‘Dear to me are the boundaries of the forest; Far from Creiff is my heart; My remembrance is of the hillocks of sheep, And the heath of many knolls. Oh for the red-streaked fissures of the rock, Where in spring time the fawns leap; Oh for the crags towards which the wind is blowing-- Cheap would be my bed to be there! EASY IS MY BED, ETC.’ “The following describes Rob’s feelings on the first discovery of his damsel’s infidelity. The airs of both these pieces are his own, and, the Highland ladies say, very beautiful. ‘Heavy to me is the shieling, and the hum that is in it, Since the ear that was wont to listen is now no more on the watch. Where is Isabel, the courteous, the conversable, a sister in kindness? Where is Anne, the slender-browed, the turret-breasted, whose glossy hair pleased me when yet a boy? HEICH! WHAT AN HOUR WAS MY RETURNING! PAIN SUCH AS THAT SUNSET BROUGHT, WHAT AVAILETH ME TO TELL IT? ‘I traversed the fold, and upward among the trees-- Each place, far and near, wherein I was wont to salute my love. When I looked down from the crag, and beheld the fair-haired stranger dallying with his bride, I wished I had never revisited the glen of my dreams. SUCH THINGS CAME INTO MY HEART AS THAT SUN WAS GOING DOWN, A PAIN OF WHICH I SHALL NEVER BE RID, WHAT AVAILETH ME TO TELL IT? ‘Since it has been heard that the carpenter had persuaded thee, My sleep is disturbed--busy is foolishness within me at midnight. The kindness that has been between us, I cannot shake off that memory in visions; Thou callest me not to thy side; but love is to me for a messenger. THERE IS STRIFE WITHIN ME, AND I TOSS TO BE AT LIBERTY; AND EVER THE CLOSER IT CLINGS, AND THE DELUSION IS GROWING TO ME AS A TREE. ‘Anne, yellow-haired daughter of Donald, surely thou knowest not how it is with me-- That it is old love, unrepaid, which has worn down from me my strength; That when far from thee, beyond many mountains, the wound in my heart was throbbing, Stirring, and searching for ever, as when I sat beside thee on the turf. NOW, THEN, HEAR ME THIS ONCE, IF FOR EVER I AM TO BE WITHOUT THEE, MY SPIRIT IS BROKEN--GIVE ME ONE KISS ERE I LEAVE THIS LAND! ‘Haughtily and scornfully the maid looked upon me:-- Never will it be work for thy fingers to unloose the band from my curls. Thou hast been absent a twelvemonth, and six were seeking me diligently; Was thy superiority so high that there should be no end of abiding for thee? HA! HA! HA! HAST THOU AT LAST BECOME SICK? IS IT LOVE THAT IS TO GIVE DEATH TO THEE? SURELY THE ENEMY HAS BEEN IN NO HASTE.