Upon　a　night　of　gust　and　roar；
  Shipwrecked　among　the　waves；　and　seems
  Across　the　purple　hills　to　roam；
  Sweet　odours　touch　him　from　the　foam；
  And　downward　sinking　still　he　dreams
  He　walks　the　clover　field　at　home；
  And　hears　the　rattling　teams。
  All　is　mine；　all　is　my　own！
  Toss　the　purple　fountain　high！
  The　breast　of　man　is　a　vat　of　stone；
  I　am　alive；　I；　only　I！
  Thou　hast　beheld　a　throated　fountain　spout
  Full　in　the　air；　and　in　the　downward　spray
  A　hovering　Iris　span　the　marble　tank；
  Which　as　the　wind　came；　ever　rose　and　sank
  Violet　and　red；　so　my　continual　play
  Makes　beauty　for　the　Gods　with　many　a　prank
  Of　human　excellence；　while　they；
  Weary　of　all　the　noon；　in　shadows　sweet
  Supine　and　heavy…eyed　rest　in　the　boundless　heat：
  Let　the　world's　fountain　play！
  Beauty　is　pleasant　in　the　eyes　of　Jove；
  Betwixt　the　wavering　shadows　where　he　lies
  He　marks　the　dancing　column　with　his　eyes
  Celestial；　and　amid　his　inmost　grove
  Upgathers　all　his　limbs；　serenely　blest；
  Lulled　by　the　mellow　noise　of　the　great　world's　unrest。
  One　heart　beats　in　all　nature；　differing
  But　in　the　work　it　works；　its　doubts　and　clamours
  Are　but　the　waste　and　brunt　of　instruments
  Wherewith　a　work　is　done；　or　as　the　hammers
  On　forge　Cyclopean　plied　beneath　the　rents
  Of　lowest　Etna；　conquering　into　shape
  The　hard　and　scattered　ore：
  Choose　thou　narcotics；　and　the　dizzy　grape
  Outworking　passion；　lest　with　horrid　crash
  Thy　life　go　from　thee　in　a　night　of　pain。
  So　tutoring　thy　vision；　shall　the　flash
  Of　dove　white…breasted　be　to　thee　no　more
  Than　a　white　stone　heavy　upon　the　plain。
  Hark　the　cock　crows　loud！
  And　without；　all　ghastly　and　ill；
  Like　a　man　uplift　in　his　shroud；
  The　white　white　morn　is　propped　on　the　hill；
  And　adown　from　the　eaves；　pointed　and　chill；
  The　icicles　'gin　to　glitter；
  And　the　birds　with　a　warble　short　and　shrill；
  Pass　by　the　chamber…window　still
  With　a　quick　uneasy　twitter。
  Let　me　pump　warm　blood；　for　the　cold　is　bitter；
  And　wearily；　wearily；　one　by　one；
  Men　awake　with　the　weary　sun。
  Life　is　a　phantom　shut　in　thee；
  I　am　the　master　and　keep　the　key；
  So　let　me　toss　thee　the　days　of　old；
  Crimson　and　orange　and　green　and　gold；
  So　let　me　fill　thee　yet　again
  With　a　rush　of　dreams　from　my　spout　amain；
  For　all　is　mine；　all　is　my　own；
  Toss　the　purple　fountain　high！
  The　breast　of　man　is　a　vat　of　stone；
  And　I　am　alive；　I；　only　I。
  Robert　having　read；　sat　and　wept　in　silence。　　Ericson　saw　him；　and
  said　tenderly；
  'Robert；　my　boy；　I'm　not　always　so　bad　as　that。　　Read　this
  onethough　I　never　feel　like　it　now。　　Perhaps　it　may　come　again
  some　day；　though。　　I　may　once　more　deceive　myself　and　be　happy。'
  'Dinna　say　that；　Mr。　Ericson。　　That's　waur　than　despair。　　That's
  flat　unbelief。　　Ye　no　more　ken　that　ye're　deceivin'　yersel'　than　ye
  ken　that　ye're　no　doin'　't。'
  Ericson　did　not　reply；　and　Robert　read　the　following　sonnet　aloud；
  feeling　his　way　delicately　through　its　mazes：
  Lie　down　upon　the　ground；　thou　hopeless　one！
  Press　thy　face　in　the　grass；　and　do　not　speak。
  Dost　feel　the　green　globe　whirl？　　Seven　times　a　week
  Climbeth　she　out　of　darkness　to　the　sun；
  Which　is　her　god；　seven　times　she　doth　not　shun
  Awful　eclipse；　laying　her　patient　cheek
  Upon　a　pillow　ghost…beset　with　shriek
  Of　voices　utterless　which　rave　and　run
  Through　all　the　star…penumbra；　craving　light
  And　tidings　of　the　dawn　from　East　and　West。
  Calmly　she　sleepeth；　and　her　sleep　is　blest
  With　heavenly　visions；　and　the　joy　of　Night
  Treading　aloft　with　moons。　　Nor　hath　she　fright
  Though　cloudy　tempests　beat　upon　her　breast。
  Ericson　turned　his　face　to　the　wall；　and　Robert　withdrew　to　his　own
  chamber。
  CHAPTER　XIII。
  SHARGAR'S　ARM。
  Not　many　weeks　passed　before　Shargar　knew　Aberdeen　better　than　most
  Aberdonians。　　From　the　Pier…head　to　the　Rubislaw　Road；　he　knew；　if
  not　every　court；　yet　every　thoroughfare　and　short　cut。　　And　Aberdeen
  began　to　know　him。　　He　was　very　soon　recognized　as　trustworthy；　and
  had　pretty　nearly　as　much　to　do　as　he　could　manage。　　Shargar；
  therefore；　was　all　over　the　city　like　a　cracker；　and　could　have　told
  at　almost　any　hour　where　Dr。　Anderson　was　to　be　foundgenerally　in
  the　lower　parts　of　it；　for　the　good　man　visited　much　among　the　poor；
  giving　them　almost　exclusively　the　benefit　of　his　large　experience。
  Shargar　delighted　in　keeping　an　eye　upon　the　doctor；　carefully
  avoiding　to　show　himself。
  One　day　as　he　was　hurrying　through　the　Green　（a　non　virendo）　on　a
  mission　from　the　Rothieden　carrier；　he　came　upon　the　doctor's
  chariot　standing　in　one　of　the　narrowest　streets；　and；　as　usual；
  paused　to　contemplate　the　equipage　and　get　a　peep　of　the　owner。　　The
  morning　was　very　sharp。　　There　was　no　snow；　but　a　cold　fog；　like
  vaporized　hoar…frost；　filled　the　air。　　It　was　weather　in　which　the
  East　Indian　could　not　venture　out　on　foot；　else　he　could　have
  reached　the　place　by　a　stair　from　Union　Street　far　sooner　than　he
  could　drive　thither。　　His　horses　apparently　liked　the　cold　as　little
  as　himself。　　They　had　been　moving　about　restlessly　for　some　time
  before　the　doctor　made　his　appearance。　　The　moment　he　got　in　and
  shut　the　door；　one　of　them　reared；　while　the　other　began　to　haul　on
  his　traces；　eager　for　a　gallop。　　Something　about　the　chain　gave　way；
  the　pole　swerved　round　under　the　rearing　horse；　and　great　confusion
  and　danger　would　have　ensued；　had　not　Shargar　rushed　from　his　coign
  of　vantage；　sprung　at　the　bit　of　the　rearing　horse；　and　dragged　him
  off　the　pole；　over　which　he　was　just　casting　his　near　leg。　　As　soon
  as　his　feet　touched　the　ground　he　too　pulled；　and　away　went　the
  chariot　and　down　went　Shargar。　　But　in　a　moment　more　several　men　had
  laid　hold　of　the　horses'　heads；　and　stopped　them。
  'Oh　Lord！'　cried　Shargar；　as　he　rose　with　his　arm　dangling　by　his
  side；　'what　will　Donal'　Joss　say？　　I'm　like　to　swarf　（faint）。　　Haud
  awa'　frae　that　basket；　ye　wuddyfous　（withy…fowls；　gallows…birds）；'
  he　cried；　darting　towards　the　hamper　he　had　left　in　the　entry　of　a
  court；　round　which　a　few　ragged　urchins　had　gathered；　but　just　as　he
  reached　it　he　staggered　and　fell。　　Nor　did　he　know　anything　more
  till　he　found　the　carriage　stopping　with　himself　and　the　hamper
  inside　it。
  As　soon　as　the　coachman　had　got　his　harness　put　to　rights；　the
  doctor　had　driven　back　to　see　how　the　lad　had　fared；　for　he　had　felt
  the　carriage　go　over　something。　　They　had　found　him　lying　beside　his
  hamper；　had　secured　both；　and　as　a　preliminary　measure　were
  proceeding　to　deliver　the　latter。
  'Whaur　am　I？　whaur　the　deevil　am　I？'　cried　Shargar；　jumping　up　and
  falling　back　again。
  'Don't　you　know　me；　Moray？'　said　the　doctor；　for　he　felt　shy　of
  calling　the　poor　boy　by　his　nickname：　he　had　no　right　to　do　so。
  'Na；　I　dinna　ken　ye。　　Lat　me　awa'。I　beg　yer　pardon；　doctor：　I
  thocht　ye　was　ane　o'　thae　wuddyfous　rinnin'　awa'　wi'　Donal'　Joss's
  basket。　　Eh　me！　sic　a　stoun'　i'　my　airm！　　But　naebody　ca's　me　Moray。
  They　a'　ca'　me　Shargar。　　What　richt　hae　I　to　be　ca'd　Moray？'　added
  the　poor　boy；　feeling；　I　almost　believe　for　the　first　time；　the
  stain　upon　his　birth。　　Yet　ye　had　as　good　a　right　before　God　to　be
  called　Moray　as　any　other　son　of　that　worthy　sire；　the　Baron　of
  Rothie　included。　　Possibly　the　trumpet…blowing　angels　did　call　him
  Moray；　or　some　better　name。
  'The　coachman　will　deliver　your　parcel；　Moray；'　said　the　doctor；
  this　time　repeating　the　name　with　emphasis。
  'Deil　a　bit　o'　't！'　cried　Shargar。　'He　daurna　lea'　his　box　wi'　thae
  deevils　o'　horses。　　What　gars　he　keep　sic　horses；　doctor？　　They'll
  play　some　mischeef　some　day。'
  'Indeed；　they've　played　enough　already；　my　poor　boy。　　They've　broken
  your　arm。'
  'Never　min'　that。　　That's　no　muckle。　　Ye're　welcome；　doctor；　to　my
  twa　airms　for　what　ye　hae　dune　for　Robert　an'　that　lang…leggit
  frien'　o'　histhe　Lord　forgie　meMr。　Ericson。　　But　ye　maun　jist
  pay　him　what　I　canna　mak　for　a　day　or　twa；　till　't　jines　againto
  haud　them　gaein'；　ye　ken。It　winna　be　muckle　to　you；　doctor；'　added
  Shargar；　beseechingly。
  'Trust　me　for　that；　Moray；'　returned　Dr。　Anderson。　'I　owe　you　a　good
  deal　more　than　that。　　My　brains　might　have　been　out　by　this　time。'
  'The　Lord　be　praised！'　said　Shargar；　making　about　his　first
  profession　of　Christianity。　'Robert　'ill　think　something　o'　me　noo。'
  During　this　conversation　the　coachman　sat　expecting　some　one　to
  appear　from　the　shop；　and　longing　to　pitch　into　the　'camstary'
  horse；　but　not　daring　to　lift　his　whip　beyond　its　natural　angle。　　No
  one　came。　　All　at　once　Shargar　knew　where　he　was。
  'Guid　be　here！　we're　at　Donal's　door！　　Guid　day　to　ye；　doctor；　an'
  I'm　muckle　obleeged　to　ye。　　Maybe；　gin　ye　war　comin'　oor　gait；　the
  morn；　or　the　neist　day；　to　see　Maister　Ericson；　ye　wad　tie　up　my
  airm；　for　it　gangs　wallopin'　aboot；　an'　that　canna　be　guid　for　the
  stickin'　o'　't　thegither　again。'
  'My