126 THE GIPSY-CAMP. 



with affected glee, although our hearts felt heavy. When we solicited 

 him to return, he answered us in words gentle and submissive as a 

 child, 



" Yes," said he, " I'll go with you, and try to feel happy ; many 

 days have rolled over since I was." 



We each took hold of an arm, and walked with him. Reflection 

 had given him eloquence. O, how his remarks made my heart bleed. 

 He spoke of the folly of yielding to headstrong passions, which caused 

 us to execute in one rash moment what a whole eternity could never 

 recal; of the direful effects of jealousy, which left nothing in its track 

 but desolation ; of the misery which ensued from those who married 

 unequal in their ages. As he proceeded, the big tears trickled down 

 his care-furrowed cheeks. We had by this time reached the camp ; 

 the bottle passed merrily round, and every eye seemed lighted with 

 joy, saving the old man's : he sat apart in silent meditation. The 

 old woman told her best tales ; the gipsy girls sang their sweetest 

 songs, while their lovers or husbands took up the chorus ; the raven 

 flew croaking above our heads ; the startled owl hooted at our mid- 

 night merriment ; and the echoing woods again responded the im- 

 mortal ballads of Robin Hood and Chevy Chace. After the merry 

 din had a little subsided I was requested to sing. 



" Come, then," said old Abigail, " let's have one of your own me- 

 lancholy songs ; for I have heard say that ye have made a many on 

 the death of your poor Mary ; Heaven rest her soul !" 



Vinah, too, solicited ; and every ragged callant would hear any 

 thing but no. I sat opposite the old man, on whom a fearful change 

 had within this last hour been visible. The women whispered one 

 to the other, and the men regarded him with superstitious fear. I 

 felt curious to mark the effect that my singing would produce on his 

 desponding feelings. He held a full glass in his hand, but as I pro- 

 ceeded let it rest upon his knee untasted. All around sat listening in 

 death-like silence, as I thus commenced : 



Wave on, thou dark green aged thorn, 



In solemn silence wave ; 

 Beneath thy shade we meet no more, 



My Mary's in her grave. 

 Come, Death and bear me to her tomb, 



Beside yon wood-crown'd hill ; 

 Wave on, 'thou dark green aged thorn, 



Thy shadow turns me chill. 



" What is the matter, Boswell ?" interrogated Abigail. 

 The old man sat with' his eyes turned towards heaven, his hands 

 shook like the trembling water-flag. " Nothing, nothing !" he mur- 

 mured ; " sing on." 



Shine on, ye bright sky-cradled stars, 



Ye Itmng to mind her eyes, 

 And oft have shone on her pale cheek 



When no moon walked the skies ; 

 Sing on, thou lonely nightingale 

 Oh, how thou mak'st me thrill ! 

 Thou sang so when my Mary liv'd, 

 I hear thee and turn chill. 



