own-from the Eildon Hills, renowned in the legendary history of Michael Scott to "Drygrange, with the milk-white yows, 'Twixt Tweed and Leader standing ;"* to Cowdenknows, where once spear and helm "Glanced gaily through the broom ;” + and so on to the heights above Gladswood, where Smailholm Castle appeared in sight -the scene of his childhood being thus brought, after all the transactions of a mighty and glorious life, into the same prospect with his grave. During the time of the funeral, all business was suspended at the burgh of Selkirk, and the villages of Darnick and Melrose; and in the former of these hamlets several of the signs of the traders were covered with black cloth, while a flag of crape was mounted on the old fortalice which rears itself in the midst of the inferior buildings. At every side avenue and opening, stood a group of villagers at gaze-few of them bearing the external signs of mourning, but all apparently impressed with a proper sense of the occasion. The village matrons and children, clustered in windows or in lanes, * Old song. + Ballad of Thomas the Rymer, in the Border Minstrelsy. displayed a mingled feeling of sorrow for the loss, and curiosity and wonder for the show. The husbandmen suspended their labour, and leant pensively over the enclosures. Old infirm people sat out of doors, where some of them, perhaps, were little accustomed to sit, surveying the passing cavalcade. And though the feelings of the gazers had, perhaps, as much reference to the local judge "the Shirra"-as to the poet of the world and of time, the whole had a striking effect. Those forming the procession, so far as they could abstract themselves from the feeling of the occasion, were also impressed with the extraordinary appearance which it bore, as it dragged its enormous length through the long reaches of the road-the hearse sometimes appearing on a far height, while the rear vehicles were stealing their way through a profound valley or chasm. The sky was appropriately hung, during the whole time of the ceremony, with a thick mass of cloud which canopied the vale from one end to the other like a pall. Towards nightfall the procession arrived within the umbrageous precincts of Dryburgh ;* and the coffin being taken from the Dryburgh Abbey was founded in 1150 by David hearse, was borne along in slow and solemn wise through the shady walks, the mourners following, to the amount of about three hundred. Before leaving Abbotsford, homage had been done to the religious customs of the country by the pronunciation of a prayer by Dr Baird; the funeral service of the Episcopal Church (to which the deceased belonged) was now read in the usual manner by the Rev. John Williams,* whose distinction in literature and in scholarship eminently entitled him to this honour. The scene was at this time worthy of the occasion. In a small green space, surrounded by the broken but picturesque ruins of a Gothic abbey, and overshadowed by wild foliage, just tinged with the melancholy hues of autumn, with mouldering statuary, and broken monuments meeting the eye wherever it attempted to pierce, stood the uncovered group of mourners, amongst whom could be detected but one feeling-a consciousness that the greatest man their country ever produced was here receiving from them the I., for monks of the kind called Præmonstrates.— Hailes's Annals, i. * Of Baliol College, Oxford-Rector of the Edinburgh Academy, and Vicar of Lampeter. last attentions that man can pay to his brother man-which, however, in this case, reflected honour, not from the living to the dead, but (and to such a degree!) from the dead to the living. In this scene, where the efforts of man seemed struck with desolation, and those of nature crowned with beauty and triumph, the voice of prayer sounded with peculiar effect; for it is rare that the words of Holy Writ are pronounced in such a scene; and it must be confessed that they can seldom be pronounced over such a “departed brother." The grave was worthy of a poet-was worthy of Scott:-And so there he lies, amidst his own loved scenes, awaiting throughout the duration of time the visits of yearly thousands, after which the awakening of eternity, when alone can he be reduced to a level with other men. The following beautiful lines written by Mr C. Swain, on the death of Sir Walter Scott, are worthy of the highest admiration, for the beauty of the original thought and for its touching execution. 'Twas morn-but not the ray which falls the summer boughs among, When beauty walks in gladness forth with all her light and song. 'Twas morn, but mist and cloud hung deep upon the lonely vale, And shadows, like the wings of death, were out upon the gale. For he whose spirit woke the dust of nations into lifeThat o'er the waste and barren earth spread flowers and fruitage rife Whose genius, like the sun, illumed the mighty realms of mind Had fled for ever from the fame, love, friendship of mankind. To wear a wreath in glory wrought his spirit swept afar There was wailing on the early breeze, and darkness in the sky When, with sable plume, and cloak, and pall, a funeral train swept by ; Methought-St. Mary shield us well!-that other forms moved there Than those of mortal brotherhood, the noble, young, and fair. Was it a dream 2-how oft, in sleep, we ask, “Can this be true ?" Whilst warm imagination paints her marvels to our view :Earth's glory seems a tarnished crown to that which we behold When dreams enchant our sight with things whose meanest garb is gold! Was it a dream?-methought the " dauntless Harold " passed me by The proud "Fitz-James," with martial step, and dark intrepid eye; That "Marmion's" haughty crest was there, a mourner for his sake; And she-the bold, the heautiful sweet "Lady of the Lake." The "Minstrel," whose LAST LAY was o'er, whose broken harp lay low And with him glorious "Waverley " with glance and step of wo; |