Methought I saw the ancient woman bow'd By sorrow in her witch-built home--and still The radiant billows of autumnal cloud Flow'd on the monstrous hill. EDENBAIN. Young Edenbain canter'd Across to Kilmuir, The road was rough, But his horse was sure. The mighty sun taking His splendid sea-bath, Made golden the greenness Of valley and strath. He cared not for sunset, For gold rock nor isle: O'er his dark face their flitted A secretive smile. His cousin, the great London merchant was dead, Edenbain was his heir-- "I'll buy lands," he said. "Men fear death. How should I! We live and we learn-- I' faith, death has done me The handsomest turn. Young, good-looking, thirty-- (Hie on, Roger, hie!) I'll taste every pleasure That money can buy. "Duntulm and Dunsciach May laugh at my birth. Let them laugh! Father Adam Was made out of earth. What are worm-eaten castles And ancestry old, 'Gainst a modern purse stuff'd With omnipotent gold?" He saw himself riding To kirk and to fair, Hats lifting, arms nudging, "That's Edenbain there!" He thought of each girl He had known in his life, Nor could fix on which sweetness To pluck for a wife. Home Edenbain canter'd, With pride in his heart, When sudden he pull'd up His horse with a start. The road, which was bare As the desert before, Was cover'd with people A hundred and more. 'Twas a black creeping funeral; And Edenbain drew His horse to the side of The roadway. He knew In the cart rolling past That a coffin was laid--- But whose? the harsh outline Was hid by a plaid. The cart pass'd. The mourners Came marching behind: In front his own father, Greyheaded, stone-blind; And far-removed cousins, His own stock and race, Came after in silence, A cloud on each face. Together walk'd Mugstot And fiery-soul'd Ord, Whom six days before He had left at his board. Behind came the red-bearded Sons of Tormore With whom he was drunk Scarce a fortnight before. "Who is dead? Don't they know me?" Thought young Edenbain, With a weird terror gathering In heart and in brain. In a moment the black Crawling funeral was gone, And he sat on his horse On the roadway alone. "'Tis the second sight," cried he; "'Tis strange that I miss Myself 'mong the mourners! Whose burial is this? "My God! 'tis my own!" And the blood left his heart, As he thought of the dead man That lay in the cart. The sun, ere he sank in His splendid sea-bath, Saw Edenbain spur through The golden-green strath. Past a twilighted shepherd At watch rush'd a horse, With Edenbain dragged At the stirrup a corse. PEEBLES.