"Na, na; I hae nae skill o' poetry, sir, an' it be na the Psalms o'
David."

"Let me read you a stanza, that I think you will enjoy."

He went for his book and drew a chair beside the little light, and read
with a great deal of fire and feeling some passages from "The Lay of the
Last Minstrel." He was soon sensible that he was gradually stirring in
these two untutored souls, feelings of which they had hitherto been
unconscious. He put more and more passion into the words, finally he threw
down the book, and standing erect, recited them with outstretched arms and
uplifted face. When he ceased, David was listening like one entranced; and
Maggie's knitting had fallen to the floor: for she had unconsciously
risen, and was gazing at the speaker with a face that reflected every
change of his own. It was as if the strings of a harp had snapped, and
left the souls of the listeners in mid-air. With an effort the enthusiasm
was put aside, and after a minute's pause, David said, "I ne'er heard
words like them words. Mony thanks to you, sir. I'm right glad it was a
Scot wrote them," and he murmured softly--

"O Caledonia stern and wild!
Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood."

Still it was Maggie's shy, tremulous glance and luminous face, that
Thanked and pleased Campbell most, and he lifted the book and went away,
almost as much under the spell of the poet, as the two simple souls who
had heard his music for the first time. There was a moment or two in which
life seemed strange to the brother and sister. They had much the same
feeling as those who awaken from a glorious dream and find sordid cares