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But the air was soft, and the silence deep,
They bore her away, she wist not how,
For she felt not arm, not rest below;
But so swift they wained her through the light,
'Twas like the motion of sound or sight;
They seemed to split the gales of air,
And yet nor gale nor breeze was there.
Unnumbered groves below them grew;
They came, they past, and backward flew,
Like floods of blossoms gliding on,
In moment seen, in moment gone.
O, never vales to mortal view
Appeared like those o'er which they flew;
That land to human spirits given,
The lowermost vales of the storied heaven;
From whence they view the worlds below.
And heaven's blue gate with sapphires glow—
More glory yet unmeet to know.
Then Kilmeny begged again to see
The friends she had left in her own countrye,
To tell of the place where she had been,
And the glories in the land unseen;
To warn the living maidens fair,
The loved of Heaven, the spirit's care,
That all whose minds unmeled remain,
Shall bloom in beauty when Time is gane.
With distant music soft and deep,
They lulled Kilmeny sound asleep;
And when she wakened, she lay her lane,
All happed wi' flowers in the greenwood wene.
When seven long years had come and fled;
When grief was calm, and hope was dead;
When scarce was remembered Kilmeny's name,
Late, late in the gloamin' Kilmeny came hame!
And oh, her beauty was fair to see,
But still and steadfast was her e'e!
Such beauty bard might ne'er declare,
For there was no pride nor passion there;
And the soft desire of maiden's e'en,
In that mild face could never be seen.
Her seymar was the lily flower,
And her cheek the moss-rose in the shower;
And her voice like the distant melodye
That floats along the twilight sea.
But she loved to raike the lonely glen,
And keeped afar frae the haunts of men;
Her holy hymns unheard to sing,
To suck the flowers, and drink the spring.
But wherever her peaceful form appeared,
The wild beasts of the hill were cheered;
The wolf played blithely round the field,
The lordly bison lowed and kneeled;
The dun deer woed wi' manner bland,
And cowered ancath her lily hand.
And when at even the woodlands rung,
When hymns of other worlds she sung,
In ecstasy of sweet devotion,
O, then the glen was all in motion!
The wild beasts of the forest came,
Broke from their bughts and faulds the tame,
And goved around, charmed and amazed;
Even the dull cattle crooned and gazed,
And murmured and looked with anxious pain,
For something, the mystery to explain.
The buzzard came with the throstle-cock,
The corby left her houf in the rock;
The blackbird along wi' the eagle flew;
The hind came tripping o'er the dew;
The wolf and the kid their raike began;
And the tod, and the lamb, and the leveret ran;
The hawk and the hern attour them hung,
And the merl and the mavis forhooyed their young;
And all in a peaceful ring were hurled;
It was like an eve in a sinless world!
When a month and a day had come and gane,
Kilmeny sought the greenwood wene;
There laid her down on the leaves sae green,
And Kilmeny on earth was never mair seen.
But oh, the words that fell from her mouth
Were words of wonder, and words of truth!
But all the land were in fear and dread,
For they kenned na whether she was living or dead.
It wasna her hame, and she couldna remain;
She left this world of sorrow and pain,
And returned to the land of thought again.
A Boy's Song.
"VX THERE the pools are bright and deep,
* * Where the grey trout lies asleep,
Where the blackbird sings the latest,
Where the mowers mow the cleanest,
Where the hazel bank is steepest,
Why the boys should drive away
But this I know, I love to play,
From 'the Bride Of Abydos.'
T/NOW ye the land where the cypress and myrtle
»."- Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clime?
Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle,
Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime! Know ye the land of the cedar and vine, Where the flowers ever blossom, the beams ever shine; Where the light wings of Zephyr, oppressed with perfume, Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul in her bloom; Where the citron and olive are fairest of fruit, And the voice of the nightingale never is mute; Where the tints of the earth, and the hues of the sky, In colour though varied, in beauty may vie, And the purple of ocean is deepest in dye; Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine, And all, save the spirit of man, is divine? 'Tis the clime of the East; 'tis the land of the Sun— Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done? Oh! wild as the accents of lover's farewell Arc the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell.