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 when I mounted up the hill,
The music in my heart I bore,
Long after it was heard no more.

VIII.

ADDRESS

ΤΟ

KILCHURN CASTLE UPON LOCH AWE.

The

"From the top of the hill a most impressive scene opened 66 upon our view, - -a ruined Castle on an Island at some "distance from the shore, backed by a Cove of the Moun"tain Cruachan, down which came a foaming stream. "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 gran"deur in the mountains, and the Castle was wild, yet "stately not dismantled of Turrets. -nor the walls broken "down, though obviously a ruin."

66

Extract from the Journal of my Companion.

CHILD of loud-throated War! the mountain Stream Roars in thy hearing; but thy hour of rest

Is come, and thou art silent in thy age;

Save when the winds sweep by and sounds are caught

Ambiguous, neither wholly thine nor theirs.

Oh! there is life that breathes not; Powers there are
That touch each other to the quick in modes

Which the gross world no sense hath to perceive,
No soul to dream of. What art Thou, from care
Cast off-abandoned by thy rugged Sire,
Nor by soft Peace adopted; though, in place
And in dimension, such that thou might'st seem
But a mere footstool to yon sovereign Lord,
Huge 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!

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

Το pay thee homage; and with these are joined, In willing admiration and respect,

Two Hearts, which in thy presence might be called

Youthful as Spring. Shade of departed Power,
Skeleton of unfleshed humanity,

The Chronicle were welcome that should call
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 ! *

The Tradition is, that the Castle was built by a Lady during the absence of her Lord in Palestine.

IX.

ROB ROY'S GRAVE.

The History of Rob Roy is sufficiently known; his Grave is near the head of Loch Ketterine, 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 Roв ROY!

Then clear the weeds from off his Grave,
And let us chant a passing Stave

In honour of that Hero brave!

HEAVEN gave Rob Roy a dauntless heart,
And wondrous length and strength of arm:
Nor craved he more to quell his Foes,
Or keep his Friends from harm.