Obrázky stránek
PDF
ePub
[merged small][merged small][ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small]

THE SUTOR OF SELKIRK.-A REMARKABLY TRUE STORY.

and Legends," &c.

Mr Wordsworth. Some poets, in every age, have doubtless been musical as well as poetical; and, accordingly, a few of the Troubadours occasionally sung their own chançons. But this practice was the reverse of general; By one of the Authors of the "Odd Volume," " Tales and it is cried down in some of the sirventes, as tending to degrade the noble calling of a Troubadour. There was an inferior class of men who strolled about the country singing verses, but these were strictly denominated Jongleurs: they did not compose poetry; they merely adapted to music the verses of the Troubadours. The Jongleurs were generally to be found at the banquets of the great, where, for hire, they sung the poems which probably had been furnished by some Troubadour guest.

The epithet gentle, which we see so often applied to a Troubadour, signified, not that he was tender and kind, but that in right of his profession, he was a gentleman, and as such, entitled, whatever might be his birth, to associate with the noblest seigneur of the land. The Troubadours, (like all popular poets,) were everywhere welcomed as the most delightful of visitors. At the courts of the petty princes of the 12th and 13th centuries, they were held in the highest consideration. "Ils y trouvèrent la fortune, les plaisirs, la consideration encore plus flatteuse." Their arrival was greeted by a smile, their departure followed by a sigh.

Living in a romantic age, and in a country where gentle feelings are nursed by a luxurious climate, the poet's favourite theme was naturally love. The first care of a Troubadour was to attach himself to a mistress, whose charms he might celebrate, of whose love he might boast, or whose cruelty he might deplore. It is singular, however, that the object of a Troubadour's passion was almost always a married woman, and very generally the wife of his host. Historians lament the licentiousness of those times. The male part of the creation were certainly by no means over-scrupulous;a man's morality is at all times a thing of snow ;-but woman, even in the age we speak of, possessed that thrilling purity which seems to be her peculiar birthright, that purity, which, enshrined in the female breast, entitles her, next to God, to receive the worship of sinful man. In reading the Troubadour poetry, we almost invariably find the author complain of the cruelty of his mistress, who, if she refrained from indignant contempt, or mortifying indifference, gave him, at the most, but hopeless pity for his love. The Troubadour, however, endured his lady's cruelty, with unpoetical fortitude; after he had duly lamented his hard fate, he generally transferred his affection with his verses to some other quarter. Probably his love was about as ardent as that of more modern Troubadours for their Chloes and Amandas. May it not be suspected that a poet's writings rarely indeed reflect his real feelings; that in truth, a poet is a profound dissimulator, and takes credit for possessing deep feeling, merely because he is able to describe it?

Yet there were some whose actions were in delightful unison with our most romantic idea of a Troubadour. Such, for example, was Geoffrey Rudel, prince of Bläia, who, moved by the glowing descriptions which the pilgrims gave of the beauty of the Countess of Tripoli (in Palestine,) abandoned his principality, took up the cross, and sailed over the seas on his pilgrimage of love :

Let the shepherd tune his reed,
Happy all the summer day,
While his flocks around him feed,
And his little children play;
I can never smile again,-

A ship! a ship!-I'll seek thee o'er the main ! So sang poor Rudel. The issue of his adventure may hereafter form the subject of a Troubadour story.-C.

• Common Prayer-book.

ONCE upon a time, there lived in Selkirk a shoemaker, by name Rabbie Heckspeckle, who was cele. brated both for dexterity in his trade, and for some other qualifications of a less profitable nature. Rabbie was a thin, meagre-looking personage, with lank black hair, a cadaverous countenance, and a long, flexible, secretsmelling nose. In short, he was the Paul Pry of the town. Not an old wife in the parish could buy a new scarlet rokelay without Rabbie knowing within a groat of the cost; the doctor could not dine with the minister but Rabbie could tell whether sheep's-head or haggis formed the staple commodity of the repast; and it was even said that he was acquainted with the grunt of every sow, and the cackle of every individual hen, in his neighbourhood: but this wants confirmation. His wife, Bridget, endeavoured to contine his excursive fancy, and to chain him down to his awl, reminding him it was all they had to depend on ; but her interference met with exactly that degree of attention which husbands usually bestow on the advice tendered by their better halves that is to say, Rabbie informed her that she knew nothing of the matter, that her understanding required stretching, and finally, that if she presumed again to meddle in his affairs, he would be under the disagreeable necessity of giving her a top-dressing.

To secure the necessary leisure for his researches, Rabbie was in the habit of rising to his work long be fore the dawn; and he was one morning busily engaged putting the finishing stitches to a pair of shoes for the exeiseman, when the door of his dwelling, which he thought was carefully fastened, was suddenly opened, and a tall figure, enveloped in a large black cloak, and with a broad-brimmed hat drawn over his brows, stalked into the shop. Rabbie stared at his visitor, wondering what could have occasioned this early call, and wondering still more that a stranger should have arrived in the town without his knowledge. "You're early afoot, sir," quoth Rabbie. "Lucky Wakerife's cock will no craw for a good half hour yet." The stranger vouchsafed no reply; but taking up one of the shoes Rabbie had just finished, deliberately put it on, and took a turn through the room to ascertain that it did not pinch his extremities. During these operations, Rabbie kept a watchful eye on his customer. "He smells awfully o' yird," muttered Rabbie to himself; "ane would be ready to swear he had just come frae the plough-tail." The stranger, who appeared to be satisfied with the effect of the experiment, motioned to Rabbie for the other shoe, and pulled out a purse for the purpose of paying for his purchase; but Rabbie's surprise may be conceived, when, on looking at the purse, he perceived it to be spotted with a kind of earthy mould. "Gudesake," thought Rabbie, "this queer man maun hae howkit that purse out o' the ground. I wonder where he got it. Some folk say there are dags o' siller buried near this town." By this time the stranger had opened the purse, and as he did so, a toad and a beetle fell on the ground, and a large worm crawling out wound itself round his finger. Rabbie's eyes widened; but the stranger, with an air of nonchalance, tendered him a piece of gold, and made signs for the other shoe. "It's a thing morally impossible," responded Rabbie to this mute proposal. Mair by token that I hae as good as sworn to the exciseman to hae them ready by daylight, which will no be long o' coming," (the stranger here looked anxiously towards the window,)" and better, I tell you, to affront the king himsell, than the exciseman." The stranger gave a loud stamp with his shod foot, but Rabbie stuck to his point, offering, however, to have a pair ready for his new customer in twenty-four hours

table and taking up the shoes, walked out of the house. "Now's my time," thought Rabbie to himself, as he slipt after him.

and, as the stranger, justly enough perhaps, reasoned, that half a pair of shoes was of as little use as half a pair of scissors, he found himself obliged to come to terms, and seating himself on Rabbie's three-legged The stranger paced slowly on, and Rabbie carefully stool, held out his leg to the Sutor, who, kneeling down, followed him; the stranger turned up the street, and the took the foot of his taciturn customer on his knee, and Sutor kept close to his heels. "Odsake, where can he proceeded to measure it. "Something o' the splay, I be gaun ?" thought Rabbie, as he saw the stranger turn think, sir," said Rabbie, with a knowing air. No answer. into the churchyard; "he's making to that grave in the "Where will I bring the shoon to when they're done ?" corner; now he's standing still; now he's sitting down; asked Rabbie, anxious to find out the domicile of his Gudesake! what's come o' him?" Rabbie rubbed his visitor. "I will call for them myself before cock-crow-eyes, looked round in all directions, but lo! and being," responded the stranger in a very uncommon hold! the stranger had vanished. "There's someand indescribable tone of voice. "Hout, sir," quoth thing no canny about this," thought the Sutor; "but Rabbie, "I canna let you hae the trouble o' coming I'll mark the place at ony rate;" and Rabbie," after for them yoursell; it will just be a pleasure for me to thrusting his awl into the grave, hastily returned home. I call with them at your house.""I have my doubts of The news soon spread from house to house, and by that," replied the stranger, in the same peculiar man- the time the red-faced sun stared down on the town, the ner; and at all events, my house would not hold us whole inhabitants were in commotion; and, after haboth."" It maun be a dooms sma' biggin," answered ving held sundry consultations, it was resolved, nom. Rabbie; "but noo that I hae taen your honour's mea con., to proceed in a body to the churchyard, and open sure". "Take your own," retorted the stranger, the grave which was suspected of being suspicious. The and giving Rabbie a touch with his foot that laid him whole population of the Kirk Wynd turned out on this prostrate, walked coolly out of the house. service. Sutors, wives, children, all hurried pell-mell This sudden overturn of himself and his plans for a after Rabbie, who led his myrmidons straight to the few moments discomfited the Sutor, but quickly gather-grave at which his mysterious customer had disappeared, ing up his legs, he rushed to the door, which he reached just as Lucky Wakerife's cock proclaimed the dawn. Rabbie flew down the street, but all was still; then ran up the street, which was terminated by the churchyard, but saw only the moveless tombs looking cold and chill under the grey light of a winter morn. Rabbie hitched his red night-cap off his brow, and scratched his head with an air of perplexity. "Weel," he muttered, as he retraced his steps homeward, "he has warred me this time, but sorrow take me if I'm no up wi' him the

morn!"

All day Rabbie, to the inexpressible surprise of his wife, remained as constantly on his three-legged stool as if he had been yirked there by some brother of the craft. For the space of twenty-four hours, his long nose was never seen to throw its shadow across the threshold of the door; and so extraordinary did this event appear, that the neighbours, one and all, agreed that it predicted some prodigy; but whether it was to take the shape of a comet, which would deluge them all with its fiery tail, or whether they were to be swallowed up by an earthquake, could by no means be settled to the satisfaction of the parties concerned.

Meanwhile, Rabbie diligently pursued his employment, unheeding the concerns of his neighbours. What mattered it to him, that Jenny Thrifty's cow had calved, that the minister's servant, with something in her apron, had been seen to go in twice to Lucky Wakerife's, that the laird's dairy-maid had been observed stealing up the red loan in the gloaming, that the drum had gone through the town announcing that a sheep was to be killed on Friday? The stranger alone swam before his eyes; and cow, dairy-maid, and drum, kicked the beam. It was late in the night when Rabbie had accomplished his task, and then placing the shoes at his bedside, he lay down in his clothes, and fell asleep; but the fear of not being sufficiently alert for his new customer, induced him to rise a considerable time before daybreak. He opened the door and looked into the street, but it was still so dark he could scarcely see a yard before his nose; he therefore returned into the house, muttering to himself, "What the sorrow can keep him ?" when a voice at his elbow suddenly said, "Where are my shoes ?" "Here, sir," said Rabbie, quite transported with joy; "here they are, right and tight, and mickle joy may ye hae in wearing them, for it's better to wear shoon than sheets, as the auld saying gangs."-"Perhaps I may wear both," answered the stranger. "Gude safe us," quoth Rabbie, "do ye sleep in your shoon ?" The stranger made no answer; but, laying a piece of gold on the

and where he found his awl still sticking in the place where he had left it. Immediately all hands went to work; the grave was opened; the lid was forced off the coffin; and a corpse was discovered dressed in the vestments of the tomb, but with a pair of perfectly new shoes upon its long bony feet. At this dreadful sight the multitude fled in every direction, Lucky Wakerife leading the van, leaving Rabbie and a few bold brothers of the craft to arrange matters as they pleased with the peripatetic skeleton. A council was held, and it was agreed that the coffin should be firmly nailed up and committed to the earth. Before doing so, however, Rabbie proposed denuding his customer of his shoes, remarking that he had no more need for them than a cart had for three wheels. No objections were made to this proposal, and Rabbie, therefore, quickly coming to extremities. whipped them off in a trice. They then drove half a hundred tenpenny nails into the lid of the coffin, and having taken care to cover the grave with pretty thick divots, the party returned to their separate places of abode.

Certain qualms of conscience, however, now arose in Rabbie's mind as to the propriety of depriving the corpse of what had been honestly bought and paid for. He could not help allowing, that if the ghost were troubled with cold feet, a circumstance by no means improbable, he might naturally wish to remedy the evil But, at the same time, considering that the fact of his having made a pair of shoes for a defunct man would be an everlasting blot on the Heckspeckle escutcheon, and reflecting also that his customer, being dead in law, could not apply to any court for redress, our Sutor manfully resolved to abide by the consequences of his deed.

Next morning, according to custom, he rose long be fore day, and fell to his work, shouting the old song of the "Sutors of Selkirk " at the very top of his voice. A! short time, however, before the dawn, his wife, who was in bed in the back room, remarked, that in the very middle of his favourite verse, his voice fell into a quaver; then broke out into a yell of terror; and then she heard a noise, as of persons struggling; and then all was quiet as the grave. The good dame immediately huddled on her clothes, and ran into the shop, where she found the three-legged stool broken in pieces, the floor strewed with bristles, the door wide open, and Rabbie away! Bridget rushed to the door, and there she immediately discovered the marks of footsteps deeply printed in the ground. Anxiously tracing them, on-and on-and onwhat was her horror to find that they terminated in the churchyard, at the grave of Rabble's customer. The

earth round the grave bore traces of having been the scene of some fearful struggle, and several locks of lank black hair were scattered on the grass. Half distracted, she rushed through the town to communicate the dreadful intelligence. A crowd collected, and a cry speedily arose, to open the grave. Spades, pickaxes, and mattocks were quickly put in requisition; the divots were removed; the lid of the coffin was once more torn off, and there lay its ghastly tenant, with his shoes replaced on his feet, and Rabbie's red night-cap clutched in his right hand!

the Castle-hill, continued ever after scathed and incapable of vegetation. But we must beg to suggest the possibility of this want of verdure being occasioned by the circumstance of the esplanade being a hard gravelwalk. We are very unwilling to find scientific reasons for last-century miracles-to withdraw the veil from beautiful deceptions-or to dispel the halo which fancy may have thrown around the incidents of a former day. But a regard for truth obliges us to acknowledge, that the same miracle, attributed to the burning-place of Wishart, at St Andrews, may be accounted for in a siThe people, in consternation, fled from the church-milar way-the spot being now occupied by what the yard; and nothing further has ever transpired to throw any additional light on the melancholy fate of the Sutor of Selkirk.

TRADITIONS OF THE CELEBRATED

MAJOR WEIR.

people thereabouts denominate in somewhat homely phrase, "a mussel midden."

For upwards of a century after Major Weir's death, he continued to be the bug-bear of the Bow, and his house remained uninhabited. His apparition was frequently seen at night, flitting, like a black and silent shadow, about the purlieus of that singular street. His

By the Author of the "Histories of the Scottish Re- house, though known to be deserted by every thing hu

bellions," &c.

In one of the most ancient streets of Edinburgh, called the West Bow, stands the house formerly inhabited by Major Weir, whose name is scarcely more conspicuous in the Criminal Records of Scotland, than it is notorious in the mouth of popular tradition. The awful tenement is situated in a small court at the back of the main street, accessible by a narrow entry leading off to the east, about fifty yards from the top of the Bow. It is a sepulchral-looking fabric, with a peculiarly dejected and dismal aspect, as if it were conscious of the bad character which it bears among the neighbouring houses. It is now about one hundred and fifty years since Major Weir, an old soldier of the civil war, and the bearer of some command in the City Guard of Edinburgh, closed a most puritanical life, by confessing himself a sorcerer, and being burnt accordingly at the stake. The scandal in which this involved the Calvinistic party, seems to have been met, on their part, by an endeavour to throw the whole blame upon the shoulders of Satan; and this conclusion, which was almost justified by the mysteriousness and singularity of the case, has had the effect of connecting the criminal's name unalienably with the demonology of Scotland.

Sundry strange reminiscences of Major Weir and his house are preserved among the old people of Edinburgh, and especially by the venerable gossips of the West Bow. It is said he derived that singular gift of prayer by which he surprised all his acquaintance, and procured so sanctimonious a reputation from his walkingcane. This implement, it appears, the Evil One, from whom he procured it, had endowed with the most wonderful properties and powers. It not only inspired him with prayer, so long as he held it in his hand, but it acted in the capacity of a Mercury, in so far as it could go an errand or run a message. Many was the time it went out to the neighbouring shops for supplies of snuff to its master! and as the fact was well known, the shopkeepers of the Bow were not startled at the appearance of so strange a customer. Moreover, it often answered the door when people came to call upon the Major, and it had not unfrequently been seen running along before him, in the capacity of a link-boy, as he walked down the Lawnmarket. Of course, when the Major was burnt, his wooden lieutenant and valet was carefully burnt with him, though it does not appear in the Justiciary Records that it was included in the indictment, or that Lord Dirleton subjected it, in common with its master, to the ceremony of a sentence.

man, was sometimes observed at midnight to be full of lights, and heard to emit strange sounds, as of dancing, howling, and, what is strangest of all, spinning. It was believed, too, that every night, when the clock of St Giles's tolled twelve, one of the windows sprung open, and the ghost of a tall woman in white, supposed to be the Major's equally terrible sister, came forward, and bent her long figure thrice over the window, her face every time touching the wall about three feet down, and then retired, closing the window after her with an audible clang. Some people had occasionally seen the Major issue from the low close, at the same hour, mounted on a black horse without a head, and gallop off in a whirlwind of flame. Nay, sometimes the whole of the inhabitants of the Bow together were roused from their sleep at an early hour in the morning, by the sound as of a coach and six, first rattling up the Lawnmarket, and then thundering down the Bow, stopping at the head of the terrible close for a few minutes, and then rattling and thundering back again-being neither more nor less than Satan come in one of his best equipages, to take home again to hell the ghosts of the Major and his sister, after they had spent a night's leave of absence in their terrestrial dwelling. In support of these beliefs, circumstances, of course, were not awanting. One or two venerable men of the Bow, who had, perhaps, on the night of the 7th of September, seventeen hundred and thirty-six, popped their night-capped heads out of their windows, and seen Captain Porteous hurried down their street to execution, were pointed out by children as having actually witnessed some of the dreadful doings alluded to. One worthy, in particular, declared that he had often seen coaches parading up and down the Bow at midnight, drawn by six black horses without heads, and driven by a coachman of the most hideous appearance, whose flaming eyes, placed at an immense distance from each other, in his forehead, as they gleam. ed through the darkness, resembled nothing so much as the night-lamps of a modern vehicle.

About forty years ago, when the shades of superstition began universally to give way in Scotland, Major Weir's house came to be regarded with less terror by the neighbours, and an attempt was made by the proprietor to find a person who would be bold enough to inhabit it. Such a person was procured in William Patullo, a poor man of dissipated habits, who, having been at one time a soldier and a traveller, had come to disregard in a great measure the superstitions of his native country, and was now glad to possess a house upon the low terms offered by the landlord, at whatever risk. Upon it being known in the town, that Major Weir's house was about to be re-inhabited, a great deal of curiosity was felt by people of all ranks as to the result of the experiment; for there • The top of a street-an expression sanctified by its use in his boyhood, an intense interest in all that concerned was scarcely a native of the city, who had not felt since

It is also said that the spot on which the Major was burnt, namely, the south-east corner of the esplanade on

Scripture.

that awful fabric, and yet remembered the numerous terrible stories which he had heard told respecting it. Even before entering upon his hazardous undertaking, William Patullo was looked upon with a flattering sort of interest-an interest similar to that which we feel respecting a culprit under sentence of death, a man about to be married, or a regiment on the march to active conflict. It was the hope of many, that he would be the means of retrieving a valuable possession from the dominion of darkness. But Satan soon let them know that he does not ever tamely relinquish the outposts of his kingdom.

On the very first evening after Patullo and his spouse had taken up their abode in the house, a circumstance took place, which effectually deterred them and all others from ever again inhabiting it. About one in the morning, as the worthy couple were lying awake in their bed, not unconscious of a considerable degree of fear, a dim uncertain light proceeding from the gathered embers of their fire, and all being silent around them they suddenly saw a form like that of a calf, but without the head, come through the lower panel of the door, and enter the room: a spectre more horrible, or more spectre like conduct, could scarcely have been conceived. The phantom immediately came forward to the bed, and setting its fore-feet upon the stock, looked steadfastly in all its awful headlessness at the unfortunate pair, who were of course almost ready to die with fright; when it had contemplated them thus for a few minutes, to their great relief it at length took away its intolerable person, and, slowly retiring, gradually vanished from their sight. As might be expected, they deserted the house next morning; and from that time forward, no other attempt was ever made to embank this part of the world of light from the aggressions of the world of darkness.

It may appear strange that any thing like superstition should exist in Edinburgh, where, in the words of the poet,

-Justice from her native skies High wields her balance and her rod, And Learning, with his eagle eyes, Seeks Science in her coy abode ; but, when we inform the reader that such beliefs are only cherished among a very humble or very old-fashioned class of people, this surprise will vanish. The truth is, that Edinburgh is at present two cities two cities not less differing in appearance than in the character of their various inhabitants. The fine gentlemen, who daily exhibit their foreign dresses and manners on Princes' Street, have no idea of a race of people who roost in the tall houses of the Lawnmarket and the West Bow, and retain about them many of the primitive modes of life, and habits of thought, that flourished among their grandfathers. Such people, however, certainly still exist; and in some of the sequestered closes and backcourts of the Old Town, there may at this very day be found specimens of people well entitled to the designation "prisca gens mortalium." Edinburgh is in fact two towns more ways than one. It contains an upper and an under town, the one a sort of thoroughfare for the children of business and fashion, the other a den of retreat for the poor, the diseased and the ignorant. The one is like the gay surface of the summer sea, covered with numerous vehicles of commerce and pleasure; while the other resembles the region below the surface, whose dreary wilds are peopled only by the wrecks of such gay barks, and by creatures of inconceivable ugliness and surpassing horror. In short, "the march of intellect" proceeds along the South Bridge, without ever once thinking of the Cowgate.

Such being the state of matters, it will no longer seem incredible that legendary superstition should exist in Auld Reekie. In the course of our experience we have met with many houses which have the credit of being haunted. There is one at this day in Buchanan's

Court, Lawnmarket, in the same land in which the celebrated Editor of the Edinburgh Review first saw the light. It is a flat, and has been shut up from time immemorial. The story goes, that one night as preparations were making for a supper party, something occurred which obliged the family, as well as all the assembled guests to retire with precipitation, and lock up the house. From that night to this, it has never once been opened, nor was any of the furniture withdrawn:— the very goose which was undergoing the process of being roasted at the time of the dreadful occurrence, is still at the fire! No one knows to whom the house belongs; no one ever enquires after it; no one living ever saw the inside of it; it is a condemned house! There is something peculiarly dreadful about a house under these circumstances. What sights of horror might present themselves, if it were entered. Satan is the ultimus haeres of all such unclaimed property.

Besides the numberless old houses in Edinburgh that are haunted, there are many endowed with the simple credit of having been the scenes of murders and suicides. Some we have met with, containing rooms which had particular names commemorative of such events, and these names, handed down as they had been from one generation to another, usually suggested the remembrance of some dignified Scottish families, probably the former tenants of the houses. We remember, moreover, once hearing an aged citizen talk of a common stair in the Lawnmarket, which was supposed to be haunted by the ghost of a gentleman who had been mysteriously killed, about a century ago, in open day-light, as he was ascending to his own house. We regret not being able to point out the precise scene of so singular an incident, or to discover the name of the sufferer; and can only mention, in addition, that the affair was called to mind by old people, on the similar occasion of the murder of Begbie. The closed house in Mary King's Close, (behind the Royal Exchange,) is believed by some to have met with that fate for a very fearful reason. The inhabitants at a very remote period were, it is said, compelled to abandon it by the supernatural appearance which took place in it, on the very first night after they had made it their residence. At midnight, as the goodman was sitting with his wife by the fire, reading his Bible, and intending immediately to go to bed, a strange dimness which suddenly fell upon his light caused him to raise his eyes from the book. He looked at the candle, and saw it was burning blue. Terror took pos- ! session of his frame. He turned away his eyes from the ghastly object; but the cure was worse than the disease. Directly before him, and apparently not two yards off, he saw the head as of a dead person, looking him straight in the face. There was nothing but å head, though that seemed to occupy the precise situation in regard to the floor which it might have done had it been supported by a body of the ordinary stature. The man and his wife fainted with terror. On awaking darkness pervaded the room. Presently the door opened, and in came a hand holding a candle. This came and stood that is, the body supposed to be attached to the hand stood beside the table, whilst the terrified pair saw two or three couples of feet skip along the floor as if dancing. The scene lasted a short time, but vanished quite away upon the man gathering strength to invoke the protection of Heaven. The house was of course abandoned, and remained ever afterwards shut up.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

AN EARTHQUAKE. By Henry G. Bell.

'Twas day,-and yet there came no light, Or only such as made more horrible':

[ocr errors]

The desolation that before was hid

In the black shroud of darkness.-The red sun,
Blood-stain'd and dim, look'd on the fallen city
Like an affrighted murderer on the corse
Mangled beneath his foot.-The work is done!-
Silence is in the streets !---

Fanes, domes, and spires, lie crumbled on the ground;
Hovels are tost on palaces; and gold

Shines upon heaps of dust and scattered stones.
The voice of man is o'er; his might is crush'd
Like a bruised reed; the labours of his hand
Are strew'd as leaves before a tempest. Mark
Where his rich temples lie! and see!

As the gaunt earthquake, with his giant stride,
Again goes staggering by, how, roaring, fall
His everlasting pyramids, and mock,

In reeking loneliness, the pride that called
Their feebleness eternal.

The silent multitude, in breathless awe,
Stand on the shore of the mute, sullen sea,-
A dense dark mass, and fear is on their souls,
Like an o'erhanging cloud. Their lips are white
As the salt foam, and quivering in despair ;-
They gaze, but speak not. In the wither'd heart,
The half-form'd prayer dies. The grey-hair'd man,
Mad with the misery that death has wrought,
Thinks of his murder'd children, and blasphemes
The God he worshipp'd in his youth. The child
Looks on his mother, and, perplex'd to see
Her depth of agony, forgets to weep.-
The very ocean seems to share with them
Their tongueless terror, and is hush'd as death.-
Yet hark!-far off there comes the hollow sound
Of rushing waves.-Nearer and louder!-Lo!
The waters have arisen, and instinct

With a strange life, needing no winds to guide,
Are sweeping on in their wild majesty !
Arm'd with the voice of thunder when it leaps
Among the mountain chasms, see! they come !-
But louder, wilder, and more terrible,
The bursting shriek of that lost multitude
Along the barren sands !-Up-up to heaven!

Shaking the Almighty's throne, that dread sound rose,—
That last unearthly Miserere!-Hush !—
The billows are upon them.-They have pass'd
Forever and forever from the earth;-
The lordly element has won its prey,
And howling proudly holds its reckless course.

[blocks in formation]

Robbing the downy joys of its warm nest, And flinging silence o'er its native grove,➡ Purest! be not a dove.

"Even as a rock,"

No, my most faithful! be not as a rock;
It hates the waves that girdle it, and standa
Stern as an outlaw'd captain of brigands,
Heedless alike of fortune's smile or shock,-

Changeless! be not a rock.
"Even as thyself,”—

My soul's best idol! be but as thyself;-
Brighter than star, and fairer than the flower;
Purer than dove, and in thy spirit's dower
Steadier than rock; yes, dearest! be thyself-
Thyself-only thyself.

SONG.

AH! LOVE IT IS A FLEETING FLOWER. By the Editor of the Inverness Courier. AH! Love it is a fleeting flower,

That charms but whan it's new;
And they wha deepest feel its power,
Maun still the sairest rue.
I've travell'd far for ae kind look,

I've tint my rest for smiles;
But wiser grown, nae mair I'll brook
The thrall of woman's wiles.

O! dear as showers to April buds,

Or sunshine to the day,

Wert thou to me in Langholm woods,

My bonny winsome May;

Rich gems to deck thy braided hair

I brought frae the deep green sea; And scented a' thy chamber fair

Wi' the odours of Arabie.

But my lowly suit thou spurn'st, proud maid;
An' the heart I fain wad bring,

Sae I sit beneath the willow shade
Frae morn till night, an' sing,-
Ah! Love it is a fleeting flower,
That charms but whan its new,
And they wha deepest feel its power,
Maun still the sairest rue.

LITERARY CHIT-CHAT AND VARIETIES.

MR R. CHAMBERS is at present engaged upon two more Rebellions, the history of which will occupy an early volume of Constable's Miscellany. The first of the two narratives refers to the brief but brilliant career of the famous Dundee in 1689, which Mr Chambers himself, we understand, characterizes as approaching nearer in interest to the insurrection of 1745, than any other transaction of the kind, which he has yet had to record. The second narrative embraces the unlucky enterprize of 1715, and completes, with his four former volumes, a series of historiettes regarding the attempts of the Cavaliers and Jacobites of Scotland, in behalf of the House of Stuart, from the first opposition to them by the Covenanters in 1637, down to the extinction of their hopes in 1745. This industrious and graphic writer is now on the point of publishing his voluminous collection of the Legendary Poetry of Scotland, which we had the pleasure of announcing a few months ago, and which we are inclined to believe will be the best collection extant.

A History of the most Remarkable Conspiracies, connected with British History, during the Fifteenth, Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, by John Parker Lawson, M.A., the learned and able author of "The Life and Times of Archbishop Laud,” is in preparation for Constable's Miscellany, in one volume. This work will contain, we understand, amidst other interesting matter, Ac

« PředchozíPokračovat »