Like a wild bay of breakers, melts away :
Something I know not what-does still uphold
A spirit of slight patience; not in vain,
Even for its own sake, do we purchase pain.

I feel almost at times as I have felt

In happy childhood; trees and flowers, and brooks, Which do remember me of where I dwelt Ere my young mind was sacrificed to books, Come as of yore upon me, and can melt My heart with recognition of their looks; And even at moments I could think I see Some living thing to love-but none like thee, Here are the alpine landscapes which create A fund for contemplation;-to admire

Is a brief feeling of a trivial date—

But something worthier do such scenes inspire:
Here to be lonely is not desolate,

For much I view which I could most desire,
And, above all, a lake I can behold
Lovelier, not dearer, than our own of old.

I did remind thee of our own dear lake,
By the old hall which may be mine no more,
Leman's is fair; but think not I forsake
The sweet remembrance of a dearer shore:
Sad havoc time must with my memory make
Ere that or thou can fade these eyes before;

Though, like all things which I have loved, they are Resign'd for ever, or divided far.

R

By another possest,

May she live ever blest,

Her name still my heart must revere;
With a sigh I resign,

What I once thought was mine,
And forgive her deceit with a tear.

Ye friends of my heart,

Ere from you I depart,

This hope to my breast is most near;
If again we shall meet,

In this rural retreat,

May we meet, as we part, with a tear.

When my soul wings her flight,
To the regions of night,

And my corse shall recline on its bier :
As ye pass by the tomb,

Where my ashes consume,

Oh! moisten their dust with a tear.

May no marble bestow,

The splendour of woe,

Which the children of vanity rear;

No fiction of fame

Shall blazon my name,

All I ask, all I wish, is a tear.

LORD BYRON.

THE HEATHER FOR ME!

BONNY's the blushing rose at e'en,

Bonny's the violet blue,

And noble's the oak with his acorns green
And broad leaves tipp'd with dew.
But roses and violets soon may fade,
And felled the oak may be;

I'd gie ye all for ane single blade

Of heather. The heather for me!

'Tis bonny to sit in leafy bower,
When song delights the ear,
To feel the odour of every flower
Blend with music near;

But gie me a seat on my hunter's back,
And then for melody;

One blast of the bugle to follow his track
O'er the heather. The heather for me!

ODE TO TRUTH.

SAY, will no white-rob'd Son of Light, Swift darting from his heavenly height, Here deign to take his hallow'd stand;

Q

ANON.

Here wave his amber locks; unfold His pinions cloth'd with downy gold; Here smiling stretch his tutelary wand?

And you, ye host of Saints, for ye have known Each dreary path in life's perplexing maze,

Tho' now ye circle yon eternal throne

With harpings high of inexpressive praise,

Will not your train descend in radiant state, [fate? To break with Mercy's beam this gathering cloud of

'Tis silence all. No Son of Light

Darts swiftly from his heavenly height : No train of radiant Saints descend. “Mortals, in vain ye hope to find, "If guilt, if fraud has stain'd your mind, “Or Saint to hear or Angel to defend.” So Truth proclaims. I hear the sacred sound Burst from the centre of her burning throne, Where aye she sits with star-wreath'd lustre crown'd: A bright Sun clasps her adamantine zone.

So Truth proclaims: her awful voice I hear : With many a solemn pause it slowly meets my ear.

"Attend, ye Sons of Men; attend, and say,
Does not enough of my refulgent ray
Break thro' the veil of your mortality?
Say, does not reason in this form descry

Unnumber'd, nameless glories, that surpass The Angel's floating pomp, the Seraph's glowing grace? Shall then your earth-born daughters vie With me? Shall she, whose brightest eye

But emulates the diamond's blaze,

Whose cheek but mocks the peach's bloom,
Whose breath the hyacinths perfume,
Whose melting voice the warbling woodlark's lays,
Shall she be deem'd my rival? Shall a form
Of elemental dross, of mouldering clay,

Vie with these charms empyrial! The poor worm
Shall prove her contest vain. Life's little day
Shall pass, and she is gone: while I appear

Flush'd with the bloom of youth thro' Heav'n's eternal year.

Know, Mortals know, ere first ye sprung,
Ere first these orbs in æther hung,

I shone amid the heavenly throng;
These eyes beheld Creation's day,
This voice began the choral lay,

And taught Archangels their triumphant song.
Pleas'd I survey'd bright Nature's gradual birth,
Saw infant light with kindling lustre spread,
Soft vernal fragrance clothe the flow'ring earth,
And ocean heave on his extended bed;

Saw the tall pine aspiring pierce the sky,

The tawny lion stalk, the rapid eagle fly.