A stoun[150] gaes through my heid, Willie, A sair stoun through my heart,-- O! hand me up, and let me kiss Thy brow, ere we twa pairt.

Anither, and anither yet!-- How fast my life's strings break!-- Farewell! farewell! through yon kirk-yard Step lichtly for my sake!

The lav'rock[151] in the lift,[152] Willie, That lilts[153] far ower our heid, Will sing the morn as merrilie Abune the clay-cauld deid; And this green turf we're sittin' on, Wi' dew-draps shimmerin' sheen, Will hap[154] the heart that luvit thee, As warld has seldom seen.

But O! remember me, Willie, On land where'er ye be,-- And O! think on the leal, leal heart, That ne'er luvit ane but thee!

And O! think on the cauld, cauld mools,[155]

That file[156] my yellow hair,-- That kiss the cheek, that kiss the chin, Ye never sail kiss mair.

[Footnote 150: A darting pain.]

[Footnote 151: Lark.]

[Footnote 152: Sky.]

[Footnote 153: Sings.]

[Footnote 154: Cover.]

[Footnote 155: Clods.]

[Footnote 156: Soil.]

As a specimen of Motherwell's descriptive powers, the exquisite grace of his diction, and the deep-toned melody of his verse, and not only so, but of his high devotional feelings, we give the following:

A SABBATH SUMMER NOON.

The calmness of this noontide hour, The shadow of this wood, The fragrance of each wilding flower Are marvelously good; O! here crazed spirits breathe the balm, Of nature's solitude!

It is a most delicious calm That resteth everywhere,-- The holiness of soul-sung psalm, Of felt, but voiceless prayer!

With hearts too full to speak their bliss, G.o.d's creatures silent are.

They silent are; but not the less In this most tranquil hour, Of deep, unbroken dreaminess, They own that Love and Power, Which like the softest sunshine rests, On every leaf and flower.

How silent are the song-filled nests That crowd this drowsy tree,-- How mute is every feathered breast That swelled with melody!

And yet bright bead-like eyes declare, This hour is exstacy.

Heart forth! as uncaged bird through air, And mingle in the tide Of blessed things, that, lacking care, How full of beauty glide, Around thee, in their angel hues Of joy and sinless pride.

Here on this green bank that o'er-views The far retreating glen, Beneath the spreading beech-tree muse, On all within thy ken; For lovelier scene shall never break, On thy dimmed sight again.

Slow stealing from the tangled brake, That skirts the distant hill, With noiseless hoof two bright fawns make For yonder lapsing rill; Meek children of the forest gloom, Drink on, and fear no ill!

And buried in the yellow broom, That crowns the neighboring height, Couches a loutish shepherd groom, With all his flocks in sight; Which dot the green braes gloriously, With spots o' living light.

It is a sight that filleth me With meditative joy, To mark these dumb things curiously Crowd round the guardian boy; As if they felt this Sabbath hour Of bliss lacked all alloy.

I bend me towards the tiny flower, That underneath this tree, Opens its little breast of sweets In meekest modesty, And breathes the eloquence of love, In muteness, Lord! to thee.

The silentness of night doth brood O'er this bright summer noon; And nature, in her holiest mood, Doth all things well attune, To joy in the religious dreams Of green and leafy June.

Far down the glen in distance gleams, The hamlet's tapering spire, And glittering in meridial beams Its vane is tongued with fire; And hark, how sweet its silvery bell,-- And hark, the rustic choir!

The holy sounds float up the dell To fill my ravished ear, And now the glorious anthems swell,-- Of worshippers sincere,-- Of hearts bowed in the dust, that shed Faith's penitential tear.

Dear Lord! thy shadow is forth spread, On all mine eye can see; And filled at the pure fountain-head Of deepest piety, My heart loves all created things, And travels home to thee.

Around me while the sunshine flings, A flood of mocky gold, My chastened spirit once more sings, As it was wont of old, That lay of grat.i.tude which burst From young heart uncontrolled.

When in the midst of nature nursed, Sweet influences fell, On childly hearts that were athirst, Like soft dews in the bell Of tender flowers, that bowed their heads, And breathed a fresher smell.

So, even now this hour hath sped, In rapturous thought o'er me, Feeling myself with nature wed,-- A holy mystery,-- A part of earth, a part of heaven, A part, great G.o.d! of Thee.

Fast fade the cares of life's dull even, They perish as the weed, While unto me the power is given, A moral deep to read, In every silent throe of mind, Eternal beauties breed.

It would be pleasant, but we have not time, to make the acquaintance of some of the Glasgow clergy, particularly of the cla.s.sic Wardlaw, the vigorous Heugh,[157] the accomplished King, the energetic Robson, the intelligent Buchanan, the eloquent Willis, the strong "in knee'd"

Anderson, and others of equal distinction. A fair specimen of the Scottish clergy has been given in the ministers of Edinburgh, and that must suffice for the present.

[Footnote 157: Since the above was written, the Rev. Dr. Heugh has gone to his reward in heaven. He was a man of fine talents, deep piety, and most engaging manners. We met him some years ago on the banks of Lake Leman, whither he had gone for his health, in company with Merle D'Aubigne, Joseph J. Gurney and others; on which occasion Dr. Heugh gave an interesting and graphic account of the Free Church movement, which was translated for the benefit of those who did not understand English, by Professor La Harpe. Never shall we forget that interview. There were present, French and English, German and Swiss, Scots and Americans. Some of these were Presbyterians, others Episcopalians, and others Baptists, Lutherans and Quakers; but all were "one in Christ Jesus." Joseph J.

Gurney closed our interview with a prayer in the French language, the most simple, solemn, and touching we ever heard. Ah! little did we think that one of the most agreeable of that happy company was so soon to pa.s.s away from the scenes of earth. The following sketch of Dr. Heugh as a preacher, is from a funeral sermon by Dr. John Brown, of Edinburgh.

"As a preacher, he was judicious, faithful, discriminating; not exclusively doctrinal or practical, or experimental, but all by turns, and often all in the same discourse. The matter of his discourses was drawn from the living oracles, and his constant aim was to explain and to apply the saving doctrines of the cross--to bring the mind and hearts of men into harmony with the mind and will of G.o.d, especially as those are revealed in the person and work of his incarnate Son. He was eminently a scriptural preacher, both in substance and in form. The commands of the Master, 'Divide rightly the word of truth,' 'Feed my sheep,' 'Feed my lambs,' seemed to be ever present to his mind, and to guide all his ministerial studies; and hence it was that his pulpit services were marked by a lucid, pointed, and affectionate inculcation of those varied truths which the circ.u.mstances of his hearers required.

There was nothing trivial or extraneous in his discussions. He stated ma.s.sy important thoughts, wide and comprehensive views--the result of much reflection and experience--ill.u.s.trative of his subject and suited to the occasion--in simple and appropriate words; and the hearer was made to feel that he was not listening to human speculations, but that Christ was, by the preacher, unfolding his mind and will--'making manifest the savor of his knowledge.'

"His manner in the pulpit was singularly easy, graceful and pleasing.

All that he said and did was natural and becoming. His fine open countenance, his animated appearance, his fluency of utterance, the pleasantly modulated tones of his voice, his graceful action, and the solemn devotional feeling which obviously pervaded all these, rivetted attention, and threw a peculiar charm over his whole discourse. There was no seeking for effect, no going out of the way for ornaments, no efforts to dazzle and to overwhelm. He was occupied with his subject, and sought to fill the minds of his hearers with it, as his own mind was filled with it. There were occasionally pa.s.sages of great beauty, touchingly tender statements, stirring suddenly the deeper emotions of the heart; but the ordinary character of his eloquence was instructive and pleasing, rather than affecting or overpowering."]

CHAPTER XV.

Dumbarton Castle--Lochlomond--Luss--Ascent of Benlomond--Magnificent Views--Ride to Loch-Katrine--Rob Roy Macgregor--'Gathering of Clan Gregor'--Loch-Katrine and the Trosachs--The city of Perth--Martyrdom of Helen Stark and her husband.

Embarking in a steamer at Glasgow, we glide down the Clyde as far as Dumbarton Castle, which rises, in stern and solitary majesty, from the bosom of the river,--

"A castled steep, Whose banner hangeth o'er the time-worn tower So idly, that rapt fancy deemeth it A metaphor of peace."

In ancient times, however, those old battlements frequently stood the shock of invading war. Dumbarton was the "Alcluith" of the ancient Britons, subsequently "Dumbriton," or "the fortified hill of the Britons." The vale of the Clyde was called "Strathclutha," and here was the capital of the kingdom of the "Strathclyde Britons." "Alcluith" is the "Balclutha" of Ossian; _balla_ signifying a _wall_ or _bulwark_, from the Latin _vallum_, a _wall_. "I have seen the walls of Balclutha,"

sings Ossian, in the poem of Carron, "but they were desolate. The fire had resounded in the halls; and the voice of the people is heard no more. The stream of the Clutha (Clyde) was removed from its place by the fall of the walls. The thistle shook here its lonely head; the moss whistled to the wind. The fox looked out from the windows; the rank gra.s.s of the walls waved round its head. Desolate is the dwelling of Morna; silence is in the house of her fathers." In the reign of Queen Mary this stronghold was taken by an escalade. This was accomplished by Captain Crawford, an officer of great energy and talent, who acted for the confederated lords who opposed Queen Mary after the death of her husband, Henry Darnley. Provided with scaling-ladders, and whatever else was necessary, Crawford set out from Glasgow with a small but determined body of men. The night was dark and misty, when they reached the castle-walls. Crawford, and a soldier who acted as a guide, scrambled up to a ledge of rock, where they fastened a ladder to a tree, which grew on one of its cliffs. Ascending by this means, the whole party stood together with their chief on this natural parapet. But they were far from the point which they hoped to reach. Again the ladder was planted, and the ascent begun. But all at once one of the foremost soldiers, when half way up the ladder, was seized with a sudden fit, and clung to the ladder stiff and motionless. All further progress was at an end. What to do they knew not. To cut him down would be cruel, and besides might awaken the garrison. In this emergency, Crawford had the man secured, by means of ropes to the ladder, which was turned over and all pa.s.sed up in safety to the foot of the wall. Day began to break, and they hastened to scale the wall. The first man who reached the parapet was seen by a sentinel, who was quickly knocked in the head. The whole party, with furious shouts, rushed over the wall, and took possession of the magazine, seized the cannon, and before the besieged could help themselves, had entire control of the Castle.

But we cannot linger here; so, bidding adieu to Dumbarton, with its martial a.s.sociations, we strike off from the river at right angles, and, after a pleasant ride of four or five miles, through a peaceful and agreeable country, we reach the south end of Lochlomond, the "Queen of the Scottish lakes," where we find a little steamer in waiting, which takes us, and a company of sportsmen, travellers and others, over the placid waves of this magnificent sheet of water. The lake is some thirty miles in length, and of unequal breadth, being sometimes four or five miles, and then again not more than a single mile in width, gorgeously begemmed with verdant and beautifully wooded islands, of larger and smaller size, to the number of thirty, and shaded here and there by mountains, covered with verdure and trees to their summits, or grim cliffs, towering, in solitary grandeur, above the dark and heaving waters beneath. How finely our little steamer dashes the water from her prow, as if she really enjoyed the trip, among the beautiful scenery of this charming lake! What variety of light and shade! What diversity of scene, as isle after isle, bold headland, lofty cliff, or wooded acclivity, meets the gaze! How earth and air and sky, yon fleecy clouds that skirt the horizon, wild crags, and verdant slopes, clumps of trees on the water's edge, islands of green mirroring their foliage in the bosom of the lake, mingle and intermingle in ever varying forms of beauty and grandeur! Yonder, too, is Benlomond, the genius of the place, towering above the lesser mountains, and looking down, as if protectingly, upon the lake he loves. The sh.o.r.es are exceedingly beautiful; on one side lying low, "undulating with fields and groves, where many a pleasant dwelling is embowered, into lines of hills that gradually soften away into another land. On the other side, sloping back, or overhanging, mounts beautiful in their bareness, for they are green as emerald; others, scarcely more beautiful, studded with fair trees, some altogether woods. They soon form into mountains, and the mountains become more and more majestical, yet beauty never deserts them, and her spirit continues to tame that of the frowning cliffs."

"The islands," continues Professor Wilson, from whom we make this fine extract, "are forever arranging themselves into new forms, every one more and more beautiful; at least so they seem to be, perpetually occurring, yet always unexpected; and there is a pleasure even in such a series of slight surprises that enhances the delight of admiration."

The southern part of the lake is the most beautiful, but the northern the most sublime. The channel narrows, and the mountains rise higher and higher, casting dark shadows into the water. For a moment it seems gloomy, but high up in the mountains you discover spots of green; and the sunlight glancing down, between the ma.s.ses of shadow, lights up the waves of the lake with a strange beauty, as if it were something purer and more spirit-like than the beauty of the ordinary world.

But we will stop at the village of Luss, near the edge of the lake, surrounded by mountain scenery, in some places rough and bleak, but charmingly diversified by deep wooded glens, and romantic ravines.