But no one spoke, and no one stirred,
Or lifted hand to save
From such a fearful, frightful death,
The little lad so brave.
"It is woful deep!" he shuddering cried;
"But, oh! I canna tell!
So drop me down, then, if you will—
It is nae so deep as hell!"
A childish scream, a faint, dull sound—
O Jamie Douglas true!
Long, long within that lonely cave
Shall Tain Roy wait for you.
Long for your welcome coming-
Waits the mother on the moor,
And watches and calls, "Come, Jamie, lad,"
Through the half-open door.
No more adown the rocky path
You come with fearless tread,
Or, on moor or mountain, take
The good man's daily bread.
But up in heaven the shining ones
A wond'rous story tell,
Of a child snatched up from a rocky gulf
That is nae so deep as hell.
And there before the great white throne,
Forever blessed and glad,
His mother dear and old Tarn Roy
Shall meet their bonny lad.
STORY OF A BEDSTEAD.
It was night.
The boarding-house was wrapt in tenebrous gloom, faintly tinted with an odor of kerosene.