His mother, too, no doubt, above
Her other children him did love :
For, was she here, or was she there,
She thought of him with constant care,
And more than mother's love.

And proud she was of heart, when clad
In crimson stockings, tartan plaid,
And bonnet with a feather gay,
To kirk he on the Sabbath-day

Went hand in hand with her.

A dog, too, had he; not for need,
But one to play with and to feed;
Which would have led him, if bereft
Of company or friends, and left
Without a better guide.

And then the bagpipes he could blow;
And thus from house to house would go,
And all were pleased to hear and see;
For none made sweeter melody

Than did the poor Blind Boy.

Yet he had many a restless dream;
Both when he heard the eagles scream,
And when he heard the torrents roar,
And heard the water beat the shore
Near which their cottage stood.

Beside a lake their cottage stood,
Not small, like ours, a peaceful flood,
But one of mighty size, and strange,
That, rough or smooth, is full of change,
And stirring in its bed.

For to this lake, by night and day,
The great sea-water finds its way
Through long, long windings of the hills,
And drinks up all the pretty rills,

And rivers large and strong;

Then hurries back the road it came-
Returns on errand still the same:

This did it when the earth was new,
And this for evermore will do,

As long as earth shall last.

And, with the coming of the tide,
Come boats and ships, that sweetly ride
Between the woods and lofty rocks;
And to the shepherds with their flocks
Bring tales of distant lands.

And of those tales, whate'er they were,
The Blind Boy always had his share;
'Whether of mighty towns, or vales
With warmer suns and softer gales,
Or wonders of the deep.

Yet more it pleased him, more it stirr'd,
When, from the water-side he heard
The shouting and the jolly cheers,
The bustle of the mariners,

In stillness or in storm.

But what do his desires avail?
For he must never handle sail;
Nor mount the mast, nor row, nor float
In sailor's ship or fisher's boat
Upon the rocking waves.

His mother often thought, and said,
What sin would be upon her head
If she should suffer this: "My son,
Whate'er you do, leave this undone;
The danger is so great."

Thus lived he by Loch Leven's side,
Still sounding with the sounding tide,
And heard the billows leap and dance,
Without a shadow of mischance,
Till he was ten years old.

When, one day (and now mark me well,
Ye soon shall know how this befell)
He's in a vessel of his own,
On the swift water hurrying down
Towards the mighty sea.

In such a vessel, never more

May human creature leave the shore!-
If this or that way he should stir,
Woe to the poor blind mariner !

For death will be his doom.

But say what bears him?-Ye have seen
The Indian's bow, his arrows keen,
Rare beasts, and birds with plumage bright,
Gifts which, for wonder or delight,

Are brought in ships from far.

Such gifts had those seafaring men
Spread round that haven in the glen:
Each hut, perchance, might have its own,
And to the boy they all were known;
He knew and prized them all.

And one, the rarest, was a shell

Which he, poor child, had studied well;
The shell of a green turtle, thin

And hollow; you might sit therein,
It was so wide and deep.

"Twas even the largest of its kind,
Large, thin, and light, as birch-tree rit

So light a shell that it would swim,
And gaily lift its fearless brim

Above the tossing surge.

And this the little Blind Boy knew:
And he a story strange, yet true,
Had heard, how in a shell like this
An English boy, O thought of bliss!

Had stoutly launch'd from shore;
Launch'd from the margin of a bay
Among the Indian isles, where lay
His father's ship, and had sail'd far
To join that gallant ship of war,
In his delightful shell.

Our Highland Boy oft visited

The house which held this prize; and, led
By choice or chance, did thither come,
One day, when no one was at home,
And found the door unbarr'd.

While there he sat, alone and blind,
That story flash'd upon his mind,-
A bold thought roused him, and he took
The shell from out its secret nook,
And bore it in his arms.

And with the happy burthen hied,
And push'd it from Loch Leven's side,-
Stepp'd into it; and, without dread,
Following the fancies in his head,
He paddled up and down.

Awhile he stood upon his feet;
He felt the motion-took his seat;
And dallied thus, till from the shore
The tide retreating more and more

Had suck'd, and suck'd him in.
And there he is, in face of heaven, -
How rapidly the child is driven !
The fourth part of a mile I ween
He thus had gone, ere he was seen
By any human eye.

But when he was first seen, oh me,
What shrieking and what misery!
For many saw: among the rest
His mother, she who loved him best,
She saw her poor Blind Boy.
But for the child, the sightless Boy,
It is the triumph of his joy!
The bravest traveller in balloon,
Mounting as if to reach the mocn,
Was never half so bless'd.

But now the passionate lament,

Which from the crowd on shore was sent, The cries which broke from old and young In Gaelic, or the English tongue,

Are stifled-all is still.

And quickly, with a silent crew,
A boat is ready to pursue;

And from the shore their course they take,
And swiftly down the running lake
They follow the Blind Boy.

But soon they move with softer pace;
So have ye seen the fowler chase,
Or Grasmere's clear unruffled breast,
A youngling of the wild duck's nest,
With deftly lifted oar.

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 cry 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 leapt 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 flow'd 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.

Juvenile Pieces.

EXTRACT

FROM THE CONCLUSION OF A POEM, COMPOSED UPON LEAVING SCHOOL.

DEAR native regions, I foretell,

From what I feel at this farewell,

That, wheresoe'er my steps shall tend,

And whensoe'er my course shall end,
If in that hour a single tie

Survive of local sympathy,

My soul will cast the backward view,
The longing look, alone on you.

Thus, when the sun, prepared for rest,
Hath gain'd the precincts of the west,
Though his departing radiance fail
To illuminate the hollow vale,
A lingering light he fondly throws
On the dear hills where first he rose.