Here art shall lift her laurelled head,
Wealth, industry, and peace divine;
And where unbounded forests spread,
Shall fields and lofty cities shine.
From Europe's wants and woes remote,
A friendly waste of waves between ;
Here plenty cheers the humblest cot,
And smiles on every village green.
Here, free as air's expanded space,
To every soul and sect shall be,
That sacred privilege of our race,
The worship of the Deity.

These gifts, great Liberty, are thine:
Ten thousand more we owe to thee;
Immortal may their memories shine,
Who fought and died for liberty.
What heart but hails a scene so bright?
What soul but inspiration draws?
Who would not guard so dear a right,
Or die in such a glorious cause?

Let foes to freedom dread the name;

But should they touch this sacred tree, Thrice fifty thousand swords shall flame, For Jefferson and Liberty!

O'er yast Columbia's varied clime,

Her cities, forests, shores, and dales, In rising majesty sublime,

Immortal liberty prevails.

From Georgia to Lake Champlain,
From seas to Mississippi's shore,
Ye sons of freedom loud proclaim,
The reign of terror is no more.
Rejoice! Columbia's sons rejoice,

To tyrants never bend the knee,
But join, with heart, and soul, and voice,
For Jefferson and Liberty!

The Return of Spring,

A SONG.

TUNE," Happy Clown."

COME join with me, ye rural swains,
And wake the reed to cheerful strains,
Since winter now has fled our plains,
With all his rueful store:

No more the furious blust'ring sky,
From Greenland's dreary mountains high,
(Where worlds of ice tumultuous lie)
Extends the mighty roar.

With dark'ning rage o'er yon rude Forth,
No more the chill bleak breathing north,
Grim throws the fleecy tempest forth,

Thick thro' the black'ning sky;

Till o'er each hill and sullen vale,

An universal white prevail,

And deep beneath the snowy veil,

The sad creation lie.

The hoary tyrant now has fled,

Young blooming Spring our fields o'erspread,

Hope, wealth, and joy are by her led,

An all-enliv'ning train.

Along yon dale, or daisied mead,

Soon as young Morn uplifts her head,
The hind yokes in the willing steed,

Blithe whist'ling o'er the lawn;

The stately grove and thick'ning wood,
That Winter's furious blasts withstood,
Unfold the verdant leafy brood,

High waving in the air;

While o'er the mountain's grassy steep,
Are heard the tender bleating sheep,

Around the wanton lambkins leap,

At once their joy and care.

O

Amid the bower, with wood-bines wove,
Throughout the flower-enamelled grove
The humming bees unwearied rove,

Gay bloomy sweets among;

The cheerful birds, of varied hue,
Their sweet meand'ring notes pursue;
High soars the lark, and lost to view,
Pours forth his grateful song.

The wand'ring brook-the glitt❜ring rill,
The cuckoo's note heard from the hill,
The warb'ling thrush and black-bird shrill,
Inspire with rapt'rous glee:

Then join the choir, each nymph and swain,
Through ev'ry grove, and flow'ry plain,
'Till hills resound the joyful strain,

Harmonious to each tree.

Matilda, a Song.

TUNE," Her Sheep all in clusters."

YE dark rugged rocks, that recline o'er the deep,
Ye breezes that sigh o'er the main,

Here shelter me under your cliffs, while I weep,
And cease, while ye hear me complain;

For distant, alas! from my native dear shores,
And far from each friend now I be;

And wide is the merciless ocean that roars,
Between my Matilda and me.

How blest were the times when together we strayed,

While Phoebe shone silent above;

Or leaned by the border of Cartha's green side,
And talked the whole evening of love;

T

Around us all nature lay wrapt up in peace,

Nor noise could our pleasures annoy,

Save Cartha's hoarse brawling, conveyed by the breeze,

That soothed us to love and to joy.

If haply some youth had his passion exprest,
And praised the bright charms of her face,
What horrors, unceasing, revolved thro' my breast,
While sighing I stole from the place.

For where is the eye that could view her alone,
The ear that could list to her strain,

Nor wish the adorable nymph for his own,

Nor double the pangs I sustain ?

Thou moon! that now brightens those regions above,
How oft hast thou witnessed my bliss!
While breathing my tender expressions of love,

I sealed each kind vow with a kiss.

Ah! then, how Ijoyed, while I gazed on her charms!
What transports flew swift through my heart!
I pressed the dear beautiful maid in my arms,
Nor dreamed that we ever would part.

But now from the dear, from the tenderest maid,
By fortune unfeelingly torn;

'Midst strangers, who wonder to see me so sad,
In secret I wander forlorn;

And oft when drear midnight assembles her shades, And Silence pours sleep from her throne,

Pale, lonely, and pensive, I steal through the glades, And sigh 'midst the darkness my moan.

In vain to the town I retreat for relief;

In vain to the groves I complain;

Belles, coxcombs, and uproar, can ne'er soothe my grief,

And solitude nurses my pain.

Ο

Still absent from her whom my bosom loves best,
I languish in misery and care;

Her presence could banish each woe from my breast,
But her absence, alas! is despair.

Ye dark rugged rocks, that recline o'er the deep;
Ye breezes, that sigh o'er the main;

Oh! shelter me under your cliffs, while I weep,
And cease, while ye hear me complain.
For distant, alas! from my native dear shores,
And far from each friend now I be;

And wide is the merciless ocean, that roars
Between my Matilda and me.

NOTES TO THE POEMS.

ALEXIS' COMPLAINT.- Page 4.

In this poem, Alexis, which name Wilson has here employed to personate himself, mourns the death of his friend (W. Wotherspoon), "young Damon." There are some pretty lines in this piece, particularly the following, for the sentiment :

"Short is the span

Of fleeting time allowed to feeble man!

No sooner born, he fills the air with cries;
No sooner known, than pale, he droops and dies!
To-day he laughs the dancing hours away;
To-morrow lies extended, lifeless clay."

EPISTLE TO MR. DAVID BRODIE.- Page 7.

This friend of Wilson was, at the time he borrowed from him
Fergusson's Poems, before delivering his "Laurel Disputed" at
Edinburgh, a teacher of a school in Quarellton, a little village si-
tuated on the high road between Lochwinnoch and Paisley. He

ID