 | Young Arthur |  |
The cot they enter with a grateful tear,
And Simon's looks to Heaven pray'd “peace be here!”
“Margaret,” he cried, and pointed to the youth;
A sigh declar'd his fondness and his truth:
“Margaret,” he cried, “this honour'd charge receive,
The only legacy my Lord could give;
For fifty years, in honourable state,
His sire and grandsire's generous bread I ate;
This Scion now of all the stock remains;
Clear is my conscience, for but few my gains;
Yet something sav'd my gratitude shall prove;
All Allan's legacy Old Simon's love.”
Here Allan dwelt 'till manhood's dawn took place;
Sigh'd for, in vain, by many a rustic grace:
Old Simon's savings, with a small supply
From many a secret hand, could want defy;
Old Simon's skill, for he'd a leech's lore,
Could simples cull, and con Culpepper o'er;
And little fees, for simple service paid,
With Allan's earnings, add their welcome aid:
With Allan's earnings; for the youth knew well
The pencil's magic, and the Muse's spell.
His draughts from Nature many a parlour grac'd;
But mean the tribute traffic pays to taste;
Small were his gains, but grateful as they grew;
His mind was humble, and his wants were few.
Thus frugal plenty bless'd the cottage board,
And Simon bless'd the Donor, and ador'd;
In Allan found, from gratitude and love,
All that a father and a friend could prove.
Beyond the cot, with sculpture proud adorn'd,
A mansion stood, and stood as though it scorn'd,
Scorn'd, like its owner, every humble roof;
From cot and cotter, each stood far aloof;
An high born knight there kept an awful state;
Fear'd, but not lov'd; and heedless he of hate;
His fortune splendid, his enjoyments spare;
One lovely child his only bliss or care;
High in her spirit; Edith was her name,
For beauty caroll'd by admiring fame;
Her form commanding; symmetry and grace
Compos'd the 'witching contour of her face;
Two lovely arches, with majestic rise,
Confirm'd the magic of her radiant eyes:
Those eyes—ye fair, what flatteries have ye heard
Of your bright eyes, by ardent love preferr'd?
That they beam'd heavenly, and resistless shone?
Did you believe? judge Edith's by your own—
Her skin the softness of fair morning's sky,
And freshness, pictur'd, with its blushing dye;
Her lips—near those the dimples' 'witching play
Seem'd as if loves for ever in them lay
To guard those lips from every soft appeal,
From every kiss but what themselves should steal.
Her locks were auburn, and her neck appear'd
Beauty's own column, by the Graces rear'd;
Her mien the grandeur of the Graces wore,
Yet, with a softened majesty she bore
Her maiden step—Her father's wealth she knew;
Valued her birth, and priz'd her beauty too;
Coquette from praise, and of her conquests vain;
Her pride was homage, and a captive's pain:
On Allan, artless Allan, had she thrown
Her magic spell, and made the youth her own;
Her magic spell—as Highland witches “throw
The glamer o'er him” whom they work sweet woe;
So Celtic mermaids 'witching spells pour forth,
As sings the modern Minstrel of the North ;
(The Syrens these, who shall for ages last,
Sung by the bard who their sweet strains surpass'd .)
Her magic spell? and could the haughty fair
Spread for a peasant youth an artful snare?
Ah, no—his birth from Simon's tale she knew,
Nor his a form with apathy to view;
And Simon's triumph at his manly grace,
Proud of his charge, and mindful of his race,
Gave him the dressing of a fairer lot,
Which spoke him no true tenant of a cot;
Mode was consulted, and, his habit on,
Taste and not tissue spoke Sir Allan's son.
The maid, too, oft had seen him in her way,
And dreams recall'd the visions of the day;
And though her hand full many a knight had woo'd,
Full many a youth, with many a charm endued,
None had attach'd her—had young Allan then?
Alas! she knew not; but felt restless when
Allan appear'd not; as was still his way,
While in the garden 'twas her care to stray,
Oft as he pass'd by Edith's proud abode;
And that seem'd ever to be in his road;
For ever and anon, no matter where
Allan must go, he found the track lay there:
Still, as he pass'd the garden, she was nigh,
And ever blushing as she caught his eye;
Their eyes would meet, to gaze each scarcely dar'd,
A transient look,—both instantly on guard;
Allan was caught, yet scarce his danger knew,
Fear'd to persist, yet fated to pursue;
Till one chance moment all his passion prov'd,
He felt, and yet dissembled, that he lov'd.
And Simon's looks to Heaven pray'd “peace be here!”
“Margaret,” he cried, and pointed to the youth;
A sigh declar'd his fondness and his truth:
“Margaret,” he cried, “this honour'd charge receive,
The only legacy my Lord could give;
For fifty years, in honourable state,
His sire and grandsire's generous bread I ate;
35
Clear is my conscience, for but few my gains;
Yet something sav'd my gratitude shall prove;
All Allan's legacy Old Simon's love.”
Here Allan dwelt 'till manhood's dawn took place;
Sigh'd for, in vain, by many a rustic grace:
Old Simon's savings, with a small supply
From many a secret hand, could want defy;
Old Simon's skill, for he'd a leech's lore,
Could simples cull, and con Culpepper o'er;
And little fees, for simple service paid,
With Allan's earnings, add their welcome aid:
With Allan's earnings; for the youth knew well
The pencil's magic, and the Muse's spell.
His draughts from Nature many a parlour grac'd;
But mean the tribute traffic pays to taste;
Small were his gains, but grateful as they grew;
His mind was humble, and his wants were few.
Thus frugal plenty bless'd the cottage board,
And Simon bless'd the Donor, and ador'd;
In Allan found, from gratitude and love,
All that a father and a friend could prove.
Beyond the cot, with sculpture proud adorn'd,
A mansion stood, and stood as though it scorn'd,
36
From cot and cotter, each stood far aloof;
An high born knight there kept an awful state;
Fear'd, but not lov'd; and heedless he of hate;
His fortune splendid, his enjoyments spare;
One lovely child his only bliss or care;
High in her spirit; Edith was her name,
For beauty caroll'd by admiring fame;
Her form commanding; symmetry and grace
Compos'd the 'witching contour of her face;
Two lovely arches, with majestic rise,
Confirm'd the magic of her radiant eyes:
Those eyes—ye fair, what flatteries have ye heard
Of your bright eyes, by ardent love preferr'd?
That they beam'd heavenly, and resistless shone?
Did you believe? judge Edith's by your own—
Her skin the softness of fair morning's sky,
And freshness, pictur'd, with its blushing dye;
Her lips—near those the dimples' 'witching play
Seem'd as if loves for ever in them lay
To guard those lips from every soft appeal,
From every kiss but what themselves should steal.
Her locks were auburn, and her neck appear'd
Beauty's own column, by the Graces rear'd;
37
Yet, with a softened majesty she bore
Her maiden step—Her father's wealth she knew;
Valued her birth, and priz'd her beauty too;
Coquette from praise, and of her conquests vain;
Her pride was homage, and a captive's pain:
On Allan, artless Allan, had she thrown
Her magic spell, and made the youth her own;
Her magic spell—as Highland witches “throw
The glamer o'er him” whom they work sweet woe;
So Celtic mermaids 'witching spells pour forth,
As sings the modern Minstrel of the North ;
(The Syrens these, who shall for ages last,
Sung by the bard who their sweet strains surpass'd .)
Her magic spell? and could the haughty fair
Spread for a peasant youth an artful snare?
38
Nor his a form with apathy to view;
And Simon's triumph at his manly grace,
Proud of his charge, and mindful of his race,
Gave him the dressing of a fairer lot,
Which spoke him no true tenant of a cot;
Mode was consulted, and, his habit on,
Taste and not tissue spoke Sir Allan's son.
The maid, too, oft had seen him in her way,
And dreams recall'd the visions of the day;
And though her hand full many a knight had woo'd,
Full many a youth, with many a charm endued,
None had attach'd her—had young Allan then?
Alas! she knew not; but felt restless when
Allan appear'd not; as was still his way,
While in the garden 'twas her care to stray,
Oft as he pass'd by Edith's proud abode;
And that seem'd ever to be in his road;
For ever and anon, no matter where
Allan must go, he found the track lay there:
Still, as he pass'd the garden, she was nigh,
And ever blushing as she caught his eye;
Their eyes would meet, to gaze each scarcely dar'd,
A transient look,—both instantly on guard;
39
Fear'd to persist, yet fated to pursue;
Till one chance moment all his passion prov'd,
He felt, and yet dissembled, that he lov'd.
When the Highland witches, or rather gypsies, bewitch any person, and irresistably attach their affections to themselves, they are said “to throw, or cast the glamer over them,” or in other words to fascinate, spell-bind, or bewitch them. Glamour. Allan Ramsay.
| Young Arthur | |