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You, old Homer, bard of the lisping tribes of the coasts, with your serene and venerable face sculptured in the likeness of your great childlike genius, with your three times millennial lyre and your empty eyes you who led us to Poetry!
This was no doubt the case in former days, when the noble bard wrote his elegant poems in the happy ancient days! when maidens were as yet generous, and men kindly! Now the degenerate peasantry of the district are much more inclined to ask than to give, and their blue eyes seem to have disappeared with their generosity.
The bard sung his own song, and was always received with welcome and honour in the palaces of the nobles. In the battle, as depicted by Homer, the chiefs are the only important combatants, while the people are an almost useless mass, frequently put to rout by the prowess of a single hero. The chief is mounted in a war chariot, and stands by the side of his charioteer, who is frequently a friend.
Old age brings back the memories of childhood. And the great bard gave in the corrupt and besotted Falstaff who prattled of babbling brooks and green fields an instance of the retracing steps taken by the memory at the last gasp. It has been said that the bible was sanctified by our mothers. Every superstition in the world, from the beginning of all time, has had such a sanctification.
Another man, young gentleman, would have charged you a premium for his instructions; and here have I, in one lesson, imparted to you all the mysteries of the science, and for nothing! And you talk to me of 'receive! receive! Young gentleman, in the words of the immortal bard, 'I would as lief you had talked to me of ratsbane!" "In fine, then, Mr.
Time would develop her sentiments; they were both young; his position was humble as yet; but when he had become famous through the land-oh blissful thought! the bard of Oxbow Village would bear a name that any woman would be proud to assume, and the M. H. which her delicate hands had wrought on the kerchiefs she wore would yet perhaps be read, not Myrtle Hazard, but Myrtle Hopkins.
This ode has so impressed the Conway folk that they have been at great pains to discover the exact spot where the despairing bard plunged into the river, and several enthusiastic persons have discovered the actual site.
"I' faith, so could not I!" interposed Zabastes grimly. "For when a bard begins to gabble goose-like platitudes which merely concern his own vocation, the gods only know when he can be persuaded to stop!
"Hast thou a token to me from Sir William Douglas?" said the Lady. "I have, madam," replied he; "but it must be said in private." "Thou art right," said the Lady, moving towards the recess of a window; "say in what does it consist?" "In the words of an old bard," replied the Abbot. "Repeat them," answered the Lady; and he uttered, in a low tone, the lines from an old poem, called The Howlet,
"The Death of Cathullin" wailed from the sounding notes; but Bruce heard as though he heard them not; they sooth his mood without his perceiving what it was that calmed, yet deepened, the saddening thoughts which possessed him. His posture remained the same; and sigh after sigh gave the only response to the strains of the bard.
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