Jessi mi mwertet. in his guarded toil.
Ful we de ares with de sens of Art;
An Emie, mi on in every busy street,
Winging we heart: even Drudgery himself,
Asher le svens or justy hews
Trike some, buks gay Thy crowded ports
Vare sig mass in endless prospect yield,
Vi er nun, mi echo to the shouts
numret sulon, as he hearty waves
fis as niet at. busening every sheet,
Joss is sureating vessel to the wind.
Foss fim, uni me ty generous youth,
3 nisan smnevei, mi by danger fired,
Sterng the natuns where they go; and first
the isti nan, a sormy seas.

Bli re my pures to us der the plans
Trying Tease doughcil sires preside;
Its uni susancal learning, high;
Frere, der vorch, renowned;
Snee nau-derai ismble, kind;

ike the musting thunder, when provoked,
The dread of pans, and the sole resource
int unter gem oppression groan.
samt a hiss me sucnect seas,

a thunder rumi dy vocky couses, set up, me de wonies, mor, and delight, dsant racons; whose remotest shores Our soon be shaken by chy E SAID; Not so be shock these but assaults Saffing, as dy hour diffs the load sea-ware.

THOMSON.

SCOTLAND.

REATHES there the man with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,

"This is my own, my native land!” Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,

As home his footsteps he hath turned,
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no minstrel-raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.
O Caledonia! stern and wild,

Meet nurse for a poetic child!

Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood,
Land of my sires! what mortal hand
Can ere untie the filial band

That knits me to thy rugged strand!
Still as I view each well-known scene,

Think what is now, and what hath been,

Seems, as to me, of all bereft,

Sole friends thy woods and streams were left;
And thus I love thee better still,

Even in extremity of ill.

By Yarrow's streams still let me stray,
Though none should guide my feeble way
Still feel the breeze down Ettrick break,
Although it chill my withered cheek;
Still lay my head by Teviot stone,
Though there, forgotten and alone,
The Bard may draw his parting groan.

SCOTT.

SCOTLAND.

EAR to my spirit, Scotland, hast thou been,
Since infant years, in all thy glens of green;
Land of my love, where every sound and sight
Comes in soft melody, or melts in light;
Land of the green wood by the silver rill,
The heather and the daisy of the hill,
The guardian thistle to the foeman stern,
The wild-rose, hawthorn, and the lady-fern;
Land of the lark, that like a seraph sings,
Beyond the rainbow, upon quivering wings;
Land of wild beauty and romantic shapes,
Of sheltered valleys and of stormy capes;
Of the bright garden, and the tangled brake,
Of the dark mountain and the sun-lit lake;
Land of my birth, and of my father's grave,
The eagle's home, the eyrie of the brave;
Land of affection, and of native worth,

Land where my bones shall mingle with the earth
The foot of slave thy heather never stained,
Nor rocks, that battlement thy sons, profaned;
Unrivalled land of science and of arts;
Land of fair faces, and of faithful hearts;
Land where Religion paves her heavenward road,
Land of the temple of the living God!
Yet dear to feeling, Scotland, as thou art,
Shouldst thou that glorious temple e'er desert,
I would disclaim thee,-seek the distant shore
Of Christian isle, and thence return no more.

JAMES GRAY,

SCOTLAND.

AND of my fathers, though no mangrove here O'er thy blue streams her flexile branches rear, Nor scaly palm her fingered scions shoot, Nor luscious guava wave her yellow fruit,

Nor golden apples glimmer from the tree;
Land of dark heaths and mountains, thou art free!
Free as his lord the peasant treads the plain,
And heaps his harvest on the groaning wain;
Proud of his laws, tenacious of his right,
And vain of Scotia's old unconquered might.
Dear native valleys; long may ye retain
The chartered freedom of the mountain swain!
Long 'mid your sounding glades, in union sweet,
May rural innocence and beauty meet;
And still be duly heard, at twilight calm,
From every cot the peasant's chanted psalm!

LEYDEN.

THE SCOTTISH EXILE'S FAREWELL.

UR native land—our native vale

A long and last adieu !

Farewell to bonny Teviotdale,

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 father's home!-
Land of the brave and free!

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

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

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

Our native land—our native vale-
A long-and last adieu!

Farewell to bonny Teviotdale,

And Scotland's mountains blue!

PRINGLE

NATURE.

H, how canst thou renounce the boundless store
Of charms which Nature to her votary yields!
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,
The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields;
All that the genial ray of morning gilds,
And all that echoes to the song of even,

All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields,
And all the dread magnificence of heaven,

Oh! how canst thou renounce and hope to be forgiven?

BEATTIE.

NATURE.

NATURE! by impassioned hearts alone
Thy genuine charms are felt. The vulgar
mind

Sees but the shadow of a power unknown:
Thy loftier beauties beam not to the blind