which commands a view of the Forth, with the vessels sailing along, I sat down, and taking out my Latin Bible, opened by accident at a place in the book of Job, ix. 25,—'Now my days are passed away as the swift ships.' Shutting the book, I fell a musing on this affecting comparison. Whether the following happened to me in a dream or waking reverie, I cannot tell;—but I fancied myself on the bank of a river or sea, the opposite side of which was hid from view, being involved in clouds of mist. On the shore stood a multitude which no man could number, waiting for passage. I saw a great many ships taking in passengers, and several persons going about in the garb of pilots offering their service. Being ignorant, and curious to know what all these things meant, I applied to a grave old man who stood by, giving instructions to the departing passengers. His name I remember was the Genius of Human Life. 'My son,' said he, 'you stand on the banks of the stream of Time; all these people are bound for Eternity—that undiscovered country from whence no traveller ever returns. The country is very large, and divided into two parts: the one is called the Land of Glory, the other the Kingdom of Darkness. The names of these in the garb of pilots are Religion, Virtue, Pleasure. They who are so wise as to choose Religion for their guide have a safe, though frequently a rough passage; they are at last landed in the happy climes where sighing and sorrow for ever fly away. They have likewise a secondary director, Virtue. But there is a spurious Virtue who pretends to govern by himself; but the wretches who trust to him, as well as those who have Pleasure for their pilot are either shipwrecked or cast away on the Kingdom of Darkness.—But the vessel in which you must embark approaches—you must be gone. Remember what depends upon your conduct.' No sooner had he left me than I found myself surrounded by those pilots I mentioned before. Immediately I forgot all that the old man said to me, and, seduced by the fair promises of Pleasure, chose him for my director. We weighed anchor with a fair gale, the sky serene, the sea calm: innumerable little isles lifted their green heads around us, covered with trees in full blossom; dissolved in stupid mirth, we were carried on, regardless of the past, of the future unmindful On the sudden the sky was darkened, the winds roared, the seas raged, red rose the sand from the bottom of the troubled deep; the angel of the waters lifted up his voice. At that instant a strong ship passed by; I saw Religion at the helm: 'Come out from among them!' he cried. I and a few other* threw ourselves into his ship. The wretches we left were now tossed on the swelling deep; the waters on every side poured through the riven vessel; they cursed the Lord: when lo! a fiend rose from the deep, and, in a voice like distant thunder, thus spoke: 'I am Abaddon, the first-born of Death; ye are my prey: open, thou abyss, to receive them!' As he thus spoke they sunk, and the waves closed over their heads. The storm was turned into a calm, and we heard a voice saying, ' Fear not—I am with you: when you pass through the waters, they shall not overflow you.' Our hearts were filled with joy. I was engaged in discourse with one of my new companions, when one from the top of the mast cried out, 'Courage, my friends! I see the fair haven,—the land that is yet afar off.' Looking up I found it was a certain friend who had mounted up for the benefit of contemplating the country before him; upon seeing you, I was so affected, I started and waked.—Farewell, my friend, farewell!"
Bruce lingered through the winter, and in spring wrote that Elegy, "the latter part of which," says Logan, "is wrought up into the most passionate strains of the true pathetic, and is not perhaps inferior to any poetry in any language." How truly this is said there are few that do not know; but they who have read it often will not be fatigued by reading again.
