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volume three.
From Blackwood’s Magazine. |
HOME IN THE SKIES.
When up to nightly skies we gaze,
Where stars pursue their endless ways,
We think we see from earth’s low clod
The wide and shining home of God.
But coald we rise to moon or sun,
Or path where planneU duly run,
Slill heaven would spread above us far,
And earth remote would seem a star.
’Tis vain to dream, those tracts of space,
With all their worlds approach his face :
One glory fills each wheeling ball—
One love has shaped and moved them all.
This earth, with all its dust and tears,
Is his no less than yonder spheres:
And rain drops weak, and grains of sand,
Are stamped by his immediate hand.
The rock, the wave, the little flower,
All led by streams of living power,
That spring from one Almighty will,
Whate’er his thoughts conceive, fulfil.
And is this all that man can claim 1
Is this our longing’s final aim 1
To be like all things round—no more
Than pebbles cast on Time s gray shore 1
Can man, no more than beast, aspire 1
To know bis being’s awful Sire 1
And, born and lost on Nature’s breast,
No blessing seek but thereto rest 1
Not this our doom, our God benign l
Whose rays on us unclouded shine:
Thy breath sustains yon fiery dome,
But Man is most thy favored home.
We view those halls of painted air,
And own thy presence makes them fair;
But dearer still to thee, O Lord !
Is he whose thoughts to thine accord.
StltctcO smscrUaitj). _j
EDITH OP GLENGYLE.
BY ROBERT HAMILTON.
* i
CHAPTER I.
Night was oil the waters. The blue sails
of the star-studded heavens occasionUy mottled
by white clouds, which, rising in the boundless
horizon, and careering on the wings of the in
visible winds, seemed like angel visitants, soar* j
ing upward, again, from earth, to the regions of
the beautiful. ~ The bosom of the ocean lay as
placid as the sweet face of a sinless, sleeping
b a be—not a ripple broke its mirrored surface,
or if there did, it looked as a dream ruffling the
slumber of a mighty beauty. Peace had spread
her mantle over all. N-t a sound disturbed
the holy silence, nor could creation have looked
more lovely on the first night of its virgin
birth. Prom the broad blue waters rose ab
ruptly the high and rocky island of Canna, in
the western highlands of Scotland, formed of
rough and precipitous crags, with scarcely a
vestige of verdure on their frowning fronts,
but thickly inhabited by the gannet and other
AUGUSTA, GA., SATURDAY,. OCTOBER 17, 1840.
I sea fowls that sojourn there in the security of !
i nature’s fastnesses. Oil the summit of the!
j island are still to be seen the remains of ail an
| cicnt castle which tradition informs us, in early ;
times, belonged to the family of Glengyle.
It was thus, as nature lay in the arms of mid
night, that a small speck was seen to rise on
the distant verge of the horizon, and gardually |
increasing in size, at length assumed the form
of a boat or pinnace. Nearer and nearer it ap
proached,'till the figures of two men were dis
tinctly visible. The first, who, from the sound
of his voice, seemed to direct the movements
of the other, was a young man of about twenty
years of age. His lace was perfect in every lin
eament, that betokened manhood’s make yet
; commingled, with those traits of beauty that
arise from the virtuous spirit that lights its fire
within. His hair was dark and glossy, and fell
in matted ringlets down his broad and manly
shoulders, over which was thrown a dark green
Tartan plaid, the folds were fastened on the
left shoulder with a massive gold broach, while;
his lower garments displayed the kelt or pliila
beg so peculiar to the Celtic character in days
of yore—from his waist were suspended two
silver inlade pistols, while a short dirk, most
richly mounted, completed his warlike equip
ments. On his brow was placed the peaked
Highland bonnet, surmounted by a heron fea
ther. Such was the personage who guided
the rudder of the boat, and in a tone that de
picted him a man of superior grade, directed
the efforts of the other.
“To the left Fergus,” shouted he. “See,
yonder the pine branch blazes brightly.”
The Highlander looked askance to where a
j bright ruddy flame rose on the peak of a crag
I that towered high into the heavens, then plied
his oar with* a stronger energy, while, with a
voice of jocularity, quaintly remarked, “Is it
her eyes, or the pine, that burnetii brightest?” j
“ Both, both, my cunning vassal,” replied the
young chieftain, Ronald, as the boat bounded
against the bank ot the island. Like a wild
deer he leaped ashore, and the next instant
was lost in the gloom of a mountain corrie.
Was it to join his brother chieftains in the
hour of battle? Was it to hunt the eagle in
his mountain eyry, that thus so eagerly sped
the youthful Ronald? No ! but to meet the;
blue-eyed Edith, the sun burst of his soul.;
Opposed to the father by the most inveterate
bonds of batered—for the younger brother of.
Ronald had fallen in a feudal skirmish with!
the clansmen of Glengyle, who a proud andj
powerful chieftain, was strongly incensed j
against the house of Ronald, which disputed
his title to The Lord of the Isles, it was only:
by stealth he could obtain an interview with!
the object of his affections, the daughter of
! his implacable enemy. Such was the time
I selected for the scene we have just narrated.
I We will not delain the reader by a useless de
; rail of the secrecy and danger with which the
youthful chieftain stole to the society of his
ove. Suffice it, they, met. On the very sum
mit of a rugged rock were the lovers seated.
O
In the exuberance of their joy, they dreamed
not of danger. The still hour of midnight
seemed to hallow with its breath of silence,
their words and vows of endearment. Earth
and its sordid feelings were forgotten, the stars
of the cloudless skies beamed as in brighter
brilliance on their meeting, and life was, to
them, one garden of bloom and blossom.
“And you will be mine, my Edith; through
weal and through woe, through danger and pe
ril, ’till the chill hand of death shall sever us?”
exclaimed the impassioned youth, as he pressed
to his bosom the true and blushing girl.
“Can you ask it, Ronald ?” replied she.
“Have I not plighted my faith before the pre
sence of my God—before him unto whom all
secrets are known ? Yes, my Ronald, thine
’till mine eyes are dim in death.” And as she
uttered these words she extended her right hand
to Heaven, and looking upwards, seemed to
call to witness, the spirits of the just, who look
ed smilingly, as it were, from every star that
gemmed the floor of the eternal paradise.
“I do believe thee!” fervently rejoined Ron
ald, “and look here,” he added, “receive this
as the symbol of our eternal faith,” at the same
moment unclasping the broach that bound the
folds of his Tartan. The maiden received the
token, and placing it in her bosom—fell in tears
—but tears of joy, in the arms of her lover.
Suddenly a black cloud shot across the disk of
the moon—vivid streaks of flame chequered the
horizon. The sullen sound ot distant thunder
was heard—the wind swept past with mournful
moan—big drops, the precursors of the coming
tempest, fell heavily around, and gloom usurp
ed, in nn instant, midnight’s reign of glory.
“All!” exclaimed Edith, “’tis an evil omen.
Take it, take it back, my Ronald ; the heavens
frown in anger upon the gift.”
“Foolish girl,” lie exclaimed, “is it for us,
alone, think you, that the ruler of the storms
seeks now to show his anger? In truth, Edith,
I deemed you a maiden of a clearer soul. Old
Duncan, the seer of second sight, should only
be guilty of such superstition. Farewell, my
loved one; to-morrow, at the accustomed hour,
1 shall again be with you. Go ! the night
breeze will chill thy tender form,” and he drew
her mantle closer around her, and imprinted a
: burning kiss upon her ruby lips.
“ Villain!” exclaimed a voice from some un
seen figure that had been a witness to their
meeting, and the next moment the crack of a
i rifle, followed by a deep groan, told that Ronald
: was the victim. Like a panther from his am
| bush, sprung forward the father of Edith ; he
i rushed furiously to the body of the bleeding
i youth, seized it with Herculean strength, and
! dragging it to the brink of the precipice, hurled
! it to the depths of the dark deep ocean.
CHAPTER 11.
Three years had rolled away, and all traces
of Ronald were effaced, and although suspicion
hung heavily on Glengyle, still no distinct proof
had been found to fix upon him the crime of
murder. The young Edith refusing all con-
number three.