The steps in youth I loved to tread, Have sunk beneath the foot of Time; Like them, the daring hopes that led Me, once, to heights sublime, Ambition's dazzling dreams, are o'er, And I may scale those heights no more! And years have fled, and now I stand And gazing on thy crumbling walls, Some trace of years gone by,— Ay, thoughts come thronging on my soul, How many a wild and withering woe Hath seared my trusting heart since then! What clouds of blight, consuming slow The springs that life sustain,— Have o'er my world-vexed spirit past, Sweet Kirkstall, since I saw thee last! How bright is every scene beheld In youth and hope's unclouded hours! How darkly-youth and hope dispelledThe loveliest prospect lours: Thou wert a splendid vision then ;- Yet still thy turrets drink the light And calm and beauteous, as of old, Thy wandering river glides in gold! But life's gay morn of ecstasy, That made thee seem so more than fair, The aspirations wild and high, The soul to nobly dare, Oh where are they, stern ruin, say?— Thou dost but echo-WHERE ARE THEY? Farewell! Be still to other hearts What thou wert long ago to mine; To guide the mourner through his tears, Farewell! I ask no richer boon, Than that my parting hour may be Thus thus to fade like thee, With heavenly FAITH's soul-cheering ray Literary Souvenir. THE VILLAGE DISPENSARY. THE hour is come, the Leech is in his chair, Is thronged, as was Bethesda's strand of yore, Young, old, lame, blind, female and male, all met, Signed by Subscriber, setting forth name, age, You have a family-a large one?' 'Is it so? 'Yes!' 'And used to labour?' 'Ay, from morn till night.' But take you this; an' it stir not your ribs, Come for the next.-Who's here? Eh! damsel Alice, And not well yet?' 'No, Sir; my old complaints,— Tremblings, heart-burnings, want of sleep at night, Failure of appetite, and loss of spirits.' "Turn round your face; why, ay, thou lookest pale; Hast thou a sweetheart?' 'La, Sir!' 'Nay, confess it.' 'There's Harry-'Ay! he keeps your company, Does he not?' 'Yes.' 'Then marry, and be well! Eh! more? Come, mother, tell me your complaint; Illness, no doubt.' 'I've had the Poticar.' 'Ay, and grew worse.' 'He gave me store of drugs, And when my gold was gone-' 'He sent you here.' 'Just so.' 'It is their customary wont; They deluge you with drugs to drain your purse; Until your veins and stores be emptied out; GORDALE. THESE are thy fragments, thus in chaos strewn, Making a sepulchre of all below. An awe is on the place: a presence here Incumbent broods, to which all creatures bow. He comes! he comes! not riding on the sphere- THE LUCK OF EDEN-HALL. BY J. H. WIFFEN, ESQ. It is currently believed in Scotland, and on the Borders, that he who has courage to rush upon a fairy festival, and snatch away the drinking-cup, shall find it prove to him a cornucopia of good fortune, if he can bear it in safety across a running stream. A goblet is still carefully preserved in Eden-hall, Cumberland, which is supposed to have been seized, at such a banquet, by one of the ancient family of Musgrave. The fairy train vanished, crying aloud, "If that glass either break or fall, Farewell the luck of Eden-hall !" From this prophecy the goblet took the name it bears-the Luck of Eden-hall. MINSTRELSY OF THE SCOTTISH BORDER. ON Eden's wild, romantic bowers There, lonely in the deepening night, And trims her taper's wavering light, But little can her idle lute Beguile the weary moments now; Her wistful eye, and anxious brow: For, as the chord her finger sweeps, Ofttimes she checks her simple song, And listens, as the wind sweeps by, C |