ngers of a gray-haired man may have traced such a relic
of his youthful dreams:--

"Friend of the wretch oppress'd with grief,
Whose lenient hand, though slow, supplies
The balm that lends to care relief,
That wipes her tears--that checks her sighs!

"'Tis thine the wounded soul to heal
That hopeless bleeds from sorrow's smart,
From stern misfortune's shaft to steal
The barb that rankles in the heart.

"What {p.225} though with thee the roses fly,
And jocund youth's gay reign is o'er;
Though dimm'd the lustre of the eye,
And hope's vain dreams enchant no more?

"Yet in thy train come dove-eyed peace,
Indifference with her heart of snow;
At her cold couch, lo! sorrows cease,
No thorns beneath her roses grow.

"O haste to grant thy suppliant's prayer,
To me thy torpid calm impart;
Rend from my brow youth's garland fair,
But take the thorn that's in my heart.

"Ah! why do fabling poets tell
That thy fleet wings outstrip the wind?
Why feign thy course of joy the knell,
And call thy slowest pace unkind?

"To me thy tedious feeble pace
Comes laden with the weight of years;
With sighs I view morn's blushing face,
And hail mild evening with my tears."

[Footnote 127: A very intimate friend both of Scott and of
the lady tells me that these verses were great favorites of
hers--she gave himself a copy of them, and no doubt her
recitation had made them known to Scott--but that he believes
them to have been composed by Mrs. Hunter of
Norwich.--(1839.)]

I venture to recall here to the reader's memory the opening of the
twelfth chapter of Peveril of the Peak, written twenty-six years after
the date of this youthful disappointment.

"Ah me! for aught that ever I could read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth!"

_Midsummer Night's Dream._

"The celebrated passage which we have prefixed to this chapter has,
like most observations of the same author, its foundation in real
experience. The period at which love is formed for the first time, and
felt most stro