I'LL sing of yon glen of red heather, An' a dear thing that ca's it her hame, Wha's a' made o' love-life thegither, Frae the tie o' the shoe to the kaime; Love beckons in every sweet motion, Commanding due homage to gie; But the shrine o' my dearest devotion. Is the bend o' her bonny eebree. I fleech'd an' I pray'd the dear lassie Her answer was, "Laith wad I be! I neither hae father nor mither, Sage counsel or caution to gie; An' prudence has whisper'd me never To gang to the brakens wi' thee." Dear lassie, how can ye upbraid me, An' try your ain love to beguile? For ye are the richest young lady That ever gaed o'er the kirk-stile. Your smile, that is blither than ony, The bend o' your cheerfu' eebree, An' the sweet blinks o' love there sae bonny, Are five hunder thousand to me! She turn'd her around, an' said, smiling, While the tear in her blue eye shone clear, "You're welcome, kind sir, to your mailing, For, O, you hae valued it dear: Gae make out the lease, do not linger, Let the parson indorse the decree; And then, for a wave o' your finger, I'll gang to the brakens wi' thee!" There's joy in the bright blooming feature, There's joy in the dance and the wine: The fond little heart that 's our ain! PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY. 1792-1822. แ "SHELLEY, like Byron, knew early what it was to love-almost all great poets have. It was in the summer of this year (1809) that he became acquainted with our cousin, Harriet Grove. Living in distant counties, they then met for the first time, since they had been children, at Field-place, where she was on a visit. She was born, I think, in the same year with himself. 'She was like him in lineaments-her eyes, Her hair, her features, they said were like to his, But softened all and tempered into beauty.' After so long an interval, I still remember Miss Grove; and when I call to mind all the women I have ever seen, I know of none that surpassed, or that could compete with her. She was like one of Shakspeare's women-like some Madonna of Raphael. Shelley, in a fragment written many years after, seems to have had her in his mind's eye, when he writes: 'They were two cousins, almost like to twins, Except that from the catalogue of sins Nature had razed their love, which could not be, But in dissevering their nativity; And so they grew together like two flowers Upon one stem, which the same beams and showers Lull or awaken in the purple prime.' Young as they were, it is not likely that they had entered into a formal engagement with each other, or that their parents looked upon their attachment, if it were mentioned, as any other than an intimacy natural to such near relations, or the mere fancy of a moment; and after they parted, though they corresponded regularly, there was nothing in the circumstance that called for observation. Shelley's love, however, had taken deep root, as proved by the dedication to Queen Mab, written in the following year." MEDWIN'S LIFE OF SHELLEY. This poems-the dediatica to -Tax Ratio tesu-wwrinen in the satama df 157, a Viivi kaustre. Its stressed to Mrs. Sheley, née Mary Godwin, the daughter of William Godwa and Mary Waist.cert. Shelley met her in London about the time of his separate fie la fist wit. Harriet Westbrooke, and belleving that be had friend his walk aftity, persuaded her to elipe with him to the Continent. They saned from Dover on the 28th of July, 1814, and crossing over to France in a small boat proceeded to Netfihatel in Switzerland, where they remained a few days, and then returned to England. They lived together till the sticide of Shelley's wife, in November, 1816, when they were made man and wife according to the usages of the church. Their after history-Shelley's melancholy death by drowning in the Bay of Spezia, and Mrs. Shelley's successful literary career-is too well known to need recapitulation in this place. So now my summer-task is ended, Mary, With thy belovéd name, thou Child of love and light. The toil which stole from thee so many an hour Is ended-and the fruit is at thy feet! No longer where the woods to frame a bower Or where the sound like many voices sweet, Thoughts of great deeds were mine, dear Friend, when first I do remember well the hour which burst And then I clasped my hands and looked around, And just, and free, and mild, if in me lies The selfish and the mean still tyrannize |