as death, but for the soun' o' a stream and the cry o' an eagle. "Let us
sing, to the praise and glory o' God, the hundred psalm," quoth a loud
clear voice, though it be the voice o' an auld man; and up to Heaven
hands he his strang wither'd hauns, and in the gracious wunds o' heaven
are flying abroad his gray hairs', or say rather, white as the silver or
the snaw.

_North_.--Oh, for Wilkie!

_Shepherd_.--The eagle and the stream are silent, and the heavens and
the earth are brocht close thegither by that triumphin' psalm. Ay, the
clouds cease their sailing and lie still; the mountains bow their heads;
and the crags, do they not seem to listen, as in that remote place the
hour o' the delighted day is filled with a holy hymn to the Lord God o'
Israel!

_North_.--My dear Shepherd!

_Shepherd_.--Oh! if there should be sittin' there--even in that
congregation on which, like God's own eye, looketh down the meridian
sun, now shinin' in the blue region--an Apostate!

_North_.--The thought is terrible.

_Shepherd_.--But na, na, na! See that bonny blue-e'ed, rosy-cheek'd,
gowden-haired lassie,--only a thought paler than usual, sweet lily that
she is,--half sittin' half lyin' on the greensward, as she leans on the
knee o' her stalwart grand-father--for the sermon's begun, and all eyes
are fastened on the preacher--look at her till your heart melts, as if
she were your ain, and God had given you that beautifu' wee image o' her