4. "Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more;
I mourn; but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you;
For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring with dew.
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;

Kind nature the embryo blossom will save:
But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn!
O when shall day dawn on the night of the grave!

5. "Twas thus by the glare of false science betray'd,
That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind;
My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade
Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.

O pity, great Father of light, then I cry'd,

Thy creature who fain would not wander from thee! Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride;

From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free.

6. "And darkness and doubt are now flying away; No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn :

So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray,

The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See truth, love, and mercy, in triumph descending, And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blendi And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb."

Boat Song.

HAIL to the chief who in triumph advances,
Honoured and blessed by the ever-green pine!
Lung may the tree in his banner that glances,
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line!
Heaven send it happy dew,

Earth lend it sap anew,

Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to glow,
While every Highland glen,

Sends our shout back agen,
"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain,
Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade;

When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on the mountain,

The more shall Clan Alpine exult in her shade.

Moored in the rifted rock,

Proof to the tempest's shock,

rmer he roots him the ruder it blow

Menteith and Bredalbane, then,

Echo his praise agen,

Roderigh Vic Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin,
And Banochar's groans to our slogan replied,
Glen Luss and Ross-dhu they are smoking in ruin,
And the best of Loch-Lomond lie dead on her side.
Widow and Saxon maid

Long shall lament our raid,

Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with wo;
Lennox and Leven-glen

Shake when they hear agen,

"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands !
Stretch to your oars, for the ever green pine!
O that the rose-bud that graces yon islands,
Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine!
O that some seedling gem,

Worthy such noble stem,

Honoured and blessed in their shadow might grow! Loud should Clan-Alpine then

Ring from her deepest glen,

• Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

THE

CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.

The castle hight of indolence

And its false luxury;

Where for a little time, alas !
We liv'd right jollily.

I.

O MORTAL MAN, who livest here by toil! Do not complain of this thy hard estate; That like an emmet thou must ever moil, Is a sad sentence of an ancient date; And, certes, there is for it reason great ; For, tho' sometimes it makes thee weep and wail, And curse thy star, and early drudge and late, Withouten that would come an heavier bale, Loose life, unruly passions, and diseases pale.

II.

In lowly dale, fast by a river's side,

With woody hill o'er hill encompass'd round,
A most enchanting wizard did abide,

Than whom a fiend more fell is no where found.

It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground;

And there a season atween June and May,

Half prankt with spring, with summer half imbrown'd, A listless climate made where, sooth to say,

No living wight could work, nor cared even for play.

III.

Was nought around but images of rest :

Sleep soothing groves, and quiet lawns between ; And flowery beds that slumbrous influence kest, From poppies breath'd; and beds of pleasant green, Where never yet was creeping creature seen. Meantime unnumber'd glittering streamlets play'd, And hurled every where their waters sheen; That, as they bicker'd through the sunny glade, Though restless still themselves, a lulling murmur made

IV.

Join'd to the prattle of the purling rills,

Were heard the lowing herds along the vale,
And flocks loud bleating from the distant hills,
And vacant shepherds piping in the dale:
And now and then sweet Philomel would wail,
Or stock-doves plain amid the forest deep,
That drowsy rustled to the sighing gale;
And still a coil the grasshopper did keep;
Yet all these sounds yblent inclined all to sleep.

Full in the passage of the vale above;

A sable, silent, solemn forest stood;

Where nought but shadowy forms were seen to mớiAs Idless fancied in her dreaming mood;