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LINES, SUGGESTED BY A POEM CALLED THE "FLIGHT OF YOUTH,"

401

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WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND sons, 45, george street,

EDINBURGH:

AND T. CADELL, STRAND, LONDON.

To whom Communications (post paid) may be addressed.

SOLD ALSO BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.

PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGHI

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"It went up from the Holy's lips
Amid his lost creation,
That of the lost, no son should use
Those words of desolation;

That earth's worst frenzies, marring hope,
Should mar not hope's fruition;
And I, on Cowper's grave, should see
His rapture, in a vision !"

More to the mind than to the eye -or rather to some perception belonging to all the senses-is manifested the change that steals over nature towards the to-fall of the day—such change as is now going on among the mountains, and informs us, who have been taking no heed of time, of the very hour, which we could name

within a few minutes as surely as if there were a clock to look at in the niche above our head. Is that the murmur of insects or of the sea? That hoarser noise, till now inaudible, is of the cataract behind the Castle, and it tells of Cliffs.

The small Loch is smaller in shadow has lost much of its expression

-and ceased almost to be beautiful; but the solemnity of the mountainranges, lying far and wide in the blue haze that precedes the twilight, attracts the eyes of a spirit desirous of the calm momently settling deeper and deeper on them all-the uniting calm of earth and heaven.

the truth-seldom during all this long Strange and sad to say-but it is lonely day-only then when writing down a few words concerning them— have we thought of them whom we visited in the Castle-last time we were there and who so soon afterwards were dust! To-night we shall go to the Old Burial Place, and sit by their Tomb.

Like subterranean music the noise of the Bagpipe comes from the Castle to our Cave. That oldest of Celtsno raven can be his contemporaryis now strutting like a Turkey-cock with his tail up, to and fro on the esplanade-blowing out from below his elbow "The Gathering of the Clans" -for the Yacht is coming up the Loch goose-winged before the wind, and Donald is saluting the advent of his Chieftain, on his return from a victorious expedition into the Forest against goes the Gong-struck by the Hindu. the King of the Red-Deer. And there An hour to dinner-time and we must descend to our toilet for there is to be a brilliant company this evening at the Castle, and we shall show them in full fig a Lowland Gentleman of the

Old School.

Ha! Heaven bless thee! and hath

our own Genevieve come again to the Cave to tend our steps down the dell and across the bridges? A kiss-not on thy lips but on thy foreheadwreath our arm in thine-and ample and serene ! Ay- let us

"Like Morning brought by Night," shall be our entrance into the Home of thy Fathers.

Edinburgh: Printed by Ballantyne and Company, Paul's Work.

EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.

No. CCLXXV. SEPTEMBER, 1838.

VOL. XLIV.

Contents.

CHRISTOPHER AMONG THE MOUNTAINS,

THE RECIPROCITY AND COLONIAL SYSTEMS,

LEGENDARY LORE. LAND AND SEA,

WHIG-RADICAL CORRUPTION,

MEMORANDA OF Our Village, AND ITS FOUnders,

LETTERS OF AN ATTACHÉ,

LOVE AND GEOLOGY,

SOPHOCLES-TRACHINLE,

LINES, SUGGESTED BY A POEM CALLED THE "FLIGHT OF YOUTH,"

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401

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EDINBURGH:

WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, 45, george street,

EDINBURGH:

AND T. CADELL, STRAND, LONDON.

To whom Communications (post paid) may be addressed.

SOLD ALSO BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.

PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND CO. EDINBURGH.

BLACKWOOD'S

EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.

No. CCLXXV. SEPTEMBER, 1838.

VOL. XLIV.

CHRISTOPHER AMONG THE MOUNTAINS.

John Wilson,

FORGIVE us, thou most beautiful of Mornings! for having overslept the assignation hour, and allowed thee to remain all by thy self in the solitude, wondering why thy worshipper could prefer to thy presence the fairest phantoms that ever visited a dream. And thou hast forgiven us-for not clouds of displeasure these that have settled on thy forehead-the unreproaching light of thy countenance is upon us a loving murmur steals into our heart from thine-and pure and holy as a child's, or an angel's, Daughter of Heaven! is thy breath.

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In the spirit of that invocation we look around us, and as the Idea of Morning dies, sufficient for our happiness is "the light of common day the imagery of common earth. There has been rain during the night enough, and no more, to enliven the burn, and to brighten its banks-the mists are ascending composedly, with promise of gentle weather-and the sun, so mild that we can look him in the face with unwinking eyes, gives assurance, that as he has risen, so will he reign, and so will he set in peace. Yestreen we came into this glen at gloaming, and rather felt than saw that it was beautiful-we lay down at dark, and let the moon and stars canopy our sleep. Therefore it is almost altogether new to us; yet so congenial its quiet to the longings of our heart, that all at once it is familiar to us as if we had been sojourning here

VOL. XLIV. NO. CCLXXV.

for many days-as if this cottage were indeed our dwelling-place-and we had retired hither to await the closing of our life. Were we never here before-in the olden and golden time? Those dips in the summits of the mountains seem to recall from oblivion memories of a morning all the same as this, enjoyed by us with a different joy, almost as if then we were a different being, joy then the very element in which we drew our breath, satisfied now to live in the atmosphere of sadness often thickened with grief. 'Tis thus that there grows a confusion among the past times in the dormitory

call it not the burial-place-overshadowed by sweet or solemn imagery -in the inland regions of our soul; nor can we question the recollections as they rise-being ghosts, they are silent their coming and their going alike a mystery-but sometimes-as now-they are happy hauntings-and age is almost gladdened into illusion of returning youth.

'Tis a lovely little glen as in all the Highlands-yet we know not that a painter would see in it the subject of a picture for the sprinklings of young trees seem to have been sown capriciously by nature, and there seems no reason why on that hillside, and not on any other, should survive the remains of an old wood. Among the multitude of knolls a few are eminent with rocks and shrubs, but there is no central assemblage, and the green wil

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