The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne | Page 2

with inimitable expression.
Twelve years had now elapsed since the death of the Earl, and time had
blunted the keen edge of sorrow. Matilda's grief had declined into a
gentle, and not unpleasing melancholy, which gave a soft and
interesting shade to the natural dignity of her character. Hitherto her

attention had been solely directed towards rearing those virtues which
nature had planted with so liberal a hand in her children, and which,
under the genial influence of her eye, had flourished and expanded into
beauty and strength. A new hope, and new solicitudes, now arose in her
breast; these dear children were arrived at an age, dangerous from its
tender susceptibility, and from the influence which imagination has at
that time over the passions. Impressions would soon be formed which
would stamp their destiny for life. The anxious mother lived but in her
children, and she had yet another cause of apprehension.
When Osbert learned the story of his father's death, his young heart
glowed to avenge the deed. The late Earl, who had governed with the
real dignity of power, was adored by his clan; they were eager to
revenge his injuries; but oppressed by the generous compassion of the
Countess, their murmurs sunk into silence: yet they fondly cherished
the hope that their young Lord would one day lead them on to conquest
and revenge. The time was now come when they looked to see this
hope, the solace of many a cruel moment, realized. The tender fears of
a mother would not suffer Matilda to risque the chief of her last
remaining comforts. She forbade Osbert to engage. He submitted in
silence, and endeavored by application to his favourite studies, to stifle
the emotions which roused him to aims. He excelled in the various
accomplishments of his rank, but chiefly in the martial exercises, for
they were congenial to the nobility of his soul, and he had a secret
pleasure in believing that they would one time assist him to do justice
to the memory of his dead father. His warm imagination directed him
to poetry, and he followed where she led. He loved to wander among
the romantic scenes of the Highlands, where the wild variety of nature
inspired him with all the enthusiasm of his favourite art. He delighted
in the terrible and in the grand, more than in the softer landscape; and,
wrapt in the bright visions of fancy, would often lose himself in awful
solitudes.
It was in one of these rambles, that having strayed for some miles over
hills covered with heath, from whence the eye was presented with only
the bold outlines of uncultivated nature, rocks piled on rocks, cataracts
and vast moors unmarked by the foot of traveller, he lost the path

which he had himself made; he looked in vain for the objects which
had directed him, and his heart, for the first time, felt the repulse of fear.
No vestige of a human being was to be seen, and the dreadful silence of
the place was interrupted only by the roar of distant torrents, and by the
screams of the birds which flew over his head. He shouted, and his
voice was answered only by the deep echoes of the mountains. He
remained for some time in a silent dread not wholly unpleasing, but
which was soon heightened to a degree of terror not to be endured; and
he turned his steps backward, forlorn, and dejected. His memory gave
him back no image of the past; having wandered some time, he came to
a narrow pass, which he entered, overcome with fatigue and fruitless
search: he had not advanced far, when an abrupt opening in the rock
suddenly presented him with a view of the most beautifully romantic
spot he had ever seen. It was a valley almost surrounded by a barrier of
wild rocks, whose base was shaded with thick woods of pine and fir. A
torrent, which tumbled from the heights, and was seen between the
woods, rushed with amazing impetuosity into a fine lake which flowed
through the vale, and was lost in the deep recesses of the mountains.
Herds of cattle grazed in the bottom, and the delighted eyes of Osbert
were once more blessed with the sight of human dwellings. Far on the
margin of the stream were scattered a few neat cottages. His heart was
so gladdened at the prospect, that he forgot he had yet the way to find
which led to this Elysian vale. He was just awakened to this distressing
reality, when his attention was once more engaged by the manly figure
of a young Highland peasant, who advanced towards him with an air of
benevolence, and, having learned his distress, offered to conduct him to
his cottage. Osbert accepted