The author of "Harebell Chimes," a volume of interesting verses, Andrew James Symington, was born at Paisley, on the 27th of July 1825. His father was a scion of the noble house of Douglas, and his mother claimed descent from the old Highland family of Macalister. On the completion of his education at the grammar school, the subject of this sketch entered the warehouse of his father, who carried on business as a muslin manufacturer. By the death of his father in 1841, he succeeded, along with an elder brother, to the full management of the concern. In 1848 the establishment was removed from Paisley to Glasgow, where it continues to be prosperously carried on.
Eminently devoted to literary and artistic studies, Mr Symington has cultivated the personal intercourse of artists and men of letters. He has contributed to some of the leading periodicals. His volume of "Harebell Chimes," published in 1849, contains poetry of a high order; it was especially commended by the late Samuel Rogers, with whom the author had the privilege of corresponding. In 1855, a small volume entitled "Genivieve, and other Poems," was printed by Mr Symington for circulation among his friends.
DAY DREAM.
Close by the marge of Leman's lake,
Upon a thymy plot,
In blissful rev'rie, half awake,
Earth's follies all forgot,
I conjured up a faery isle
Where sorrow enter'd not,
Withouten shade of sin or guile—
A lovely Eden spot.
With trellis'd vines, in cool arcade,
And leaves of tender green,
All trembling in the light and shade,
As sunbeams glanced between:
The mossy turf, bespangled gay
With fragrant flowery sheen—
Bell, primrose, pink, and showers of May—
The fairest ever seen.
Near where a crystal river ran
Into the rich, warm light,
A domÈd palace fair began
To rise in marble white.
'Twas fill'd, as if by amulet,
With mirrors dazzling bright—
With antique vase and statuette,
A palace of delight.
And "Mignon" in a snow-white dress,
With circlet on her hair,
Appear'd in all her loveliness,
Like angel standing there.
She struck the cithern in her hand,
And sang with 'witching air
Her own sweet song, "Know'st thou the land?"
To music wild and rare.
It died away—the palace changed,
Dream-like, into a bower!
Around, the soft-eyed dun-deer ranged,
Secure from hunter's power.
Wild thyme and eye-bright tinged the ground,
With daisy, starry flower,
While crimson flower-bells cluster'd round
The rose-twined faery bower.
Therein "Undine," lovely sprite!
Sat gazing on sunrise,
And sang of "morning, clear and bright"—
The tears came in her eyes:
She look'd upon the lovely isle,
And now up to the skies,
Then in a silv'ry misty veil
She vanish'd from mine eyes.
A music, as of forest trees
Bent 'neath the storm-blast's sway,
Rose swelling—dying in the breeze,
A strange, wild lullaby.
The islet with its flowery turf
Then waxÈd dim and gray;
I look'd—no islet gemm'd the surf—
The dream had fled away.
FAIR AS A STAR OF LIGHT.
Fair as a star of light,
Like diamond gleaming bright,
Through darkness of the night,
Is my love to me.
As bell of lily white,
In streamlet mirror'd bright,
All quiv'ring with delight,
Is my love to me—
My love to me.
A flowing magic thrill
Which floodeth heart and will
With gushes musical,
Is my love to me.
Bright as the trancÈd dream,
Which flitteth in a gleam,
Before morn's golden beam,
Is my love to me—
My love to me.
Like living crystal well,
In cool and shady dell,
Unto the parch'd gazelle,
Is my love to me.
And dearer than things fair,
However rich and rare,
In earth, or sea, or air,
Is my love to me—
My love to me.
NATURE MUSICAL.
