t assistant,
The thought still must rove
To the dear and the distant.
Would, then, that I were
'Mid nature's wild grandeur--
From this folly afar,
As I wont was to wander;
Where the pale cloudlets fly,
By the soft breezes driven,
And the mountains on high
Kiss the azure of heaven.
Where down the deep glen
The rivulet is rolling,
And few, few of men
Through the solitudes strolling.
Oh! bliss I could reap,
When day was returning;
O'er the wild-flowers asleep,
'Mong the dews of the morning;
And there were it joy,
When the shades of the gloaming,
With the night's lullaby,
O'er the world were coming--
To roam through the brake,
In the paths long forsaken;
My hill-harp retake,
And its warblings awaken.
The heart is in pain,
And the mind is in sadness--
And when comes, oh! when,
The return of its gladness?
The forest shall fade
At the winter's returning,
And the voice of the shade
Shall be sorrow and mourning.
Man's vigour shall fail
As his locks shall grow hoary,
And where is the tale
Of his youth and his glory?
My life is a dream--
My fate darkly furl'd;
I a hermit would seem
'Mid the crowd of the world.
Oh! let me be free
Of these scenes that encumber,
And enjoy what may be
Of my days yet to number!'

"I have dwelt at the greater length on these matters, trivial though
they be, in consequence of my non-intention of tracing minutely the
steps and stages of my probationary career. These, with me, I suppose,
were much like what they are and have been with others. My acquaintance
was a little extended with those that inhabit the land, and in some
cases a closer intimacy than mere acquaintance took place, and more
lasting friendships were formed.

"My brother having taken a farm near Teviothead, I left Brookside, and
as all the members of the family were wont to account that in which my
mother lived their home, it of course was mine. But, notwithstanding
that the change brought me almost to the very border of the vale of my
nativity, I regretted to leave Brookside. It was a beautiful and
interesting place, and the remembrance of it is like what Ossian says of
joys that are past--'sweet and mournful to the soul.' I loved the place,
was partial to the peacefulness of its retireme