THE MIST CLEARS. 133 



Dim floats the sombrous imagery sublime, 

 Thy lone harp mingles sad its sweetest chime, 

 The aged rocks seem listening to the song, 

 On clouds of mist the spectre warriors throng, 

 Whilst the low gale sighs, o'er their mossy bed, 

 Peace to the shadows of the mighty dead ! * 



Break off break off. Gone, long since gone, is that 

 beautiful day-spring of life alas ! how fleeting when for 

 the time we wandered along the rude wastes and sounding 

 shores of the stormy Hebrides, looking forward to some 

 undefined pleasure, radiant with hope, and glowing with 

 enthusiasm; departed are those day-dreams of the romantic 

 fancy ; and, the illusive veil at length drawn aside, nought 

 is now before us but the stern realities of life. 



The everlasting mist still rolls on, and although slightly 

 ascending at times, it gives a glimpse of the dripping 

 heather, yet another and another volume drives along, each 

 pressing on like the waves of a troubled sea. But behold a 

 broad white light expanding in the heavens. It is the path 

 of the glorious sun wading in the dim expanse, and strug- 

 gling with the vapour. Now it fac'es away, and hope dies 

 with it: dark dark dark. Oh that some blast would 

 sweep across the moor, and scatter these lazy volumes to 

 the four corners of the earth ! 



" But it will clear ! I see it is clearing. Mark how the 

 mist is gathering together, and forming in more compact 

 masses. By heavens, it rises ! How beautifully it climbs 

 the silvery heights of Ben-y-venie ! See how it courses 

 before the sun, and how blue it is getting to the leeward ! 



" Shake the dew drops from your flanks, Peter ; we shall 

 start in ten minutes." 



" Will you please to tak' a glass of whiskey ?" 



" Will I ? you shall see. Out with your bottle, my good 

 fellow : but I do you wrong, for I see it has been constantly 

 in your hands. I only hope that it has a better smack with 

 it than the mountain dew we have been inhalino- for the 



O 



last three hours. There, pass it round with wishes for 



* The author printed these lines, such as they are, many years ago ; but 

 circumstances happened which prevented the continuance of the work in 

 which they were included, and consequently their circulation. 



