Or, as the wily sailors crept

To seize (while on the deep it slept)
The hapless creature which did dwell,
Erewhile, within the dancing shell,

They steal upon their prey.

With sound the least that can be made
They follow, more and more afraid,
More cautious as they draw more near;
But in his darkness he can hear,

And guesses their intent.

Lei-gha-Lei-gha"-then did he ery
Lei-gha-Lei-gha"-most eagerly;
Thus did he cry, and thus did pray.
And what he meant was, "Keep away,
And leave me to myself!"

Alas! and when he felt their hands-
You've often heard of magic wands,
That with a motion overthrow
A palace of the proudest show,
Or melt it into air.

So all his dreams, that inward light
With which his soul had shone so bright,
All vanish'd;-'twas a heartfelt cross
To him, a heavy, bitter loss,

As he had ever known.

But hark! a gratulating voice
With which the very hills rejoice:

"Tis from the crowd, who, tremblingly,
Had watch'd the event, and now can see
That he is safe at last.

And then, when he was brought to land,
Full sure they were a happy band,
Which, gathering round, did on the banks
Of that great water give God thanks,
And welcomed the poor child.

And in the general joy of heart
The Blind Boy's little dog took part;
He lept about, and oft did kiss
His master's hands in sign of bliss,
With sound like lamentation.

But most of all, his mother dear,
She who had fainted with her fear,
Rejoiced when, waking, she'espies

The child; when she can trust her eyes,
And touches the Blind Boy.

She led him home, and wept amain,
When he was in the house again:

Tears flowed in torrents from her eyes;
She could not blame him, or chastise.

She was too happy far.

Thus, after he had fondly braved
The perilous deep, the Boy was saved;
And, though his fancies had been wild,
Yet he was pleased, and reconciled
To live in peace on shore.

And in the lonely Highland dell
Still do they keep the turtle shell;
And long the story will repeat

Of the Blind Boy's adventurous feat,
And how he was preserved.

ROB ROY'S GRAVE.

The History of Rob Roy is sufficiently known; his grave is near the head of Loch Katrine, 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 ROB ROY!

Then clear the weeds from off his Grave,
And let us chaunt 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.

Yet was Rob Roy as wise as brave;
Forgive me if the phrase be strong;--
A Poet worthy of Rob Roy

Must scorn a timid song.

Say, then, that he was wise as brave;
As wise in thought as bold in deed:
For in the principles of things

He sought his moral creed.

Said generous Rob, "What need of books?
Burn all the statutes and their shelves:
They stir us up against our kind;
And worse, against ourselves.

"We have a passion, make a law,
Too false to guide us or control!
And for the law itself we fight
In bitterness of soul.

And, puzzled, blinded thus, we lose
Distinctions that are plain and few:
These find I graven on my heart
That tells me what to do.

"The creatures see of flood and field,
And those that travel on the wind!
With them no strife can last; they live
In peace, and peace of mind.

For why?-because the good old rule
Sufficeth them, the simple plan,

That they should take, who have the power
And they should keep who can.

"A lesson which is quickly learned,
A signal this which all can see!
Thus nothing here provokes the strong
To wanton cruelty.

"All freakishness of mind is checked;
He tamed, who foolishly aspires;
While to the measure of his might
Each fashions his desires.

"All kinds, and creatures, stand and fall
By strength of prowess or of wit:
"Tis God's appointment who must sway,
And who is to submit.

"Since, then, the rule of right is plain,
And longest life is but a day;

To have my ends, maintain my rights,
I'll take the shortest way."

And thus among these rocks he lived,
Through Summer's heat and Winter's snow
The eagle, he was lord above,

And Rob was lord below.

So was it would, at least, have been
But through untowardness of fate;
For polity was then too strong;
He came an age too late,

Or shall we say an age too soon?
For, were the bold man living now,
How might he flourish in his pride,

With buds on every bough!

Then rents and factors, rights of chase,
Sheriffs, and lairds and their domains,
Would all have seemed but paltry things,
Not worth a moment's pains.

Rob Roy had never lingered here,
To these few meagre vales confined;

But thought how wide the world, the times.

How fairly to his mind!

And to his sword he would have said,

"Do thou my sovereign will enact

From land to land through half the earth!
Judge thou of law and fact !

""Tis fit that we should do our part;
Becoming, that mankind should learn
That we are not to be surpassed
In fatherly concern.

"Of old things all are over old,

Of good things none are good enough :-
We'll show that we can help to frame
A world of other stuff.

I, too, will have my kings that take From me the sign of life and death: Kingdoms shall shift about, like clouds, Obedient to my breath."

And, if the word had been fulfilled,
As might have been, then, thought of joy
France would have had her present boast;
And we our brave Rob Roy!

Oh! say not so; compare them not;
I would not wrong thee, champion brave!
Would wrong thee no where; least of all
Here standing by thy grave.

For thou, although with some wild thoughts,
Wild chieftain of a savage clan!

Hadst this to boast of; thou didst love
The liberty of man.

And, had it been thy lot to live

With us who now behold the light,

Thou would'st have nobly stirred thyself,
And battled for the right.

For thou wert still the poor man's stay,

The poor man's heart, the poor man's hand;
And all the oppressed, who wanted strength,
Had thine at their command.

Bear witness many a pensive sigh
Of thoughtful herdsman when he strays
Alone upon Loch Veol's heights,

And by Loch Lomond's braes!

And, far and near, through vale and hill,
Are faces that attest the same;

And kindle, like a fire new stirred

At sound of RCB Roy's name,

STEPPING WESTWARD.

While my fellow-traveller and I were walking by the side of Loch Katrine, one fine evening after sunset, in our road to a hut where in the course of our tour we had been hospitably entertained some weeks before, we met, in one of the loneliest parts of that solitary region, two well-dressed women, one of whom said to us, by way of greeting, "What you are stepping westward."

"What you are stepping westward ?"—" Yea,"
-Twould be a wildish destiny,

If

we, who thus together roam

In a strange land, and far from home,
Were in this place the guests of chance:
Yet who would stop, or fear to advance,
Though home or shelter he had none,
With such a sky to lead him on?
The dewy ground was dark and cold;
Behind, all gloomy to behold;
And stepping westward seemed to be
A kind of heavenly destiny:

I liked the greeting; 'twas a sound
Of something without place or bound;
And seemed to give me spiritual right
To travel through that region bright.
The voice was soft, and she who spake
Was walking by her native lake:
The salutation had to me
The very sound of courtesy:
Its power was felt; and while my eye
Was fixed upon the glowing sky,
The echo of the voice enwrought
A human sweetness with the thought
Of travelling through the world that lay
Before me in my endless way.

GLEN-ALMAIN; OR, THE NARROW GLEN.

IN this still place, remote from men,
Sleeps Ossian, in the NARROW GLEN;
In this still place, where murmurs on
But one meek streamlet, only one:
He sang of battles, and the breath
Of stormy war, and violent death;

And should, methinks, when all was past,

Have rightfully been laid at last

Where rocks were rudely heaped, and rent
As by a spirit turbulent;

Where sights were rough, and sounds were wild,
And everything unreconciled;