IS raging noon; and, vertical, the sun
Darts on the head direct his forceful rays.
O'er heaven and earth, far as the ranging eye
Can sweep, a dazzling deluge reigns; and all

174

A SUMMER NOON.

From pole to pole is undistinguish'd blaze.
Echo no more returns the cheerful sound
Of sharpening scythe: the mower sinking, heaps
O'er him the humid hay, with flowers perfumed;
And scarce a chirping grasshopper is heard
Through the dumb mead. Distressful Nature pants.
The very streams look languid from afar :

Or, through th' unsheltered glade, impatient, seem
To hurl into the covert of the grove.

All-conquering heat, oh, intermit thy wrath,
And on my throbbing temples potent thus
Beam not so fierce! incessant still you flow,
And still another fervent flood succeeds,
Pour'd on the head profuse. In vain I sigh,
And restless turn, and look around for night;
Night is far off, and hotter hours approach.
Thrice happy he! who, on the sunless side
Of a romantic mountain, forest-crown'd,
Beneath the whole collected shade reclines:
Or in the gelid caverns, woodbine-wrought,
And fresh bedew'd with ever-spouting streams,
Sits coolly calm; while all the world without,
Unsatisfied and sick, tosses in noon.
Emblem instructive of the virtuous man,
Who keeps his temper'd mind serene and pure,
And every passion aptly harmonized,

Amid a jarring world with vice inflamed.

THOMSON.

Lord Allin's Daughter.

Now, who be

CHIEFTAIN to the

Highlands bound,

Cries, "Boatman, do not

tarry!

And I'll give thee a silver pound

ye

To row us o'er the ferry."

would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water?"

O, I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
And this Lord Ullin's daughter.

"And fast before her father's men

Three days we've fled together; For, should he find us in the glen,

My blood would stain the heather.

"His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride
When they have slain her lover?"

Out spoke the hardy Highland wight,

"I'll go, my chief—I'm ready :—

It is not for your silver bright,

But for your winsome lady :

:

176

LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.

"And, by my word! the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry;

So, though the waves are raging white,
I'll row you o'er the ferry."

By this the storm grew loud apace,
The water-wraith was shrieking;

And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.

But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer,
Adown the glen rode armèd men,
Their trampling sounded nearer.

"O haste thee, haste!" the lady cries, Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies,

But not an angry father."

The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her,-
When, oh! too strong for human hand,
The tempest gathered o'er her.

And still they rowed amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing ;

Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore,

His wrath was changed to wailing.

For sore dismay'd, thro' storm and shade,
His child he did discover:

THE DEFORMED CHILD.

One lovely hand she stretch'd for aid,
And one was round her lover.

"Come back! come back!" he cried in grief,

"Across this stormy water;

And I'll forgive your Highland chief,-
My daughter! O my daughter!"

'Twas vain the loud waves lash'd the shore,
Return or aid preventing :-

The waters wild went o'er his child,

And he was left lamenting.

177

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

A

The Deformed Child.

N angel prisoned in an infant frame
Of mortal sickness and deformity,

Looks patiently from out that languid eye,

Matured, and seeming large with pain. The

name

Of "happy childhood" mocks his movements tame,
So propped with piteous crutch; or forced to lie
Rather than sit, in its frail chair, and try
To taste the pleasure of the unshared game.
He does; and faintly claps his withered hands
To see how brother Willie caught the ball;