To Mountain Tarn 



the solitude, as of a treeless forest, were no red 

 deer. The bark of the roebuck came from the 

 far distance. 



Still closer the hills gather in on the main 

 valley. The scene is increasingly wild. There 

 comes a stretch, solitary as the most contempla- 

 tive could wish, with no rival in sight to put a 

 ripple on the angler's spirit. The road is on the 

 far side, for the simple reason that there is no 

 room for it on this. 



By a dark wood is a still pool. So dense, so 

 almost pitchy dark the wood, that it is not sought 

 even as shelter from the midday heat. The 

 shadow oppresses, as does the atmosphere of 

 heavy deeds. It is Elibank, in the centre of 

 raidland, with many a rude tale to tell. 



On the bare slope beyond, is a border keep. 

 It is in ruin ; a scene of jagged walls. An arch is 

 over the lower story, whither the cattle were 

 driven for safety when the beacon fires were lit. 

 Now it is lifeless save when the stoat brings a 

 rabbit, surprised on the edge of the wood ; or the 

 fox hides, to watch the covey of grouse out on 

 the heather. 



The Tweed surges round a grassy islet. It 

 stills into another pool, where it is good to fish, 

 or simply to loiter. Many an hour, through 

 many an autumn, have I cast, and looked, and 

 dreamed. There is so much beside fishing : the 

 dark wood of Elibank ; the ruined keep with its 

 i 113 



