Then, checking his courser, the brow of the seer Grew dark, through its locks long and frosted, And making a sign with his hand to draw near, Thus the lovely offender accosted-- "By which of thine eyes was thy master descried?" "With my _left_ I behold thee!" the damsel replied. One moment he gazed on the beautiful face, In fondness upturned to his own, As if anger at length to relenting gave place, Then fixed grew his visage like stone:-- On the violet lid his cold finger he laid, And extinguished forever the sight of the maid. * * * * * NOTE. I am indebted to Hugh Cameron, Esquire, of Buffalo, N. Y., for this strange and strikingly beautiful legend. Mr. C. informs me that it has long formed a part of the fire-side lore of his own clan; and, from a remote period, has lived in the memory of Scotland's peasantry. He expressed surprise that men of antiquarian taste, in compiling border ballads, and tales of enchantment, had not given "Fair Margaret" a conspicuous place in their pages; and at his suggestion I have attempted to clothe the fanciful outlines of the original in the drapery of English verse. The Eildon tree referred to in the poem was the favorite seat of Thomas the Rhymer, and there he gave utterance to his prophecies. STANZAS. The rain-bird shakes her dusty wings And leaves the sunny strand, For mossy springs, and sweetly sings, To greet her native land. The camel in the desert heeds Where distant waters lay, And onward speeds, to flowery meads, And fountains far away. The freshest drops will Beauty choose To keep her floweret wet, The purest dews, to save its hues-- Her gentle violet. So--may sweet Grace our hearts renew With waters from above, So--keep in view what Mercy drew From this deep well of love. W. H. DENNY. THE LONE BUFFALO. BY CHARLES LANMAN, AUTHOR OF "A SUMMER IN THE WILDERNESS," ETC.