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“. Preserve us !” cried the old woman. “ Why, ye are mair than aneugh to frighten a body out o’her wits ! To come in wi' sic a jaunt and a jerk, bareheaded, and the red blood spattered a' o'er your new leather jerkin! Shame on you, Andrew! in what mishanter hast thou broken that fule's head o' thine ?”' '
" Peace, mither!” said the young man, taking breath," I
bae seen the mither!""that fule's hom you, Andde spattered
· The old lady had a long line of reproaches, drawn up in order of march, between her lips; but the mention of the bogle was the signal for disbanding them. A thousand questions poured in, in rapid succession. -" How old was she? How was she dressed? Who was she like? What did she say?”.
“ She was a tall thin woman, about seven feet high !” . .. “ Oh Andrew !” cried Effie. . “ As ugly as sin!” “ Other people tell a differenť story,” said Effie.. “ True, on my Bible oath! and then her beard”
“ A beard! Andrew,” shrieked Effie, “ a woman with a beard! For shame, Andrew !”
“ Nay, I will swear it upon my soul's salvation! She had seen full saxty winters afore she died to trouble us!”
“ I'll wager my best new goun," said the maiden, “ that saxteen would be nearer the mark.”
“ But wha was she like, Andrew ?” said the old woman. “Was she like auld Janet that was drowned in the pond hard by ? or that auld witch that your master hanged for stealing his pet lamb ? or was she like-"
“ Are you sure she was na like me, Andrew.?” said Effie, looking archly in his face..
“ You—Pshaw! Faith, guid mither, she was like to naebody that I ken, unless it be auld Elspeth, the cobler's wife, that was spirited awa' by the Abbot, for breaking Father Jerome's head wi' a tin frying-pan!”
“ And how was she drest, Andrew ?”.
“ In that horrible three-cornered hat, which may I be blinded if ever I seek to look upon again! an' in a lang blue apron.”
“ Green, Andrew!” cried Effie, twirling her own green apron round her thumb.
“ How you like to teaze one!" said the lover. Poor Andrew did not at all enter into his mistress's pleasantry, for he laboured under great depression of spirits, and never lifted his eyes from the ground.
“ But ye hae na tald us what she said, lad!” said the old woman, assuming an air of deeper mystery as each question was put and answered in its turn.
“ Lord! what signifies it whether she said this or that! Haud
your tongue ! and get me some comfort; for, to speak truth, I'm vera cauld.”
« Weel mayest thou be sae," said Effie, “ for indeed," she continued, in a feigned voice,“ it was a cauld an' an eerie night to be sae late on Anneslie Muir.”
Andrew started, and a doubt seemed to pass over his mind. He looked up at the damsel, and perceived, for the first time, that her large blue eye was laughing at him from under the shade of a huge three-cornered Hat. The next moment he hung over her in an ecstasy of gratitude, and smothered with his kisses the ridicule which she forced upon him as the penalty of his preservation.
“ Seven feet high, Andrew!" “ My dear Effie!”— “ As ugly as sin !”— “ My darling lassie !” — “ And a beard!” — “ Na! na! now you carry the jest o'er far!” “ And saxty winters !” “ Saxteen springs ; Effie! dear, delightful, smiling springs !".
“ And Elspeth the cobler's wife ! oh! Andrew, Andrew! I never can forgie you for the cobler's wife !—and what say you now, Andrew! is there nae bogle on the muir?”
My dear Effie! for your sake I'll believe in a'the bogles in Christendie!"
“ That is,” said Effie, at the conclusion of a long and vehement fit of risibility, " that is, in a' that wear “ three-cornered Hats.”
“ The maiden paused, as if again
She thought to catch the distant strain,
“ ANNA, list! the zephyrs play
Over the blue wave fleetly ;
Breaks on the still night sweetly.
“ Ope the casement-open wide
Let us drink the moonbeam's light;
Rides she through the clouds of night.
“ O ’tis sweet-the hour I love
The lovely hour of placid Even,
And mingle with the stars of Heav'n.
“ Nature sleeps--and all around
A holy silence spreads her reign;
Is heard along the tranquil plain.
“ While the halcyon calm we view,
Anxious cares and troubles fly,
Breathe to absent love a sigh.
“Hark! a lute--I heard its tone
Again the sound salutes my ear :
Thus that joys rude night to cheer?
“ List thee, Anna; list, I pray—
Softly steals the melody-
Floating o'er the silent sea :"
“ The dew-drop that shines on the violet's bed,
Or the stars that are glitt'ring in Heav'n above, Or the diadem gracing a conqueror's head, Are never so bright as the eyes of my Love.
“ The odour exhaled from yon opening rose,
Or the breezes that play round Arabia's grove, Or when labour is over, the peasant's repose
Is never so sweet as the kiss of my Love.
“ Selina, thou fair one, O! list to my tale,
'Mid her heaven of purple rides blithely the Moon; 0! waft me that kiss on the wings of the gale,
Or waft me thyself—a far lovelier boon."
“ 'Tis he, 'tis he-I know the strain
His flatt’ring tongue was wont to sing-
When Lona touched the pliant string.
“ Dear youth, I come—but no !-my soul,
While love entwines his flowery bands,
Forgets his oft-renewed commands.
“ But O! I love shall bolts or bars,
Shall all restrictions out of number,
Keep hearts that Love has joined asunder?”
She said, and o'er her downy cheek
There stole a tinge of deeper dye,
Its anger through her twinkling eye.
She flung away, in trembling haste,
The ringlets of her flowing hair;
To frolic and to nestle there.
Then look'd on Anna-and a sigh
Gaz'd on the ocean's tranquil bed.
The minstrel youth, who, ling’ring nigh,
A lover's hopes and fears had prov'd,
Brought news of bliss from her he lov’d.
But all was silent-all was still —
Again he waked the trembling lyre;
It uttered love and soft desire.
A voice arose, whose every word
Fell sweet as Hybla's honey tear,
That tells her woes in Evening's ear :
“ Can the river flow on in an unison stream,
If the fountains that feed it with waves are supprest? The sun-flower withers, if reft of the beam
Of the God that enlightens and nurtures her crest.
“ Then pity the lover, who sighing implores
One smile to disperse his soul's lowering shade; If bereft of the light of those eyes he adores,
Like the flower when blighted, he'll sicken and fade.
“O can that fair bosom, Selina, O can it
Be deaf to the cries of the wretched ? O no!
So woman's soft heart bends to accents of woe.