads his boding heart to think,
That when once more he sails the vallied deep,
His child shall still receive Instruction's boon..
But hark,-a noise,-a cry, a gleam of swords!-
Resistance is in vain,-he's borne away,
Nor is allow'd to clasp his weeping child.

My innocent, so helpless, yet so gay.!
How could I bear to be thus rudely torn
From thee;-to see thee lift thy little arm,
And impotently strike the ruffian man,-
To hear thee bid him chidingly-begone!

O ye who live at home, and kiss each eve
Your sleeping infants ere you go to rest,
And, 'wakened by their call, lift up your eyes
Upon their morning smile,-think, think of those,
Who, torn away without one farewell word
To wife or children, sigh the day of life
In banishment from all that's dear to man ;-
O raise your voices in one general peal
Remonstrant, for the oppress'd. And ye, who sit
Month after month devising impost-laws,
Give some small portion of your midnight vigils
To mitigate, if not remove the wrong

Relentless Justice! with fate-furrow'd brow;
Wherefore to various crimes of various guilt,
One penalty, the most severe, allot?
Why, pall'd in state, and mitred with a wreath
Of nightshade, dost thou sit portentously,
Beneath a cloudy canopy of sighs,

Amid Columbia's wildernesses vast,

Of fears, of trembling hopes, of boding doubts;
Death's dart thy mace!-Why are the laws of The words which God in thunder from the Mount

Cod,

Statutes promulged in characters of fire,
Despised in deep concerns, where heavenly guid-

ance

Is most required? The murderer-let him die,
And him who lifts his arm against his parent,
His country,-or his voice against his God.

Let crimes less heinous dooms less dreadful meet
Than loss of life! so said the law divine;
That law beneficent, which mildly stretch'd,
To men forgotten and forlorn, the hand
Of restitution: Yes, the trumpet's voice
The Sabbath of the jubileet announced:

The freedom-freighted blast, through all the land
At once, in every city, echoing rings,
From Lebanon to Carmel's woody cliffs,
So loud, that far within the desert's verge
The couching lion starts, and glares around.
Free is the bondman now, each one returns
To his inheritance: The man, grown old
In servitude far from his native fields,
Hastes joyous on his way; no hills are steep,
Smooth is each rugged path; his little ones
Sport as they go, while oft the mother chides
The lingering step, lured by the way-side flowers:
At length the hill, from which a farewell look,
And still another parting look, he cast
On his paternal vale, appears in view:

The summit gain'd, throbs hard his heart with joy
And sorrow blent, to see that vale once more;
Instant his eager eye darts to the roof

Where first he saw the light; his youngest born
He lifts, and, pointing to the much-loved spot,
Says, "There thy fathers lived, and there they
sleep."

Onward he wends; near and more near he draws:
How sweet the tinkle of the palm-bower'd brook!
The sun-beam slanting through the cedar grove
How lovely, and how mild! But lovelier still
The welcome in the eye of ancient friends,
Scarce known at first! and dear the fig-tree shade
"Neath which on Sabbath eve his father told
Of Israel from the house of bondage freed,
Led through the desert to the promised land ;-
With eager arms the aged stem he clasps,
And with his tears the furrow'd bark bedews:
And still, at midnight hour, he thinks he hears
The blissful sound that brake the bondman's
The glorious peal of freedom and of joy!
Did ever law of man a power like this
Display? power marvellous as merciful,
Which, though in other ordinances still
Most plainly seen, is yet but little mark'd
For what it truly is,-a miracle!
Stupendous, ever new, perform'd at once
In every region,-yea, on every sea
Which Europe's navies plough ;-yes, in all lands
From pole to pole, or civilized to rude,
People there are, to whom the Sabbath morn
Dawns, shedding dews into their drooping hearts:
Yes, far beyond the high-heaved western wave,

[chains,

"And it came to pass, on the third day in the morning, that there were thunders and lightnings, and a thick cloud upon the Mount, and the voice of the trumpet exceeding loud; so that all the people that was in the camp trembled." Exod. xix. 16.

"And thou shalt number seven Sabbaths of years unto thee, seven times seven years; and the space of the seven Sabbaths of years shall be unto thee forty and nine years. Then shalt thou tause the trumpet of the Jubilee to sound on the tenth day of the seventh month; in the day of atonement shall ye make the trumpet sound throughout all your land. And ye shall hallow the fiftieth year, and proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof: it shall be a jubilee unto you; and ye shall return every man unto his possession, and ye shall return every man unto his family." Lev. xxv. 8, 9, 10.

"And these words which I command thee this day shall be in thine heart: And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou iest down, and when thou risest up. Thou shalt say unto thy son, We were Pharaoh's bondmen in Egypt; and the Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand."-Deut. vi. 6, 7, 21.

Of Sinai spake, are heard, and are obey'd.
Thy children, Scotia, in the desert land,
Driven from their homes by fell Monopoly,
Keep holy to the Lord the seventh day.
Assembled under loftiest canopy

Of trees primeval, soon to be laid low,
They sing, By Babel's streams we sat and wept.
What strong mysterious links enchain the heart
To regions where the morn of life was spent!
In foreign lands, though happier be the clime,
Though round our board smile all the friends we
The face of nature wears a stranger's look. [love,
Yea, though the valley which we loved be swept
Of its inhabitants, none left behind,

Not even the poor blind man who sought his bread
From door to door, still, still there is a want;
Yes, even he, round whom a night that knows
No dawn is ever spread, whose native vale
Presented to his closed eyes a blank,
Deplores its distance now. There well he knew
Each object, though unseen; there could he wend
His way, guideless, through wilds and mazy woods;
Each aged tree, spared when the forest fell,
Was his familiar friend, from the smooth birch,
With rind of silken touch, to the rough elm: [lay,
The three gray stones that mark'd where heroes
Mourn'd by the harp, mourn'd by the melting voice
Of Cona, oft his resting-place had been;
Oft had they told him that bis home was near:
The tinkle of the rill, the n.urmuring
So gentle of the brook, the torrent's rush,
The cataract's din, the ocean's distant roar,
The echo's answer to his foot or voice,-
All spoke a language which he understood,
All warn'd him of his way. But most he feels,
Upon the hallow'd morn, the saddening change:
No more he hears the gladsome village bell
Ring the bless'd summons to the house of God:
And-for the voice of psalms, loud, solemn, grand,
That cheer'd his darkling path, as with slow step
And feeble, he toiled up the spire-topt hill,—
A few faint notes ascend among the trees.
What though the cluster'd vine there hardly
tempts
[plume
The traveller's hand; though hirds of dazzling
Perch on the loaded boughs;-"Give me thy
woods,

(Exclaims the banish'd man,) thy barren woods,
Poor Scotland! Sweeter there the reddening haw,
The sloe, or rowan's bitter bunch, than here
The purple grape; dearer the redbreast's note,
That mourns the fading year in Scotia's vales,
Than Philomel's, where spring is ever new;
More dear to me the redbreast's sober suit,
So like a wither'd leaflet, than the glare
Of gaudy wings, that make the Iris dim."
Nor is regret exclusive to the old :
The boy, whose birth was midway o'er the main,
A ship his cradle, by the billows rock'd,-
"The nursling of the storm,"-although he claims
No native land, yet does he wistful hear
Of some far distant country still call'd home,
Where lambs of whitest fleece sport on the hills;
Where gold-speck'd fishes wanton in the streams:
Where little birds, when snow-flakes dim the air,
Light on the floor, and peck the table crums,
And with their singing cheer the winter day.
But what the loss of country to the woes
Of banishment and solitude combined'
Oh! my heart bleeds to think there now may live
One hapless man, the remnant of a wreck,
Cast on some desert island of that main
Immense, which stretches from the Cochin shore
To Acapulco. Motionless he sits,

As is the rock his seat, gazing whole days,
With wandering eye, o'er all the watery waste;
Now striving to believe the albatross
A sail appearing on the horizon's verge;
Now vowing ne'er to cherish other hope
Than hope of death. Thus pass his weary hour.
Till welcome evening warn him that 'tis time
Upon the shell-notch'd calendar to mark
Another day, another dreary day,-
Changeless;-for, in these regions of the sun,
The wholesome law that dooms mankind to toil,
Bestowing grateful interchange of rest
And labour, is annulled; for there the trees,
Adorn'd at once with bud, and flower, and fruit.

• Mountain ash.

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