ROBERT SOUTHEY. "What! art thou critical?" quoth he; "Eschew that heart's disease That seeketh for displeasure where The intent hath been to please. "By those four bells there hangs a tale, "Not by the Cliffords were they given, "On Stanemore's side, one summer eve, "Behind them, on the lowland's verge, "Slowly they came in long array, "The hills returned that lonely sound Upon the tranquil air: The only sound it was which then "Thou hear'st that lordly bull of mine, "Think'st thou if yon whole herd at once "That were a crune, indeed,' replied "Up Mallerstang to Eden's springs, The eastern wind upon its wings The mighty voice would bear; And Appleby would hear the sound, Methinks, when skies are fair.' 119 "Then shall the herd,' John Brunskill cried, 'From yon dumb steeple crune; And thou and I, on this hillside, Will listen to their tune. "So, while the merry Bells of Brough "As one who, in his latter years, "Thus it hath proved: three hundred years Since then have passed away, And Brunskill's is a living name Among us to this day.' "More pleasure," I replied, "shall I From this time forthi partake, When I remember Helbeck woods, For old John Brunskill's sake. "He knew how wholesome it would be, Among these wild, wide fells And upland vales, to catch, at times, The sound of Christian bells ; "What feelings and what impulses "That, when his brethren were convened To meet for social prayer, He too, admonished by the call, "Or when a glad thanksgiving sound, For some great blessing given, — "For victory by sea or land, And happy peace at length; Peace by his country's valor won, And stablished by her strength; "When such exultant peals were borne Upon the mountain air, The sound should stir his blood, and give An English impulse there." Such thoughts were in the old man's | I loved a love once, fairest among women! He curls up in his sanctuary shell. Long as he will, he dreads no Quarter Day. vites And feasts himself; sleeps with himself o' nights. He spares the upholsterer trouble to pro cure Chattels; himself is his own furniture, roam, Closed are her doors on me now, I must Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly; Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood, Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces. Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling? Somight we talk of the old familiar faces,— How some they have died, and some they have left me, And some are taken from me; all are departed; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. HESTER. WHEN maidens such as Hester die, With vain endeavor. A month or more hath she been dead, Knock when you will, he's sure to be A springy motion in her gait, at home. THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES. I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions, In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have been laughing, I have been carousing, Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies; All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. A rising step, did indicate I know not by what name beside Her parents held the Quaker rule, A waking eye, a prying mind, JAMES HOGG. A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind, Ye could not Hester. My sprightly neighbor, gone before To that unknown and silent shore, Shall we not meet, as heretofore, Some summer morning, When from thy cheerful eyes a ray Hath struck a bliss upon the day, A bliss that would not go away, A sweet forewarning? JAMES HOGG. Young Jock has ta'en the hill for 't, Poor Harry 's ta'en the bed for 't, The young laird o' the Lang Shaw And that is mair in maiden's praise The wailing in our green glen THE RAPTURE OF KILMENY. 121 When many a day had come and fled, When grief grew calm, and hope was dead. When mass for Kilmeny's soul had been sung, When the bedesman had prayed, and the dead-bell rung, Late, late in a gloamin' when all was still, When the fringe was red on the westlin' hill, The wood was sere, the moon i' the wane, The reek o' the cot hung over the plain, Like a little wee cloud in the world its lane; When the ingle lowed with an eiry leme, Late, late in the gloamin' Kilmeny came hame! "Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been? Lang hae we sought baith holt and den, Kilmeny, Kilmeny, where have you been?" Kilmeny looked up with a lovely grace, But nae smile was seen on Kilmeny's face; T will draw the redbreast frae the wood, As still was her look, and as still was For Kilmeny had been she knew not | where, And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare. Kilmeny had been where the cock never crew, Where the rain never fell, and the wind never blew; But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung, And the airs of heaven played round her tongue, When she spake of the lovely forms she had seen, And a land where sin had never been, In that green wene Kilmeny lay, All striped wi' the bars of the rainbow's rim; And lovely beings round were rife, Who erst had travelled mortal life; And aye they smiled, and 'gan to speer, "What spirit has brought this mortal here?" They clasped her waist and her hands sae fair, They kissed her cheek, and they kemed her hair, And round came many a blooming fere, Saying, "Bonny Kilmeny, ye 're welcome here! "O, would the fairest of mortal kind And the sigh that heaves a bosom sae fair! And dear to the viewless forms of air, THOMAS MOORE. To warn the living maidens fair, With distant music, soft and deep, wene. When seven long years were come and fled; When grief was calm, and hope was dead; When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's name, Late, late in a gloamin' Kilmeny ca.ne hame! And O, her beauty was fair to see, men; Her holy hymns unheard to sing, To suck the flowers, and drink the spring. O, then the glen was all in motion ! And goved around, charmed and amazed; For something the mystery to explain. 123 FLY TO THE DESERT. FLY to the desert, fly with me, Our rocks are rough, but smiling there Then come,thy Arab maid will be O, there are looks and tones that dart |