Imágenes de página
PDF
ePub

THE FIRST AND LAST APPEAL.

AS ILLUSTRATED BY FRANK STONE'S PICTURES.

BY W. X. COOKBIN.

THE FIRST APPEAL.

Gude lassie, ye ken richt well that for aye long the light of youre bonnie ee has been dearer to me than all the siller that micht kem to me, if I could be rich as the laird of Glencairn; ye ken rich't well that I see youre face in every flower your gude faither and mysel culls, and sends to the castle; but then the flowers kennie be sae fine as you, my Maggie, and they waud nae mak youre hair more bonnie for aye that, lassie. When they first bud I will bring to ye the bonniest o' them. When the Lavroch whistles his song high over us, will ye nae hie wi me to the forest, and wark sae merrily; the harvest time will bring to us new blessings, and we will dance and sing wi' the reapers, as they return to their cottage home. And then when the cauld winter of this life comes to us, ye shall say that all is truth that I now tell ye. And as the frosts of time mak every year youre bonnie hair to wichten, and youre bright ee to graw dim, will we not love each other e'en more tenderly than in the days of our early love? But I hae naught to offer ye neither of pairls nor of gauld; but, lassie, these waud nae mak my love greater than it now is, my ain Maggie.

* Andre, how ken ye be sae silly as talk o' love? What waud my puir faither do, and the bairns that my maither left? They're owre young to be left to the world without ony to care for them. But hush, Andre, here kems the Laird's son, and it might nae be prudent for ye to be seen in conversation wi me. Know ye, Andre, my ain, that I will think of it, and talk to my gude faither on the subject.'

I hae my doots about it,' muttered Andre, as he walked from the garden; but if the heir to Glencairn estate plots wi' Maggie, I will be e'en wi' them.

The foregoing conversation took place between the daughter of the principal gardener of the Glencairn Estate and the son of one of the chief tenantry. Maggie and himself had been brought up together; she the bonniest lass that could be met with, and himself the pride of the young men of his age in the neighborhood, the course of their intimacy from childhood had progressed in one unruffled course, more as a brotherly and sisterly affection than that of the deeper passion of love.

The arrival of the Laird's son, who had ruined health and pocket in the gay metropolis, and upon whom Maggie was known to smile, was the occasion of many doubts and fears in the honest heart of Andre, and gave birth to the remark made by him in the interview in question. Not many days had elapsed when the sister of Andre, conveyed VOL. XXXI.

32

to Maggie a request, that she would meet him at a certain hour on the following evening at a well known spot, called the Lover's Weli, an unfathomed spring in the neighborhood, round which there lurked many a legend of days gone by, of disappotnted and unreturned love.

To this request Maggie willingly assented, although at first with some feeling of disquietude, as previous to this occasion the intervention of a third person was considered unnecessary, su mutual had been the feelings of each to the other, from childhood until the time of their previous interview, when he had ventured to breathe to her his · FIRST APPEAL OF LOVE.

Let Andre know that I will see him at Sabbath eve, and tell him I dinna ken, why he waud nae hae come wi the message himsel, but then he's ower strange a times, and perhaps, puir lad, he canna come ; and whether or no, I'll forgive and forget.'

THE LAST APPE A L. • Maggie my ain that was, I know richt well ye hae nae love for me ony more; there was a time when ye smiled as I approached ye, and youre tiny foot went e'n faster on the brake, as ye spun by your'e door, and ye singing sae prettily a' the while; but your ee changed Maggie, and my puir heart dies when I see how cold ye are, and to see ye sae pleased at the young laird when he comes to bid ye good morning, and the blessing of heaven, when all the while he waud harm ye, Maggie, with his heart as black as the mare that Tam O'Shanter crosses wi' o'er the waste; making sadness and misery when ye hear the noise of its brawny hoofs; but, Maggie, by this hand of your’re ain, that I now hold, ye shall nae ga' from me, till ye say that ye will reject him, and turn away when he comes to ye. My ain Maggie, smile on me, my ain loved one.

• Andre ye waud nae gie me detention in this spot contraire to my wishes; and Andre ye look sae pale, and your'e hands seem sae cold that ye frichten me, and I would go; and ye know it is not many, Andre, to keep me against my wishes when I would go.'

'Nay, Maggie, ye hae heaped up my misfortunes, and my heart wand break. I canna survive the big blow ye hae given me, I waud hae died to serve ye, and ye hae turned cold up me.

*Andre, in the name of heaven let me go. I hear the bairk of the laird's dogs, and what if he saw my hand in yours, Andre, and yoursel' agitated ?

May the curse of the unhappy light upon him and his house! May ruin and desolation

Andre, Andre, do nae curse! kem laim wi’ me, and I will love ; heavens, Andre, what waud ye; help, oh! faither, bairns! gude Andre;' a shriek, confined and stifling, and all was still.

The tale was soon told to the young laird, who was hurried to the spot by the screams of Maggie.. He knew from the bubbles and agitation of the deep well that she had indeed perished ! The truth glanced upon him in an instant, that Andre had leaped with her into the unfathomed depths of the Lover's Well into which he looked !

It is unnecessary to add whether the curse was fulfilled, which legend says commenced with the dawn of the day next succeeding the death of Andre and Maggie.

From the 'nature of the spring, no attempt was ever made to recover the bodies of the unfortunate pair; but they were mourned for by many of their generation, and even to the present day it forms one of the interesting legends with which the traveller in the Highlands is delighted; and they even say that the pair may be seen hovering over the well previous to the decease of any of the once powerful, but now ruined house of Glencairn.

Philadelphia, April, 1850.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]
[ocr errors][ocr errors][merged small]

HEAR, lovely CHLORIS! while we sing to thee:
Thou restest now beneath some shady tree,
Near a swift brook, upon a mossy root;
All other winds with deep delight are mute,
While Eurus frolics with thy flowing hair :
A thousand odors faint upon the air,
And ripple softly through the dewy green
Of the thick leaves that murmuringly screen
Thy snowy forehead. Struggling through their mass,
The quivering sunlight rains upon the grass
In golden flakes ; round thee a thousand flowers,
Still glittering with the tears of spring's light showers,
Offer the incense of their glad perfume
To thee, who makest them to bud and bloom
By thy kind smile and influence divine.
Thine arms around young ZEPHYRUS entwine,
And his round thee; with roses garlanded,
On his white shoulder rests thy snowy head,

Thy deep eyes gaze in his,
Radiant with mute, unutterable bliss,

And happy there,

Oh, lovely, young, enamored pair !
Your rosy lips oft meet in many a long warm kiss,

Now the young Spring rejoices and is glad,
In her new robes of leaves and blossoms clad ;
The happy earth smiles like an innocent bride
That sitteth blushing by her husband's side;
The bird her nest with earnest patience weaves,
And sings delighted, hidden in the leaves ;
From their high homes in old and caverned trees
The busy legions of industrious bees
Drink nectar at each flower's enamelled brim,
Breathing in murmured music their glad hymn;
The Nereids come from their deep ocean-caves,
Deserting for a space the saddened waves ;
The Dryads, from the dusky solitudes
Of venerable and majestic woods;
The Naiads, from the beech-embowered lakes,
The Oreads, from where hoarse thunder shakes
The iron mountains; wandering through cool glades,
And blushing lawns, when first the darkness fades

Before the coming dawn,
And ere the young day's crimson tints are gone,

In glad haste all,

Their lovers to enwreathe withal, Gather the fresh-blown flowers, cool with the breath of dawn.

Oh, gentle Queen! we spill to thee no blood;
Thine altar stands where the gray ancient wood,
Now green with leaves and fresh with April rains,
In stately circle sweeping round contains,
Embowered like a hill-environed dell,
A quiet lawn, whose undulations swell
Green as the sea-waves. Near a bubbling spring,
Whose waters, sparkling downward, lightly ring
On the small pebbles - round whose grassy lip
The birds and bees its crystal waters sip-
Thine altar stands, of shrubs and flowering vines,
Where rose with lily and carnation twines.
We burn to thee no incense; these fresh blooms
Breathe on the air more exquisite perfumes
Than all that press the over-laden wind
Which seaward floats from Araby or Ind :
No priests are here, prepared for sacrifice,
But fair young girls, with mischievous bright eyes,

With white flowers garlanded,
And by their young delighted lovers led,

With frequent kisses

And warm and innocent caresses,
To honor thee, the victim and the priest instead.

ALBERT PIEE

DJO U UL N A KIB.

ALAT OF ANCIENT TURENY.

It is a trite remark, that if we would learn the early history of a country, we must first study its ballads. Minstrels are the servants of tradition, and it is to their songs that a chivalric but not highly instructed race entrusts the task of perpetuating its early triumphs and glories. With the view of illustrating the earlier traditions of the Turks we have undertaken the translation of the following ballad, which still retains a considerable popularity in the streets of Stamboul and throughout the Sultan's dominions. Often of an evening we have stopped, or passed through the bazaars and besestans of the capital, to bear it from the mouth of a Koumbaradji, or professional story-teller, who may generally be observed perched upon a low kab-kab, drawling out this ballad in a monotonous but not unpleasing tone; and seldom does the audience fail to reward the bard by a low-muttered and approving bishmillah, accompanied with a bakshish of a few scudi. It is reported that such was its popularity with the late Sultan Abdoul MEDJID, whose passion for poetry and sherbet perhaps hastened his early death, that Kislar Aga, the chief of the black Eunuchs, was frequently commissioned to seek the most popular Bostandjis of the city to divert him and his beloved Chasseki, (the favorite of his harem,) by singing to them • The Swine-Eater,' and other ballads. *Djou ul Nakib, or “The Swine-Eater,' is current under different versions throughout all Turkey,

« AnteriorContinuar »