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neath the trees reaching his ear-but I will not wake this brute unless need be," and rolling himself out of the glare of the fire, he rose on his feet and stepped or rather glided behind a tree.

Pat!-pat! came some straggling and feeble steps, which sounded strangely to the woodman.

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"Some Indian devilry, or a woman, I'll swear," said Wharton; but, however, here goes. Who comes? if friends advance, there are none but white men here."

A feeble groan followed; and Wharton, whose feelings were aroused, seizing a brand from the fire hurried in the direction of the sound, and to his inexpressible astonishment discovered a woman leaning for support against a tree. It was apparent at a glance that she was in the last stage of exhaustion and suffering, and the young man, without hesitation, took her in his arms and bore her to the fire. Opening his flask, he poured a small draught of brandy down her throat, which instantly reviving her, he hastened to cut from the buck which had supplied them for supper, a few tender and delicate morsels. "Water! water!" whispered the girl, for Wharton had discovered his prize to be a young and handsome white. "'Tis done,” said he, "come cheer up maid; here is food and drink and Christian company."

"Stranger, I am dying with hunger," again feebly cried the girl.

"That shall be soon remedied. To begin, here is a small bit of maize bread, and these hot coals will give you as tender a broiled steak in five minutes, as you

could wish."

The Indian corn cake was greedily devoured, and as soon as the savoury morsel, which Wharton laid before her, was also eaten somewhat more deliberately, a change for the better was soon manifested in the lady, who had thus unceremoniously intruded herself into the trapper camp. As strength and life returned, the young creature seemed to think of the novelty of her position, and she sat in some confusion with downcast eyes in the presence of her preserver.

"You are better, Miss?" said Wharton gently, admiring, by stealth, the returning beauties of face and expression.

"Much, generous man," she replied. "For five days have I wandered and endured the pangs of starvation, alleviated only by berries and roots."

"You were lost, of course?" continued Wharton, too much accustomed to such an event to be in any way surprised.

"Yes. Early in the morning, my party-which was bound to Arkansas, from Lower Texas, which we left because of the war-started, while I lingered behind to gather some rare and new flowers. This done, I followed, as I thought, in their trail, but as I have since supposed, must have taken the wrong one. For hours I never discovered my mistake; and then, instead of retracing my steps, I attempted to cross the prairie in search of the right one."

"Which of course you never found."

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"Ah well, and I am Mary Renshaw; and this huge hunter?"

"Job Kelly, rough enough, but I think true. I have not known him long, but think I can say a good word."

"Well, you aire a queer sort," said Kelly, growling, "what locrum is that you're a-carrying on by yourself?” "Caught for once, Job," replied Wharton, "for I am not alone, another traveller has chanced this way."

"Well, I'm bound to swar, but I won't," said Kelly, sitting bolt upright, and staring in mute wonder at the strange company into which he had fallen.

"I'd not advise you to," continued Wharton, "as you are in the company of a lady.”

"Well, I'll be riglarly chawed dry for a month," said Kelly, still staring, “but this is seeing the elephant and no flies."

Wharton, who was laughing heartily, now explained the accident to which they owed the strange addition to their party, and conversation became general, until the young man recollected the fatigues and sufferings of the girl; and, making her a soft couch of Spanish moss and leaves, covered with a horse cloth, she was induced to lie down near the fire. In this her two guardians presently imitated her, and the rest of the night passed without farther interruption.

It was sometime after dawn ere Wharton awoke, when he found Kelly stirring about busily preparing breakfast, while their fair companion still heavily slept. Ever and anon the hunter cast curious glances at her calm upturned face, in which looks were visible, considerable wonder at her fairness, mingled with extreme admiration of her beauty.

"Well, I am a riglar old hand, I know," said Kelly drily, "and I've seen above a bit in my time: I've fought the Sioux for thirty mortal days alone behind a stump, and knocked 'em down like butter-birds, I've seen the Flatheads and the Gros-ventres, and found many a stray child in the woods, but this do about fix me; I'm in a rale jam, and that's a fact."'

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It is a strange adventure certainly."

"Strange. Why, I say, I do, it don't convene to reason at all. I say Jim, what's to be done with her?" "Take her to her friends, to be sure."

"Jim Wharton," said Kelly, now very red in the face, "you're about as silly as a heifer."

"What do you mean?" replied the young man, his native fierceness breaking forth.

"Don't shoot up, for all the world like a bottle of spruce beer; but jist listen to me. This gal was picked up by you, you want a wife, take her; you don't, well I

"I never did; and since then I have wandered I know do, and I'll take her. There arn't no lar here."

not how."

“Well, never mind sad reminiscences. We are for Arkansas, and will see you safe there. Strange guardians for one so young and fair," added he with a laugh, "but trust me, I will prove a true one."

"Job Kelly," said Wharton firmly, "of course you are poking fun; if not—”

'What, if not?'' exclaimed the other, with a brutal

sneer.

"By the God that made you, my knife and your heart

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"I have overslept myself, I fancy," cried Mary Ren- ing along an old Indian trail, which led in a very differshaw starting, "for you are stirring." ent direction to that of the rendezvous, in fact terminating in an old deserted cluster of wigwams quite off the road.

"You have just risen in time for breakfast," replied Wharton, "and if you like to run down yonder to the pool, and swill your hands and face, we shall then be ready."

The young girl acquiesced, and tripping down to the pool, where the horses had drank the preceding night, and which lay embowered in trees, she soon came back, her hair smooth and neat, and her face glowing with renewed loveliness and health. Much did both wonder at the change which food and rest had brought about, nor were they backward in expressing their thoughts. She laughingly repelled their praises, while she more than half feared the daring and bold, admiration that sat on the elder hunter's countenance. Wharton saw this and drew her attention away.

"Now for a venison cutlet, Miss Renshaw," he said, "the best fare we have, and then for a ride over the prairies on our way home."

"But how will you contrive? You have but two horses."

"I shall walk a turn," replied Wharton, handing the meat, “and look out for ganie. It will be a pleasant change."

"You are an old coon, Kelly," muttered Wharton, "and I see your plan at a glance; but your head is turned, and I will baulk you, or I am no white man. Sweet girl, fear not, I have my senses about me."

Crouching low, so that his companion might not descry the change in his purpose, Wharton kept his eyes fixed on the rapidly retreating forms of the ill-assorted pair ; and when once they were out of sight, turned, and, still proceeding with great caution, followed in their footsteps. As he walked quickly, he soon reached the trail, and with knitted brow and clenched hands, took his way along it. There was a cloud of night upon his face, and by the working of the muscles, it could be seen that he was nerving himself to some stern determination. At length the play of his countenance settled, and a stilled calm overspread his features.

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"You are pleased to say so," said she, shaking her Lord!'' head; "but I am not bound to believe you."

“If you don't have his, you can have mine, I reckon," put in Kelly gruffly, "I expect a slope will do me good." "Many thanks," exclaimed Mary, colouring, "but I'll pat faith in my guardian.”

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It was true, there were clear signs that an Indian party had passed that way, but with women and children, tents and all the apparel, not of a war, but of a hunting ride. Still Wharton felt uneasy, not for himself, but for her who, thrown on his protection in so strange a manner, had keenly twined herself around his heart. With renewed vigour on he stepped, hoping that this discovery had been the reason that had induced Kelly to change his On he went for hours and hours; the sun rose above his head, it gained its highest elevation, then sank I'm not exactly square of that, but never mind. and almost reached its place of rest, and yet he advanced, Catch up, is the word. Let us away."

"See what it is to be young," said Kelly with a laugh. “Ha! ha! I wish I had twenty summers less upon my head. It would be rare, I'll sware. ""

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"Nonsense, Job!" cried Wharton, you'll do very route. vell as you are."

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This advice being seconded, the horses were made ready, and then-Mary Renshaw leaping gaily on the back of that which belonged to the young man the party started along a beaten though narrow trail, which led in the direction of the Red River. All signs of the threatening weather of the preceding night had departed; the heavens were blue, and unclouded by a single streak of vapour; a warm glow pervaded the atmosphere, ever communicating itself to the grass and rushes beneath their feet, which crackled and broke beneath the horses' hoofs as they proceeded. For a while they kept together, the horses being walked slowly, while Wharton trotted beside Mary leading her mustang, which pranced and snorted beneath its comparatively light load. At length, Kelly, who was in advance, signalled a herd of deer at some distance to the left on the plain, near a knot of bushes, and the young man, having assured himself of their position, started across in search of the game, his companions agreeing to halt for him at the ford, which lay some miles

plain marks of horses' hoofs still guiding and urging him on. At length his step grew more slow, and as he gained a wood, he began to creep amid the trees, with cat-like caution. A few minutes brought him to the edge of a romantic dell, a deep and gloomy glen of narrow dimensions, shaded by tall and waving pines. The earth was here encumbered with leaves and the falling boughs, reduced to a species of soil, where not a foot-fall could be heard. Still were the horses' marks plainly to be seen, now led by the walking hunter. They tended downwards to the bed of what, in wet weather, was a stream; but which now presented nothing but stones and pebbles, clean washed and whitened, to the eye. Looking down the vale, a high and cliffy eminence crossed the end at some distance, whence spurted a tiny stream, that was lost in the ground; while on the summit were seen the dead wigwams. The whole buried in closing darkness, with deep silence brooding over all, made sad the heart of the solitary wayfarer. Treading lightly and slowly along the pebbles, Wharton reached a clump of bushes, and thence

looked into the very depth and mystery of that retired spot.

Below, lay a tiny pool dividing a small portion of rocky ground from the rest of the glen, whence there was no visible outlet save the way by which Wharton had come. On the other side was a natural cavern, a famous cache and place of safety for the prairie hunter. Above, reaching to the foot of a cliff of some twenty feet in height, was a rough space covered with grass and herbs. Here grazed the horses. A faint glow of light from the mouth of the cavern marked where were the fugitives. Pausing awhile, until darkness had quite covered the scene, the young man slipped noiselessly down, and, with slow and cautious step, forded the pool. Five minutes brought him in full view of the cavern.

Kelly sat beside a little fire, his back to Wharton; while Mary, close at hand, was reclining in apparently great fatigue on the horse cloths and other trappings, watching listlessly the preparations made for supper; while her eye would anxiously turn every now and then as if in search of one who came not. Wharton's heart leaped as he thought how glad it would be to have that eye even thus turned in hope of his approach, and the rover's taste for a roving life was at an end.

"I reckon you're tired, Miss," said Kelly, as gently as he could.

"And will you stand 'atween me and her, boy?' cried Kelly, choking with passion; "but fools will step in muddy holes. Out with your knife, man."

"For mercy's sake," said Mary, darting between them.

"Fear not, young lady," replied Wharton, in a low voice, "Kelly is not mad to fight me, with fifty red skins in the dell, thirsting for his blood. Put up your knife, Job, and let all your manhood speak in your gun, for you will strive hard for your scalp this night. Go into the shade, Miss Renshaw, there you will be safe.”

Glad to have stayed the quarrel between her companions by any means, the cause of their difference retreated into the depth of the cavern; while Kelly, without a word, threw himself forth, and rushing across the pool, soon returned with the horses, which he placed in another fissure of the rock, and then, crouching behind a stone, awaited the event. The common danger had established a kind of truce, however hollow, between the belligerent parties, and a whispered dialogue, carried on as if nothing had happened, was held as to the best mode of proceeding.

"Whin the devils come in sight," said Kelly, dogmatically, "give 'em the lead. I'll resarve for a charge; that'll end the fight to-night, though, I'm bound, they'll outly a month. And no meat," he growled;

never

"I am. But why comes not your friend; I fear the mind, there's the horses, they'll last a goodish bit, I conIndians may have waylaid him?”

clude."

"It is not a war party; they have women and tent poles," observed Wharton.

"I expect he ar'nt a child, he can take care of himself," exclaimed Job, sullenly, "the Ingines wo'nt eat him. But look, here arl a fine juicy morsel." "I cannot eat; I am sick at heart; I fear my kind Kelly; "an' if you're right, we'll have only a spurt and preserver is in danger."

"Miss Renshaw," said Kelly, rising and speaking thickly, "it goes agin the grain to hear you talk of that man. I expect you would'nt trouble if I wur out, and ar'nt I as good as he?"

"You're eyes were sharp on their trail, I see," said

Give it

thin they'll slope. But whew! thar they come.
slick; twenty devils, as I'm a Christian man.”
The red skins were now standing in the deep shade of
the bushes, on the edge of the pool, and were gazing up
at the deserted village, without any apparent conscious-

"I said nothing against you," replied Mary, half ness of their proximity to enemies. alarmed; "but surely there is no harm in ."

"There is above a bit. Miss Renshaw: what's in must come out, and I ar'nt agoin' to tell no lies. I am Job Kelly, and that's saying no dirt of myself. I'm about the yaller flower of the forest hereabouts. I can beat any hunter going, and keep a squaw in right down style. I like you, and that's a fact; there's a spirit in you ar'nt like a toun bred gall, and I say I do ; I'll make you happy, so it's a bargain."

"The sarpents," said Job, chuckling, "they expect we're green. Do you see thim four climbing like catamounts along the rock. Give me your pistols, we'll make believe thar three guns, and resarve mine."

Next minute, a sheet of flame and three loud reports, redoubled by the echoes of the cavern and dell, awoke the silence of the night, and then came a screeching and halloing, as if the woods had been alive with savage beasts of prey instead of men. Several random shots followed, "Sir," said the young girl, who was now very pale, and then again all was still, a heavy breathing silence "I do not understand you."

"Well, I call what I said plain spoke; but if it ar❜nt, I mean we'll be man and wife. I'll give you the smartest

cabin."

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"Hunter," exclaimed Mary, "this is idle talk. Friends of a day, even though we owe them much, are not entitled to take advantage of a woman's lonely state. But, lest you should nurse this foolish fancy, learn that if I had known you years, I would thank you and firmly say "no." "Wake snakes!" cried Kelly, hotly; "don't say that, for I'm wicked when I'm put out, I am, gall. I say, it ar'nt time for you to talk that a way. Job Kelly says you'll be his wife, and he means it. Fair or - "

"But not foul, Job," said Wharton, standing quietly beside him. "Fair if you will, and no man will say you nay, but not by foul means."

taking the place of sounds of rapine and slaughter.
"They're fixed," growled Kelly, "that was small po-
tatoes and a few of a hill. They've had a bellyfull, I
reckon."

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posts in every part of the valley which commanded the cave. At length, however, wearied of the vain effort, they filed off, and encamped in the mouth of the dell, so disposing themselves that there was no chance of escape that way for the beleagured party.

"Now, thin, you rampageous red devils," said Kelly, "your done. ་་ It's clear they don't know this place, but I expect I do. Catch up, and buckle too, and we'll put ten miles 'atween them and us afore morning."

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the night, in that lone and dreary place. At length a form—a single one-emerged from the deep shadow of the trees. It was Wharton. On her knees fell the girl, and from that wild and desolate spot went up a prayer of gratitude and thanks-an orison of praise to the Great and Good. Tumultuous feelings were at work within her breast as she rose; for in that holy act did the first consciousness come unto her soul that she loved the bold youth who had saved her from so many dangers.

Wharton came near. He was pale-O! how deadly! -while his eyes were wild and dark. His mien was

"A snack first," replied Wharton, who had led forward Mary Renshaw, half dead with terror; come, young lady, courage, take some refreshment, you will threatening as he approached, and his glance at Mary need it."

Encouraged by the cool way in which the hunters sat down to eat, their companion was induced to follow their example, and thus a hearty meal was made, washed down by a horn of water from the pool. This done, the horses were saddled, and their owners soon ready for the start. Kelly went first, leading the animals, with his hand close to the head of his own, while the other was fastened behind. Wharton guided the steps of his trembling charge, and clutched his faithful rifle to his side. Clambering up the rude steep above the pool, the accustomed hunter raised a heavy bark at the summit, and disclosed a beaten trail, by which the former inhabitants of the village had come down to fetch water. With much difficulty, clearing away brambles and stepping over boughs of trees that had fallen for years without hindrance, the party made their way to the crest of the cliff, and stood amid the ruined habitations of an Indian tribe.

"No walking, now," said Kelly, sullenly. "I've loaded my horse with the plunder. You take up the gall; and then away, if you love your scalps."

They were all soon mounted; and then spurring their half-rested steeds, and, under the guidance of Job, they hurried on for the trail, which had been left in the morning. Not a word was spoken. All were wrapt in their own thoughts. Kelly brooded over his sudden passion, so hotly baulked; Wharton dwelt with satisfaction at the idea of supporting his charge, during their dark ride, in bis arms, for her dependence on him made her dearer each hour; while what she felt we will not pretend to say. At length, they halted, the chill air telling that it was not very far from morning. No fire was made, nor were the horses turned loose, but merely given a length of rope to graze; and then, well wrapped over and sheltered, Mary Renshaw went to sleep. When she awoke, the sun was up high in the heavens, the birds carolled above and below, the gnats and gally-neppers buzzed in the air, and, refreshed much, the young girl sprang to her feet. She was alone, save that the horses grazed quietly near, and a feeling of wild alarm at once pervaded her whole frame. Where were they? What could they be doing?

anything but friendly. His left arm was supported in the breast of his leathern vest, and it was clear was badly wounded. Without a word, the young man stood gazing at the lovely and trembling creature at his feet, for there she had sunk.

"You are hurt," she said faintly, wondering at his manner. "Let me bind your wound."

The tenderness with which this was uttered overcame

Wharton, and the dark mood vanished.

"Poor thing, it was not your fault. He struck me ere I raised my hand. My God, thou knowest I would not have done it. But it was he or I."

"Where is he?" said Mary, glancing fearfully round. "He is in the hands of Him who made him," replied Wharton solemnly.

Horror struck, the young girl, eager to exculpate the other from fault, asked how it happened; and he then explained that Kelly had risen in a savage and brutal humour, and had at once challenged him to fight. Wharton refused, upon which the other, irritated by the cool manner of his reply, had struck a blow, accompanied by an approbrious epithet. This the young man could not stand, and, hurrying to the wood, a deadly struggle ensued. The particulars he spared, save that he repeatedly urged the other not to carry the fearful contest to the death. Both were severely wounded; and, at last, Kelly feeling his strength going, made a fierce attempt to brain his antagonist. Wharton, in self-defence, used a pistol, which shot the other dead through the heart. "And his body?" faintly murmured Mary.

"I have covered up, and placed heavy logs over it. God rest his soul. But now," for she had been assisting to bind the wound in his arm, "let us away, and leave this dreadful spot, where I have slain a white man. "And all for worthless me," said Mary, shuddering. 'Nay, say not so, Miss Renshaw. His own will did

66

it."

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"How sad is my heart," cried she, "for me you have quarrelled with and slain your friend, for me you have suffered these wounds.”

"Miss Renshaw; all this is nothing. To protect you I would do much more, and ask no other reward but your thanks."

"No other?" replied she, with downcast eye and burning cheek.

"Much else, if I dared," said Wharton, trembling with emotion.

Their arms were with them. Could they be hunting? She knew that there was little meat left, and hoped this must be it. The camp had been chosen in a small grove at the summit of a hillock. About half a mile distant was a wood. Looking over the prairie in every direction, she could tell they were not there. It was, then, within the shade of the forest that she must look for them, and "No! no! now on this spot with burning brow and on this spot her eye became at length fascinated. A fevered pulse, the blood of man upon me, I can know no deadly sickness pervaded her heart, and indescribable calmness, and must say, that I shall, at the hands of your horrors and terrors rose before her, thick as shadows ofriends, seek the reward, the greatest I could have.”

"Speak no more of this, let us away."

“You will think differently when you are less excited," said she faintly.

"Never! Under strange circumstances, amid terrible scenes, has my love arisen. But I am not what I seem. In station I am worthy of you. If your friends refuse me not, shall I fear one here?"

how she thanked him with all eloquent eyes, and how they spoke of their dangers and difficulties, and how they conjured up a bright and gladsome future, under the influence of rosy coloured hope, and how cheerily they welcomed the sight of the town they sought, would fill many pages. The delight and wonder of her friends, their gratitude to Wharton, their ready acquiescence in his wishes, are all things of course. So also was their

"I fear not," was all she could say; and then, there before the face of heaven, in that great temple, not made with hands, without a smile, and with pale faces and tear-marriage-but it was no thing of course at all the hap

ful eyes, did they plight their troth, to be one for ever, and to love one another all the days of their life; and then, after a silent prayer. for him who had died from his own reckless will, and an earnest request for pardon for the shedder of blood, away they sped.

How they journeyed on, how tenderly, how respectfully Wharton treated his strangely and wildly won bride,

piness which resulted from their union. They left the wilds and went to live in town, where the friends of Wharton hailed with delight her who had won their child to thoughts of home; and though darksome regrets came o'er his soul at times, never once did he sorrow for the meeting, on that summer eve, by the waters of Peccan Spring.

ADDRESS TO CROSSFELL.

CROSSFELL! confederate of the storm,
Grey monarch of the mountain range;
Calmly for ever towers thy form

Above this atmosphere of change;
And ever, as our footsteps turn,

Seems watching o'er their homeward bourne.
Though fells our bleak horizon close,

And hills o'er hills above us peer,
To thee alone our valley owes

Tribute of dread, O Mount Austere!
And notes thy signs of gloom or grace
As subjects watch their tyrant's face!
Thou treasurest up the streaky snows,
In wintry thrift pre-eminent;
And oft, when spring's soft verdure glows
In lowly vales, thy blasts are sent ;
And when the harvest-time is near,
Thy menace puts the land in fear.

Oft wild winds break thy shadowy band,

And through the vales thy storm-voice thrills; While shivering, foodless, patient stand

"The cattle on a thousand hills;" And hissing sleet or rattling hail Are driven afar upon the gale.

Old prostrate trees, and scattered corn;

Spring showers of leaves like autumn's shed; And severed branches, tempest-borne ;

And drifted snow, o'er pitfalls spread,
The withered herb, the roofless cot.
Can these thy trophies be forgot?
Yet, wizard fell! while o'er the land
From thy veiled brow the shadows lour,
Oft have we climbed the height to stand
Within the circle of thy power;
And almost, with our childhood's wonder,
Yet hear its dread continuous thunder!
Our earliest vision saw thy form,

Thou Atlas of our eastern sky!
Our ear, in childhood, knew the storm
Whose billowy voice roared wild or high.
And where those mighty winds were furled,
Then seemed the boundary of the world.
We love thy smiles, as children love

Th' unbending of their warrior sire;
And e'en thy hostile panoply,

Or helm, by fancy's light admire ;
And climb thy skirts, or clutch thy crown,
Without the fear to meet thy frown.
Rise, veteran blast! unshorn in power,
With memory's fragrance on thy wings!
Thy fierce assault, thy deaf" ning roar,

The garb that, fluttering, closer clings-
These wake more precious spells for me
Than richest gales of Araby.

Our pagan fathers wondering stood,

As rose, 'mid calm, the tempest's wrath; Or when their stalwart strength was bowed, As some fierce whirlwind barred their path, While reigned around mysterious gloom, And far was heard its thunder-boom. They dreamed of wild, unearthly forms Haunting thy lone and lofty brow, Pouring their demon rage in storms

Upon the western vales below; And when thy orient helm appeared, The present fiend our fathers feared. But ages passed-and on our land

The day-spring from the east arose,
And holy men-a zealous band-

God's Word to demon-might oppose;
And raise the Christian standard here,
With rite of exorcism and prayer.
How beautiful, on this stern pile,

The feet of Him of old who brought
Unto our lone, benighted isle,

Glad tidings of redemption bought! And here, perchance, we press the sod His Apostolic feet have trod.

Thy slopes are green; thy cloudless brow,
Where winds the sheep's or shepherd's path,
Retains nor saintly traces now,

Nor vestige of the demon's wrath;
And whether reared of wood or stone,
Augustine's cross, can ne'er be known.
And since those men, of days remote,
O wild and seldom-trodden Fell!
Shepherds alone thy heights have sought,
And thou hast kept thy secret well;
Though fain Philosophy would trace
Thy howling helm-wind's nursing-place.
Save that in long, bright summer days,
When springs are low and winds are still,
And Nature's pilgrims climb to gaze

From each lone heath and lofty hill,
Glad troops of friends have often tried
Who first should scale thy slippery side.
And oft the sheep below, that seem

Like stars in heaven or ships at sea,
Stirless, apart, as in a dream-
Images of tranquillity-

Fly their lone spring and tender grass,
Where troops of laughing gypsies pass.
And seldom shall the young and fair

E'en where earth's varied beauties meet, 'Mid loveliness that may compare

With the bright scene around thy feetO'er which the gathered spells of time Have cast their witchery sublime.

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