Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn!--.

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Return to thy dwelling; all lonely, return; For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, And a wild mother scream o'er her famishing brood .-- CAMPBELL.
The night continued sullen and stormy; but morning rose as if refreshed by the rains.

Even the Mucklestane-Moor, with its broad bleak swells of barren grounds, interspersed with marshy pools of water, seemed to smile under the serene influence of the sky, just as good-humour can spread a certain inexpressible charm over the plainest human countenance.
The heath was in its thickest and deepest bloom.