BALLAD.

BY THOMAS PRINGLE.

OUR native land-our native vale,—
A long-a last adieu !

Farewell to bonny Teviot-dale
And Cheviot's mountains blue!

Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds,
And streams renowned in song!
Farewell ye blithesome braes and meads,
Our hearts have loved so long!

Farewell ye broomy elfin knowes,
Where thyme and harebells grow!
Farewell ye hoary haunted howes,
O'erhung with birk and sloe!

The battle mound-the Border tower,
That Scotia's annals tell;

The martyr's grave-the lover's bower,
To each to all-farewell!

Home of our hearts! Our fathers' home

Land of the brave and free!

The sail is flapping on the foam,
That bears us far from thee.

We seek a wild romantic shore,
Beyond the' Atlantic main ;
We leave thee to return no more,
Or view thy cliffs again.

But may dishonour blight our fame,
And quench our household fires,
When we, or ours, forget thy name,
Green island of our sires.

Our native vale-our native vale

A long, a last adieu !—
Farewell to bonny Teviot-dale,

And Scotland's mountains blue!

The Inverness Courier.

LINES

WRITTEN UNDER THE HEBE OF CANOVA.

DIVINITY in stone! Yet glowing
Supremely warm, and rich, and fair;
Around a sense of sweetness throwing,
As if her roses wantoned there!
Upon that brow, so pure and soft,
Immortal Love hath set his seal;
And left, in kinder mood than oft,
A sign we cannot see-but feel!

Those eyes-those full and fixed eyes,
They cannot beam, nor glow with fire;
Or herald as the wishes rise,

The thoughts the spirit would respire;
But, passionless themselves, they wake
In us that feeling's tender strife,
Of which the sister Graces make

A busy, brilliant, span of life!

Then oh! those lips!-Those eloquent lips!
So full of love, and peace, and all,
That suffered such a dark eclipse

When erring woman doomed our fall!
Yet knowing this, whoe'er could look
Upon that marble, nor prefer,

That man the fatal apple took,

And left his heaven to live with her.

New European Magazine.

B. B. W.

THE PAST.

BY JOHN WILSON, ESQ.

How wild and dim this life appears!

One long, deep, heavy sigh,

When o'er our eyes, half closed in tears,

The images of former years

Are faintly glimmering by!

And still forgotten while they go,

As on the sea-beach, wave on wave,
Dissolves at once in snow.

The amber clouds one moment lie,
Then like a dream are gone!-
Though beautiful the moonbeams play
On the lake's bosom, bright as they,
And the soul intensely loves their stay,
Soon as the radiance melts away,
We scarce believe it shone !

Heaven-airs amid the harp-strings dwell;

And we wish they ne'er may fade

They cease, and the soul is a silent cell,

Where music never played!

Dream follows dream through the long night hours,

Each lovelier than the last;

But ere the breath of morning flowers,

And many a sweet angelic cheek,

Whose smiles of love and kindness speak,

Glides by us on this earth;

While in a day we cannot tell

Where shone the face we loved so well,

In sadness, or in mind!

Blackwood's Magazine.

STANZAS.

In many a strain of grief and joy,
My youthful spirit sang to thee;
But I am now no more a boy,

And there's a gulph 'twixt thee and me.
Time on my brow has set his seal-
I start to find myself a man,
And know that I no more shall feel
As only boyhood's spirit can.

And now I bid a long adieu,

To thoughts that held my heart in thrall, To cherished dreams of brightest hue,

And thou-the brightest dream of all !
My footsteps rove not where they roved,
My home is changed, and one by one,
The old familiar' forms I loved,

Are faded from my path-and gone.
I launch into life's stormy main,
And 'tis with tears but not of sorrow;
That pouring thus my parting strain,
I bid thee, as a Bride, good-morrow.
Full well thou know'st I envy not,

The heart it is thy choice to share ;
My soul dwells on thee as a thought,
With which no earthly wishes are.
I love thee as I love the star,

The gentle star that shines at even; That melts into my heart from far,

And leads my wandering thoughts to heaven. 'Twould break my soul's divinest dream,

With meaner love to mingle thee;

"Twould dim the most unearthly beam,
Thy form sheds o'er my Memory.
It is my joy, it is my pride,

To picture thee, in bliss divine,
A happy, and an honoured bride,—
Blest by a fonder love than mine.

Be thou to one a holy spell,

A bliss by day-a dream by night-
A thought on which his soul may dwell—
A cheering and a guiding light.
This be thy heart;-but, while no other
Disturbs his image at its core,

Still think of me as of a brother

I'd not be loved or love thee more.
For thee each feeling of my breast,
So holy-so serene shall be,
That when thy heart to his is prest,
"Twill be no crime to think of me.
I shall not wander forth at night,

To breathe thy name-as lovers would; Thy form in visions of delight,

Not oft shall break my solitude;
But when my bosom-friends are near,
And happy faces round me press;
The goblet to my lips I'll rear,

And drain it to thy happiness.
And when at morn or midnight hour,
I commune with my God alone,
Before the throne of peace and power,

I'll blend thy welfare with mine own.
And if with pure and fervent sighs,

I bend before some loved-one's shrine,When gazing on her gentle eyes,

I shall not blush to think of thine,Then, when thou meet'st thy love's caress, And when thy children climb thy knee,

In thy calm hour of happiness,

Then, sometimes,—sometimes think of me. In pain or health-in grief or mirth,

Oh! may it to my prayer be given,

That we may sometimes meet on earth, And meet, to part no more, in Heaven! Etonian.