108 DAYS AND NIGHTS OF SALMON FISHING 



haugh, and glittering amongst sylvan bowers 

 swelling out at times fair and ample, and again con- 

 tracted into gorges and sounding cataracts lost for 

 a space in its mazes behind a jutting brae, and re- 

 appearing in dashes of light through bolls of trees 

 opposed to it in shadow. 



Thus it holds its fitful course. The stranger might 

 wander in the quiet vale, and, far below the blue 

 summits, he might see the shaggy flock grouped 

 upon some sunny knoll, or straggling among the 

 scattered birch trees ; and, lower down on the 

 haugh, his eye perchance might rest awhile on some 

 cattle standing on a tongue of land by the margin 

 of the river, with their dark and rich brown forms 

 opposed to the brightness of the waters. All these 

 outward pictures he might see and feel ; but he could 

 see no farther : the lore had not spread its witchery 

 over the scene the legends slept in oblivion. The 

 stark moss-trooper, and the clanking stride of the 

 warrior, had not again started into life ; nor had the 

 light blazed gloriously in the sepulchre of the wizard 

 with the mighty book. The slogan swelled not anew 

 upon the gale, resounding through the glens, and 

 over the misty mountains ; nor had the minstrel's 

 harp made music in the stately halls of Newark,* 

 or beside the lonely braes of Yarrow. 



Since that time I have seen the cottage of Abbots- 

 ford with its rustic porch, lying peacefully on the 

 haugh between the lone hills ; and have listened to 

 the wild rush of the Tweed as it hurried beneath it. 

 As time progressed, and as hopes arose, I have seen 



* The tower of Newark stands near Bowhill. 



