The Sun.
London, England, 1847-07-23 00:00:00

VOICES FROM THE MOUNTAINS.
By Charles Mrlehay, LL.D.
Prei,:snitz used to say, Man miss Gebirge haben,
"Man must have mountains !" So thinks Dr. Charles
Mackay, and loving- the mountains of his native land
above all others, he giv-s v,iees to them and carols
1-6Ator4 tl:e
roythoi to singular bt-,.ttit . The purpose of his
little volume is explained with touch elegance in the
"prologue," where Alistor. a young Templar, Karl, a
young Rhymer, and Patrick, a young Sculptor,
debate as to the cour,e to he pursued in tt.eir pro-
jected excursion o the mountains. After an argu-
ment, through which beams the light of descriptive
vcrse, Ben Nevi, is selected as thtdr destination. The
p set in the fervour of his admiration calls upon the
thyme, the heather, the birch, the pine, the larch, the
flowers "earth-jewels fair," and the torrents that

" sine-, amid the wilderness, a song
Or jubilant gladness, when their floods are strong"—

" Attest the wild luxuriance of the scene
That lengthened spreads (with many a strath between,
And moorland purple, haunt of birds and bees)
Around the fern-clad feet and shaggy knees
Of mighty Nevis, monarch of the hills.
The paramount of mountains, gt,mmed with rfflt,
Scantily robed ; his TiVan shoulders nude,
Lifting his heaa in royal solitude
Above his peers, and looking grimly down
Over all Britain from his misty crown."
From such altitudes as these, therefore, are the
" Voices" presumed to reverberate, and they are
gentle voices, such as would penetrate beyond wider
abysses than separate the mountain from the crowd.
Dr. Mackay always speaks earnestly, and he is
earnest too with the heart's earnestness. The happi-
ness of man seems to him to be in a measure attain-
able with the acceptance of certain universal prin-
ciples such as the principles of general amity and
brotherly co-operation. That happiness he con-
sequently endeavours to bring more within the reach
of his fellow-beings by promulgating those principles.
Such is visible in the verses entitled "We are Wiser
than we Know" —" Let us alone" " The little
Moles," Etc. &c. " The Man in the Dead Sea" is the
wildest of wild phantasies, but it has the golden ring
of poesy. It is penned in a.strain of the most intense
passion; the words burn with meaning ; the agonies
of impotent rage are depicted with a marvellous
power. But the incident is wild—preternaturally wild.
As a specimen of the vivid and picturesque
colouring of the versification we transcribe these
" Phantoms of St. Sepulchre ;" the lines are supposed
to flow from the mouth of a wretch in the condemned
cell of Newgate. Listen to these rhymes you
sticklers for indiscriminate capital punishment !
" Ay, you may think that I am crazed,
But what I saw, that did I see.
These walls are thick, my brain was sick,
And yet mine eyes saw lue.dly.
Through the joists and through the stones
I court look as through a glass;
And from this dungeon, damp and cold,
I watched the motley le ople pass.
All day long, rapid and strong►,
Rolled to and fro the living stream;
But in the niget, I saw a sight--
I cannot think it was a tir,•am.

"Old St. Sepulchre's hell will toll
At eight to-morrow, for my soul;
And thousands, not much better than I,
Will throng around to see me die;
And many will bless their happy fate,
That they ne'er fell from their high estate,
Or did such deed as I have done;
Though, from the rise to the set of sun,
They.eheat their neighbours all their days,
And gather gold in slimy ways.
But rntsoul feels strong, and my sit t grows clear,
As aleath-hour appr-aches near,
And in its presinee I will tell
Tbefsery truth, as it betel.
" The snow lies now on the house-tops cold,
Shrill, and keen the March winds blow;
The rank grass of the chur, hyard mould
Is covered o'er with drifted snow;
The graves in old St. Sepulchre's yard
Were white last night, when I looked forth,
And the sharp clear stars seemed to dance in the sky,
Rocked by the fierce winds of the north.

" The houses dull seemed numb with frost,
The streets seemed wider than of yore.
And the straggling passengers trod, like ghosts,
Si!ently on the pathway frore,
When I look'd through that churchyard rail,
And thought of the bell that should ring my doom,
And saw three women, sad and pale,
Sitting together on a tomb.
" A fearful sight it was to see,
As up they rose and looked at me:
Sunken were their cheeks and eyes,
Blue-cold were their feet, and bare;
Lean and yellow were their hands,
Long and scanty was their hair;
And round their necks I saw the ropes
Deftly knotted, tightly drawn;
And knew they were not things of earth,
Or creatures that could face the dawn.
" Seen dimly in th' uncertain light,
They multiplied upon my sight;
And things like mea and women sprung--
Shapes of those who had been hung—
From the rank and clammy ground.
I counted them—l knew them all,
Each with its rope around its neck,
Marshalled by the churchyard wall.
" The stiff policeman, passing along,
Saw them not, nor made delay;
A reeling bacchanal, shouting a song,
Looked at the clock, and went his way;
A troop of girls, with painted cheeks,
Laughing and yelling in drunken glee,
Passed liked a gust, and never looked
At the sight so palpable to me.
I saw them—heard them—felt their breath
Musty and raw and damp as death.

"These women three, these fearful shapes,
Looked at me through Newgate stone,
And raised their fingers, skinny atd lank,
Whispering low in under tone:—
His hour draws near,— he's one of us,—
His gibbet is built,—his noose is tied;
They have put his name on his coffin lid:
The law of blood shall be satisfied.
Ile shall rest with u- and his name shall be
A by-word and a mockery.'
"I whispered to one, What hadst thou done?'
Sate answered, whispering, and I heard—
Althoudi a chime rang at the time—
Every sentence, every word,
Clear, above the pealing bells:—
`I was mad, and slew my child;
Better than life, God knows, I loved it;
But pain and hunger drove me wild.
Scorn and hunger, and grief and care,
And I slew it in my despair.
And for this deed they raised the gibbet;
F. r this deed the noose they tied ;
And I hung and swung in the sight of men,
And the law of blood was satisfied.'

" I said to the second, What didst thou?'
Her keen eyes flashed unearthly shine.
I married a youth whr.n I was young,
And thought all happiness was mine;
But they stele him from me, to tight the French ;
And I was left in the world alone,
To beg or steal—to live or die,
Robbed of my stay, my all, my own.
England stole my Lord from me,—
I stole a ribbon, was caught and tried;
And I hunt and swung in the sight of men,
And the law of blood was satisfied.'
" I said to the third, What crime was thine ?'
Crime !' she answered, in accents meek,
The babe that sucks at its mother's breast,
And smiles with its little dimpled cheek,
Is not more innocent than I.
But truth was feeble,—error was strong;
And guiltless of a deed of shame,
Men's justice did me cruel wrong.
They would not hear my truthful words:
They thought me filled with stubborn pride.
And I hung and swung in the sight of men,
And the law of blood was satisfied.'
" Then one and all, by.tliat churchyard wall,
Raised their skinny hands at me;
Their voices mingling like the sound
Of rustling leaves in a withering tree:
'His hour has come, he's one of us;
His gibbet is built, his noose is tied;
His knell shall ring, and his corpse shall swing,
And the law of blood shall be satisfied.'

" They vanished 1 I saw them, one by one,
With their bare blue feet on the drifted snow,
Sink like a thaw, when the sun is up,
To their wormy solitudes below.
Though you may deem this was a dream,
My facts are tangible facts to me ;
For the sight grows clear as death draws near,
And looks into futurity."
Not, however, in horrors does the muse of Charles
Mackay delight. The dells and solitudes of nature
are his welcomer retreats. Notice, for example, the
ore:wend° ardour of the description of the scene when
the yellow moon 'vas shining, and—
'. Beautifully still
Lay Lochlin in his heams—Lochlin whose breast
Watt-d so oft the chieftains of the west
To tloody wart •rv; Lechlin, that of yore
The eall-ys of the Gael to battle bore
Ag,ir.st the men of hsuglity Inntsiad;
L .chlin s ortn;, where Fingal spre 41 his sail
;
To !i.eet (7u huidii; Locidin of the sperm,;
Blue Locktin of Me song, of aher y ars."
Sometimes we regret to s(-e. th, natural gush of poetic
diction impeded, as it, were, by the ver/ intensity
of t.,:e e m..tions of the writer. In tl e " Drop of
Ambrosia," t,,r iostance, he degetierati.s into the
baldness of saving—
" Let me alone, nor vex my ,tul,"&c.;
and immoiliately afterwards he sinks into tt.e vulg .r-
ISM of writing—
•• ,till I grasp it, th oitne appear,
Into hou s the week, I'd pack," &e.
Again, in " The Follower," he turns a solemn, and