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happy Helen the principal witness nach as a friendly warning, and not as a against her former lover.

threat.' Slowly and solemnly, but in a tone “ Against whom then dost thou beof encouragement, the prelate calls lieve that Auchernach’s friendly warning upon her for her testimony.

was given ? if so thou judgest it to be,'

said the bishop. « • My lord,' said Helen Dunbar, look

Against him who now standeth being fearfully round, whilst every fibre of side the accused,” said Helen Dunbar; her frame seemed to quiver with agitation, and rising from her chair as she said as she caught her first view of the wasted she turned round, and drawing form and countenance of the unfortunate herself up to her full height, she reprisoner, and met his eye, which was now

garded the individual she was addressing filled with a litting fire of anxiety, which with a firm and resolute look, and added it had not before exhibited. But she in a clear, distinct, and solemn voice, seemed yet more affected by the glance • The warning of Auchernach was kindly of the Land of Knockando, who stood meant, and would to the holy saints that beside him. It quite overcame her for it had been taken as it was intended ! some moments. • My lord !--my lord! The warning of Auchernach was meant 1-1

to guard against the false arts of John «Take thine own time, daughter!" Dhů Grant of Knockando there, whom said the Bishop, cheeringly; and begin, I do here fearlessly accuse as the real if it so pleaseth thee, with thy recollec- murderer of mine uncle !'” tion of what befel at the wedding at the

The murmurs of the astonished allMill of Duthel. The prisoner Anchernach did then and there strike down John ditory followed this announcement. A Grant of Knockando, without cause of flush of sudden joy and tenderness provocation, did he not?'

spreads over the face of Lewis, while “ My lord, he did strike down Knock- that of Knockando changed alterando,' said Helen ; •but as I chanced to nately from the deadly white of guilty watch them standing for some time, as if fear, to the black expression of fiendin talk together, I observed their looks; like ferocity, as he proclaimed it “ and, were I to judge from what I saw, Í deep compact between the murderer should hold that John Grant of Knock- and his paramour.” The bishop reando had by his words so chafed Aucher- presses the murmurs and bid her pronach, and worked upon his dormant ire, ceed. as to fret it into the sudden outburst of

« « My lord,' said Helen, still standing, that flame, the which blazed forth so

and betraying deep agitation, as in her openly to the senses of all who were then

modest and respectful address to the present.' *** Was he not rebuked by the good stances; • I was the first person who en

bishop she recalled the appalling circumpriest, thine uncle, for the outrage of tered mine uncle's apartment on the which he was then guilty?' demanded the morning which followed the fatal night of Bishop:

his murder. When I did approach me «• He was, my lord,' replied Helen ;

to the bed I fancied that he slept; for, .and in a sterner tone than he had ever

as was not uncommon with him, he lay heard the priest use before.

But ere

with the blessed crucifix over his bosom. mine uncle went to bed, on the evening I lifted the holy emblem in my left hand, of that very night in which he was mur

whilst, with my right I did remove the dered, these ears did privately hear him bed-clothes from his chin—when—when express a doubt whether he might not be holding, as I did, the bloody work have been too basty in judging him, and which had been done upon him, I fell he then uttered a fervent ejaculation to

backwards on the floor in a swoon, and heaven for pardon if he had so erred.'

so firmly did I grasp the crucifix to my « • Heard ye no threat from the lips of bosom in mine unconscious agony, that Auchernach against thine uncle ? de- those who came to mine aid, called manded the bishop.

thither by my scream, found it so placed, u. 1 did hear words which in mine and it was carried with me to mine own agitation at the time I could not well in- apartment, and I so found it when my terpret,' said Helen.

• After the murder senses were restored to me. That the of 'mine uncle, I did, in my distraction, crucitix bad ever lain that night upon recall and connect these words with the mine uncle's breast at all, therefore, could cruel deed which had so swiftly followed have been known only to myself alone them. But certain circumstances did and to him who, during that fatal night, afterwards occur to satisfy me that the removed it from his bosom for the purwords,- Old man! look that thou dost pose of doing the murder on him, and not pay dear for thy fuvour to that new who replaced it there after he bad guest of thine." were meant by Aucher- wrought the cruel deed.'

« But how can this touch the Laird his own relentless sentence would have of Knockando ?' demanded the bishop, denied to another ?!" earnestly. «« My lord,' said Helen, some days

We have so frequently expressed after the murder, the Laird of Knock- our opinion of these volumes, as occaando did force himself into my presence, sion arose in the discussion of them, under the false pretence of bearing a that we deem it scarcely necessary in a message from the Reverend Lord Prior. more formal manner to repeat it. The His object seerned to be to whet my ven work is decidedly well executed, and geance against the person who then lay the narratives sustained, for the most accused of the murder of mine uncle. It part, in a style of unaffected ease and was then, that, in the presence of my propriety which we deem in chief esfriend and my servant, who are both now sential to success in story-telling. It within the call of this tribunal, prepared contains much to interest and admonish to support this my testimony,--then it in the bistory of the dark workings of was, I say, that he used expressions, the man's ignorance, and vice and passion; which were, for greater security, taken and not a little to amuse in the light down after he was gone. The wretch,' and humorous sketches of character said he, the wretch who, lighting down and incident. We could have wished, like some nocturnal fiend upon the sacred however, that the author had made his person of thine uncle, and reckless of the tales more subservient to the exhibition holy emblem of Christ which lay upon his of the peculiarities of national character, bosom, could put it aside, that he might and national prejudices, and the illusplunge his dirk into the innocent throat of his sacred servant, must not only die tration of national history : indeed, as the death of a felon, but he can never

we have already remarked, these are hope for mercy from Him whose blessed the true uses of legendary writing, and emblem he hath outraged.' None but confer on it a higher reputation than the murderer could have so circumstan- that of mere gossip. We now take tially described this most barbarous deed. leave of Sir Thomas and his legends, John Dhu Grant of Knockando did so with a hope that he may ere long again describe it. Therefore is John Dhu afford us some pleasant hours, and a Grant of Knockando the murderer! On recommendation to our readers, espehis head the blood of my murdered uncle cially those who meditate a ramble doth loudly call for that justice which it through the Scottish Highlands, to doth behoove man to do upon it. And avail themselves of the advantages we may He that died for us all

, grant that have already enjoyed. mercy hereafter to his guilty soul, which



Some of my readers will remember was described, whose inward and erone or two will take the trouble of col- terior history is noted in these autolating the Introduction to these early biographical relics. He was sketched fragments which was printed in the as One whose youth and life terminated number for last July. Circumstances together, yet whose experiences were which I will be easily pardoned for not rapidly accumulated, and whose Spring communicating explicitly to the public, wore the hues of a sad and precocious have left until the present month their Autumn. One of those to whom Collector without the power of com Genius was the “ Voice of the secret mencing the fulfilment of his engage- Divinity” in a truer, because a more litement.

ral, sense that the proud common-place Those who take any interest in a of poetical declamation imports ; a Theme which, however often ap- Voice constantly whispering his spirit has not often been followed to its rest in this. One who was led to Relitrue issue, and which, even if it gion by Poetry; who entered the had, could scarcely be considered to Temple by “the Beautiful Gate." have yet lost its mysterious claims One, in brief, who was in our lower on the attention of the contemplative, world an Enigma with its solution in a will recollect that in the introduction higher; the half of a Cipher whose exto which I have referred, the Personage plaining counterpart was invisible and

to come. And his simple history-how, prostitute for the licentious, a Courtier ever incidental chances may interrupt for the powerful, a Misleader for the the current of its moral—might, upon crowd;-yet even in these Errors a those who are fitted to receive such mighty Truth is present. The error convictions, tend to impress the great is indeed not theirs, but ours. Of deduction of all studies,—to wit, that this double radiance which unites to (mysticism apart) there are in this fill our intellectual heaven, it may be earthly and temporary scene two said, as of a more material lustre-that classes of indications offered to the mingling the effects of our devious thoughtful mind; one class evidencing wanderings with the steady rectitude the wise omnipotence of God, the of its celestial beam, we visit upon it otber the high destinies of Man;-that the result of our oblique march, and to the former belong all those testi- call that which is mainly our own abermonies of profound contrivance which ration the Aberration of Light. make the great staple of Philosophy, I am well aware how inadequately -to the latter all those feelings of these papers will assist in illustrating struggling aspiration which (whatever the views which I have hinted. Alas! form poetry may assume, even that of I fear they will prove acceptable only satire-the bitterness of a proud dis- to those invaluable readers (thrice content) are and ever will be at the happy He who can meet with such !) bottom of all real Poetry. Both of of whom a beautiful thinker has said these arts—the children of man's mid vous mettez dans vos lectures mieux de state-may indeed be grievously que ce que vous y trouvez, et donc perverted; Philosophy may corrupt l'esprit actif fait sur le livre un autre into a vain Curiosity, an idle Sophistry, livre quelque fois meilleur que le prea public Display, a machine of Gain mier.” Poetry may degrade herself into a




Immortal Soul of Love and Loveliness!
Creature, Creator of the enthusiast's dream!
Ah Thou, once wont my nightly hours to bless
With changeful lights, yet truer far than gleam
On the world's worse deceived idolater-
Long absent Spirit! dare the trembling voice
Be heard, of one forgotten worshipper ?
Oh teach to grieve, as erewhile to rejoice,
With words that echo Soul! so from the throng
Remote, my heart shall wake a low and lonely song.


A lonely song! The sleepless winds and waves,
And Thou, the Mystic Harmonist of all,
Sole Presences, shall hear me from the caves
That Memory guards, her pallid phantoms call.
A lonely song and desolate! yet the chord
Shall speak unfearful, though the hand that strays
O'er it may droop, the eye that scans each word
Weep itself dim, and Sorrow make my lays
An Iris whose unjoyous hue appears
When Fancy's rayless sun reflects from human tears.

• To the original manuscript I find appended the date, “ May, 4, 1828 ;” and the characteristic note subjoined—“a golden summer noon, and like all such days, fitter for melancholy than for happiness!” My friend had not yet learned how unlawful are these beautiful caprices.


Spirit of Beauty, hail, once more! where'er
Thine own especial shrine of joy is placed,
In pathless fields of interlunar air,
Palaced by night amid the star-isled waste,
Where gleams the bright Atlantis of the Sky,
Meek Evening's solitary orb! a fair
And holy paradise for 'Thee, and nigh
That heaven of heavens, from which thy parents were-
FANCY and TRUTH! the latter bright but still,
A flame unquenched amid the storm of mortal will.


The former-Fancy-dazzling and enchaining,
Playing round Truth, like sunlight on a lake,
That sleeps in lustrous calmness, not detaining
One ray of all that gild it: they forsake
The glassy bed they couched on—they are past
When Night absorbs their glory ; but unmoved,
Though teufold pall of earthly Night were cast
Round, is that waveless lake, the Truth, the Proved.
These be thy parents, Spirit! dost thou fly
To their Elysium oft, deep in the deepest sky ?

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Oh loveliest Omnipresence of whose power
The myriad spirits of air are messengers ;
Glorious alike in Firmament or Flower,
The voluble Earth--the meanest thing that stirs !
How shall I paint thy advent on my Youth,
When, from the vernal breast undrawn the shroud
That hides the Wilderness of worldly truth,
Thou cam'st embosom'd in a golden cloud,
Trailing half heaven with thee; and stooping near
Dropt'st accents charmed upon thy young adorer's ear!


And still the thrilling echo of that tone
Lives in the silent places of the heart,
As spectral shapes yet haunt those ruins lone
They filled with life's quick tumult once. This art
Hath Hope, to wrest a promise from Despair,
And wreathe in sickly smiles its haggard check :-
Still, still, a Glory vivifies the air,
Deepens the blush of Summer, vests the bleak
With verdure, spreads a mantle o'er the sea
Of light, of sound—and whence ? a Glory born of Thee!


Do I not feel Thee fluttering in the breeze,
That wooes me all the languid summer day?
Wav’st Thou not in the waving of dark trees,
That make the twilight of the forest grey ?
In God's eternal pyramids, the Mountains,
Whose brows are wrapt in cloud-infolded thunder,
Smiles not thy sterner loveliness ? in fountains,
And the soft banks of green their streamlets sunder,
Thy low laugh dimples ;--oh! what earthly spot
Lingers eclipsed of Thee, is known where "Thou art not !


Poesie is thy Priesthood! the great heart
Of the deep-thoughted Minstrel, Home for Thee :
Nay, in that Home more truly far Thou art
Than in the world that circles bim ! for He
Can pour the sweetness of thine inward power
On Earth's most earthly wretchedness, can find
-Or plant-in every wilderness a flower,
Whose life is in his own exhaustless mind.
No—'tis not Earth that blooms, or Seas that roll,
Which shrine Thee I Thou art templed in thy Poet's soul!


There, like the Sage's mystic Lamp, unseen
Yet quenchless, in his heart that living tomb,)*
The undying fire of Beauty aye hath been,
Reluming nature; yet, by saddest doom,
The heart consuming where it burns ! Oh Life,
Hast thou for Him whose strains can make thee heaven,
No holy hill beyond the vulgar strife,
No gentle paradise of quiet given,
To Beauty's canonized Choir ? Ah me!
Their voiceless harps for aye droop on the willow tree !

Then--worst of allcomes Custom, with a hand
To chill; and Fate with fetters; and low Care,
To dim the brain ; and Hatred's darker band;
And Envy, cursing all it cannot share ;
And foes internal - Passions stung to wrath,
Love, Friendship, scorned-all Life a very lie ;
And Madness lightening o'er his evening path ;
And Disappointment urging him to die ;
And that quick sense (to which even bliss is pain,)
That wrings from common slights a torture half insane.

Ahl of the sacred band whom Nature sent
To speak her mysteries, each (as 'twere) to be
A starry splendour in her firmament,
A Pharos in the world's unresting sea,
How few are fixed in heaven, how few on earth!
The starry souls die, quenched in mist and clouds,
The beacons fade! That stream of glorious birth,
Whose source ancestral angel glory shrouds,
The high blood-royal of the skies-debased,
O'erflows the desert world, and mingles with the waste !


No, let the earth-born toil! let those who bear
The charter of their servitude within!
Sworn menials of dull fame and pompous care-
The crowd their brotherhood-their hymn its din.
Theirs be the toil they covet! But for those
In whom the inbreathed God hath set his shrine-
Oh Nature ! save them from their flattering foes !
From the world's worship shroud this spark divine !
Sink not to greatness these-thy sharpest stroke! -

Basely to lead base men, slaves to the slaves they yoke ! • Baptista Porta, Delrio, &c. will tell the inquisitive reader all pertaining to those lamps of everlasting fire, which were set in sepulchres of old.

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