THE LONESOME DELL. 'Tis a lonesome dell-for the peasants tell, Where Kelvin waters are murmuring past. 221 During some passing conversation held with an old peasant, by the Pear-Tree-Well at north Woodside, upon the Kelvin, he thus addressed the visitor::—“ In yonder old house (pointing eastward), some thirty-eight years ago, lived Catharine Clark with her mother. One Saturday, late in autumn, a young man, understood to be her sweetheart, called her out in the gloaming. Within two hours thereafter, he again visited her mother's cottage; the anxious mother seeing him enter alone, and also observing some spots of blood upon his hands and dress, cried out in the utmost trepidation, 'Where is my daughter?' The lad made some excuse to account for Catharine's absence, tending to lull, though not to satisfy a mother's fears; and killing a sheep were the immediate causes of her groundless fears. It was strange, that he was not immediately seized, and more so, that he was allowed to return home, to one of the low bleachfield houses down upon the river opposite Kelvin-side where he then lodged: early next morning, a search was instituted until the girl was found. She had been murdered in the hollow behind the Pear-Tree-Well, and a huge slab of granite laid over the shallow crypt wherein she lay. Evil One must have assisted the murderer in his unhallowed task," continued the peasant, "for two stout men could with difficulty remove the stone. It also was surmisal that the wretch had fled to Ireland, as he never was apprehended for the crime." The The Pear-Tree-Well, above alluded to, is said to have received its name from a pear-tree which formerly grew over it: at present the fountain is guarded by a branching plane-tree, and two stately elms; the well which here overlooks the Kelvin in one of its most romantic scenes of wood and valley, is arched over with stone and rudely paved in front, where the thirsty pilgrim, who chooses to visit this western Arcadia of ours, and drink of its refreshing waters, will find an iron ladle, attached to a chain of the same metal, rivetted into a side stone of the fountain, bearing this memorable inscription: "STOLEN FROM THE PEA'-TREE-WELL." THE WINTER BOWER. Air.-"THE ROSE-TREE." YON winter bower is fairer, When moonshine's around the glade; These glens to me are dearer Than balmy summer's flowery shade: As through the pines we wander, Where rushes down the mountain stream In all its native grandeur, Reflected o'er by Cynthia's beam. I ranged the woodland's border, Where gay flowers in summer grow; But all in wild disorder Lay wreathed in the drifting snow: And holly's scarlet berries hung, I twined them on my love's brows, And kiss'd the garland blooming round. THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. 223 THE SOLDIER'S RETURN. A soldier wandering o'er the fields, She was busy raking her father's green hay. All faint and weary he sat him down, And eyed the maiden, whose smile had flown, For thoughts hung wild round her heart, whene'er Hush'd hopes that swelling, turn'd back on her dear. O tell me, soldier! but no, she cries, In foreign clime, my love's body lies, No friend wept o'er him but heaven's dew, O bloody Flanders! His spirit wanders thy death-valleys through. The soldier sigh'd as her dark eyes ran Close to his fond heart, his love he infolds. The opening lines of the above, as well as those of the following Song, are taken from traditional Ballads, by way of rescuing from oblivion their respective airs, which are eminently beautiful, and peculiar to the Ballads themselves. PRETTY MAID. THERE was a pretty plough-boy, Made his horses stand under a shade, That each valley, wood, and hill, Breezy zephyr caught the echo, Pretty maid! By the streamlet's dimpling bosom, And bade her whisper down the dell, ❝ Your maid! Soon will meet you by the fountain in the shade." WELCOME SUMMER BACK AGAIN. Air." HIGHLAND HARRY BACK AGAIN. IN Flora's train the graces wait, And chase rude winter from the plain; SPRING'S ANTICIPATION. The budding wild will soon perfume The mavis sings his cheerful strain, When yellow cowslips scent the mead, www SPRING'S ANTICIPATION. THOUGH winter o'er the hills and glens, Yet soon the lovely days of spring Will leaf the bending grove; Then soft the breeze will fan the air, And all will breathe of love. 225 |