Upon that sweet and tender melancholy Which may itself be cherished and caressed More than enough; a fault so natural (Even with the young, the hopeful, or the gay) 35 For prompt forgiveness will not sue in vain. FOOTNOTES: [736] In the edition of 1835 the title was _Apology_. [737] 1845. Of Palace, or of Temple, ... 1835. [738] Compare _Processions in the Vale of Chamouny_, in the "Memorials of a Tour on the Continent," 1820, vol. vi. p. 363.--ED. [739] 1837. Nor will the Muse condemn, or treat with scorn Our ... 1835. [740] 1837. ... have ... 1835. XXVII THE HIGHLAND BROACH The exact resemblance which the old Broach (still in use, though rarely met with, among the Highlanders) bears to the Roman Fibula must strike every one, and concurs, with the plaid and kilt, to recall to mind the communication which the ancient Romans had with this remote country.--W. W. 1835. [On ascending a hill that leads from Loch Awe towards Inverary, I fell into conversation with a woman of the humbler class who wore one of those Highland Broaches. I talked with her about it; and upon parting with her, when I said with a kindness I truly felt--"May that Broach continue in your family through many generations to come, as you have already possessed it"--she thanked me most becomingly and seemed not a little moved.--I.F.] If to Tradition faith be due And echoes from old verse speak true Ere the meek Saint, Columba, bore Glad tidings to Iona's shore, No common light of nature blessed 5 The mountain region of the west, A land where gentle manners ruled O'er men in dauntless virtues schooled, That raised, for centuries, a bar Impervious to the tide of war: 10 Yet peaceful Arts did entrance gain Where haughty Force had striven in vain; And, 'mid the works of skilful hands, By wanderers brought from foreign lands And various climes, was not unknown 15 The clasp that fixed the Roman Gown; The Fibula, whose shape, I ween, Still in the Highland Broach is seen, The silver Broach of massy frame, Worn at the breast of some grave Dame 20 On road or path, or at the door Of fern-thatched hut on heathy moor: But delicate of yore its mould, And the material finest gold; As might beseem the fairest Fair, 25 Whether she graced a royal chair, Or shed, within a vaulted hall, No fancied lustre on the wall Where shields of mighty heroes hung, While Fingal heard what Ossian sung. 30