BALLAD. BY THOMAS PRINGLE. OUR native land-our native vale,— Farewell to bonny Teviot-dale Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds, Farewell ye broomy elfin knowes, The battle mound-the Border tower, The martyr's grave-the lover's bower, Home of our hearts! Our fathers' home Land of the brave and free! The sail is flapping on the foam, We seek a wild romantic shore, But may dishonour blight our fame, Our native vale-our native vale A long, a last adieu !— And Scotland's mountains blue! The Inverness Courier. LINES WRITTEN UNDER THE HEBE OF CANOVA. DIVINITY in stone! Yet glowing Those eyes-those full and fixed eyes, The thoughts the spirit would respire; A busy, brilliant, span of life! Then oh! those lips!-Those eloquent lips! When erring woman doomed our fall! 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, The amber clouds one moment lie, 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, And there's a gulph 'twixt thee and me. 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 ! Are faded from my path-and gone. The heart it is thy choice to share ; 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, To picture thee, in bliss divine, Be thou to one a holy spell, A bliss by day-a dream by night- Still think of me as of a brother I'd not be loved or love thee more. To breathe thy name-as lovers would; Thy form in visions of delight, Not oft shall break my solitude; And drain it to thy happiness. I'll blend thy welfare with mine own. 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. |