Wyseby

34 wyseby: a legend
her pensive face, like a pitying genius, upon the quiet
Earth, resting on the bosom of its mother Chaos ;
and the low winds coming from their viewless cham-
bers beyond, bore the pensive gazer's golden locks far
into the darkening south. A hill bounded his view.
His eye rested on that. Instantly his thoughts rush
back to the period when the irresistible legions of
old Rome hailed the coming of evening from its
brow. The brave of those days stood before him.
Their battle-cries rung in his ears, and the heroic of
his nature arose. But his eye fell on the clear
stream, and his ear became conscious of its song,
and he knew that from afar, down through the wide-
spreading wilderness of wood, (for a stately forest
waved here in those days.) as the course of a solitary
friendship through a troubled life, that stream came
flashing along, — then he grew painfully conscious
that there are holier sounds than those of battle, and
braver sights than wheeling cohorts. A light hand
is on his arm. " My meditative brother, methinks
thou art in a fit mood for a sad tale," said Catharine.
" In me thou wilt find a fitting listener."
"As thou wilt," said Irving, smiling; and they
passed to her apartment together.
" Now to thy task," cried Catharine ; " narrate to
me as minstrel would, the fortunes of thy gallant
friend, the knight of the trackless course, Esecal of
Burdock."
" Sister of mine," said the chief, gravely, " me-
thinks valour and misfortune are fitter argument for
sad thinking than light jesting." Catharine blushed
deeply. The chief continued — " Edward had deter-
mined upon the subjugation of our fatherland. At
Methven the forces of the iron-hearted king are as-