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JAMES HOGG,

THE "Ettrick Shepherd," was twenty years of age before ne learned the alphabet, yet he rose to a very high rank among the literary men of his country. "He is altogether an extraordinary being," said Mr. Southey; "a character such as will not appear twice in five centuries, and differing most remarkably from Burns and all other selftaught writers." Hogg's religious enthusiasm was associated with the Covenanters and their trials, and the spirit of his best pieces is altogether in keeping with the character of these sternly devout people. He was born in 1772, and died in 1835.

THE COVENANTER'S SCAFFOLD SONG.

SING with me! sing with me!
Weeping brethren, sing with me!
For now an open heaven I see,
And a crown of glory laid for me.
How my soul this earth despises!
How my heart and spirit rises!
Bounding from the flesh I sever!
World of sin, adieu forever!

Sing with me! sing with me!
Friends in Jesus, sing with me!
All my sufferings, all my wo,
All my griefs I here forego.
Farewell terrors, sighing, grieving,
Praying, hearing, and believing,
Earthly trust and all its wrongings,
Earthly love and all its longings.

Sing with me! sing with me!
Blessed spirits, sing with me!
To the Lamb our song shall be,
Through a glad eternity!

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ON Carmel's brow the wreathy vine
Had all its honors shed,

And o'er the vales of Palestine

A sickly paleness spread;
When the old seer by vision led,
And energy sublime,

Into that shadowy region sped,
To muse on distant time.

He saw the valleys far and wide,
But sight of joy was none;
He looked o'er many a mountain side,
But silence reigned alone,

Save that a boding voice sang on,
By wave and waterfall,

As still, in harsh and heavy tone,
Deep unto deep did call.

On Kison's strand and Ephratah
The hamlets thick did lie;
No wayfarer between he saw,
No Asherite passed by;
No maiden at her task did ply,
No sportive child was seen;
The lonely dog barked wearily

Where dwellers once had been.

Oh! beauteous were the palaces
On Jordan wont to be,

And still they glimmered to the breeze,
Like stars beneath the sea!

But vultures held their jubilee
Where harp and cymbal rung,
And there as if in mockery

The baleful satyr sung.

But who had seen that Prophet's eye
On Carmel that reclined!

His

It looked not on the times gone by,
But those that were behind;
gray hair streamed upon the wind,
His hands were raised on high,
As, mirrored, on his mystic mind
Arose futurity.

He saw the feast in Bozrah spread
Prepared in ancient day;
Eastward, away the eagle sped,

And all the birds of prey.

"Who's this," he cried,

Of Edom, all divine,

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comes by the way

Travelling in splendor, whose array
Is red, but not with wine?"

Blessed be the herald of our King
That comes to set us free!
The dwellers of the rock shall sing,
And utter praise to thee!
Tabor and Hermon yet shall see
Their glories glow again,

And blossoms spring on field and tree,
That ever shall remain.

The happy child in dragon's way
Shall frolic with delight;

The lamb shall round the leopard play,
And all in love unite;

The dove on Zion's hill shall light,

That all the world must see.

Hail to the journeyer, in his might,
That comes to set us free!

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

THIS great genius, whose influence upon taste and opinion has perhaps been greater than that of any other author who has written in the nineteenth century, was born at Ottery St. Mary's, Devonshire, in 1773, and died at Highgate in July, 1834. His poetry exhibits a gorgeous and powerful imagination, a perfect command of language, and extraordinary knowledge of human nature.

FROM "RELIGIOUS MUSINGS."

BLEST are they,

Who in this fleshly world, the elect of Heaven,
Their strong eye darting through the deeds of men,

Adore with steadfast unpresuming gaze

Him, Nature's Essence, Mind, and Energy!
And gazing, trembling, patiently ascend,
Treading beneath their feet all visible things,
As steps, that upward to their Father's throne
Lead gradual-else nor glorified nor loved.
They nor contempt embosom nor revenge;
For they dare know of what may seem deform,
The Supreme Fair, sole Operant; in whose sight
All things are pure, his strong controlling love
Alike from all educing perfect good.

Their's too celestial courage, inly armed,
Dwarfing Earth's giant brood, what time they muse
On their great Father, great beyond compare!
And marching onwards view high o'er their heads
His waving banners of omnipotence.

They cannot dread created might, who love
God, the Creator!-fair and lofty thought!
It lifts and swells my heart! And as I muse,
Behold! a vision gathers in my soul,
Voices and shadowy shapes, in human guise.
I seem to see the phantom, near, pass by,

Hotly-pursued, and pale! From rock to rock
He bounds with bleeding feet, and through the swamp,
The quicksand, and the groaning wilderness,
Struggles with feebler and yet feebler flight.
But lo! an altar in the wilderness,

And eagerly yet feebly, lo! he grasps

The altar of the living God! and there,

With wan reverted face, the trembling wretch
All wildly listening to his hunter-fiends,
Stands, till the last faint echo of their yell

Dies in the distance. Soon refreshed from Heaven
He calms the throb and tempest of his heart.
His countenance settles; a soft solemn bliss
Swims in his eyes: his swimming eyes upraised,
And Faith's whole armor girds his limbs!
Transfigured, with a meek and dreadless awc,
A solemn hush of spirit, he beholds

All things of terrible seeming: yea, unmoved
Views e'en the immitigable ministers,

And thus,

That shower down vengeance on these latter days.
For even these on wings of healing come,

Yea, kindling with intenser Deity;

From the celestial mercy-seat they speed,

And at the renovating wells of love,

Have filled their vials with salutary wrath;

To sickly Nature more medicinal,

Than what sweet balm the weeping good man pours

Into the lone, despoiled, traveller's wounds!

Thus, from th' Elect, regenerate through faith,
Pass the dark passions, and what thirsty cares
Drink up the spirit, and the dim regards
Self-centre. Lo, they vanish! or acquire
New names, new features,-by supernal grace
Enrobed with light, and naturalized in Heaven.
As when a shepherd on a vernal morn,

Through some thick fog creeps timorous with slow foot,
Darkling with earnest eyes he traces out
Th' immediate road, all else of fairest kind

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