When wakes the dawn upon thy dwelling,
And lingering shadows disappear;
As soft the woodland songs are swelling
A choral anthem on thine ear;

Muse for that hour to thought is dear,
And then its flight remembrance wings
To by-past things.

To me through every season dearest ;
In every scene,-by day, by night,
Thou present to my mind appearest,
A quenchless star, for ever bright,-
My solitary, sole delight,-
Alone, in wood, by shore, at sea,
I think of thee!

CARLISLE YETTS..

WHITE was the rose in his gay bonnet,
As he faulded me in his broached plaidie;
His hand whilk clasped the truth of luve,
O it was aye in battle readie!

His lang lang hair in yellow hanks

Waved o'er his cheeks sae sweet and ruddie; But now they wave o'er Carlisle yetts

In dripping ringlets clotting bloodie.

My father's blood's in that flower tap,
My brother's in that hare-bell blossom;

This white rose was steep'd in my luve's blood,
An' I'll ay wear it in my bosom.

When I first cam by merry Carlisle,
Was ne'er a town sae sweetly seeming ;
The white rose flaunted o'er the wall,
The thistled banners far were streaming!
When I cam next by merry Carlisle,
O, sad sad seem'd the town, an' eerie!
The auld auld men cam out and wept-
"O maiden, come ye to seek yere dearie ?"

There's ae drap of bluid atween my breasts,
An' twa in my links o' hair so yellow :

The tane I'll ne'er wash, and the tither ne'er kame,
But I'll sit and pray aneath the willow.

Wae wae upon that cruel heart,
Wae wae upon that hand sae bludie,
Which feasts in our richest Scottish bluid,

And makes sae mony a doleful widow !

THE

BARD'S FAREWELL TO HIS BROKEN LUTE.

ALAS, for thee! abandon'd Lute!
Thy voice is hush'd-thy chords are mute,

Yet 'mid thy silver strings,

Zephyr in sportive mazes playing,
The fleeting melody delaying,

Still waves his airy wings;

And as their light touch vibrates o'er
The dulcet chords so sweet before,
They breathe a tender sigh,
Plaintive as Mem'ry fondly heaves,
When tracing o'er her sybil-leaves
She dwells on scenes gone by.

'Tis but a sigh !–thy notes are dead ;
The magic of thy sound is fled,

And, sear'd by early woe,

The heart that bade these notes awake,
The heart that loved them,-could it break,
Were hush'd for ever now!

The touch of an untutor'd hand,

The stroke of time-which none withstand,
Have marr'd thy tuneful sound;

But o'er thy Minstrel's hapless fate
Time presses with a deadlier weight
And bows him to the ground!

The "soul of song" that warm'd his lay
Fades, as the rosy light of day
Sinks into evening gloom;

Day's slumbering light may wake again,
But nought shall wake the dying strain
That echoes from the tomb!

VOL. X. PART 1.

2 A

369

Welcome that tomb!its dark recess
Is peaceful in its loneliness -
There anguish cannot groan,

There all the ties that bind the soul,
Love's tenderest bonds of soft control,
Are broken-like thine own!

THE FRIENDS' FAREWELL.

THE day is fading from the sky,
And soft the twilight breathes
Its balmy and luxuriant sigh
Through summer's blushing wreaths:
That sigh is Hope's desponding knell;
Its every murmur sounds-" Farewell!"

The days that late so kindly sped,
Are as a vision,pass'd;

The hours they number'd all are fled,
Too bright-too gay to last!

And fond remembrance traces o'er

Each scene that we behold no more.

Our friends around our cottage hearth,
In fancy's eye are seen;

We trace on the retentive earth,
The steps where they have been :

A shrub, a flower, not cull'd in vain,
Recalls them to our minds again.

There is a pensive pure delight
In friendship's warm regret

For those who beam'd upon our sight;
Like suns that cloudless set,

Which cheer'd with heart-enlivening ray
Young Pleasure's brief but happy day.

Sweet is the memory of that time
When joy and mirth were ours;
When Peace and Pleasure lov'd to twine

Their mingled wreath of flowers.

Say, Did the garland bloom in vain ?

Or, will its sweets revive again?

5

Temple of God! fair nature's shrine,

With holy awe is seen the labour'd mound

Immortal is the great design;

Successive verdure crowns the ground!

Amid the landscape lifts its conic form,

The scatter'd lightning's blaze, and winter's howling storm.

Repose is thine, eternal as the world!

The warring elements, the wreck of time, The earthquake shock that ruin hurl'dStill thou art seen in years sublime.

Ages around thee undistinguish'd lie,

But thou, preserved by heaven, art sacred in the sky.

Luckless is he, whom hard fates urge on
To practise as a country surgeon-
To drag a heavy galling chain,
The slave of all for paltry gain-
To ride regardless of all weather,

Through frost, and snow, and hail together-
To smile and bow when sick and tired,
Consider'd as a servant hired.

At every quarter of the compass,
A surly patient makes a rumpus,
Because he is not seen the first,

(For each man thinks his case the worst.)
And oft at two points diametric,

Call'd to a business obstetric.

There lies a man with broken limb,
A lady here with nervous whim,
Who, at the acme of her fever,
Calls him a savage if he leave her.
For days and nights in some lone cottage
Condemn'd to live on crusts and pottage,
To kick his heels, and spin his brains,
Waiting, forsooth, for labour's pains;
And that job over, happy he,
If he squeeze out a guinea fee.
Then worn like culprit on the wheel,
He sits him down to hasty meal;
He sits! when, lo! a patient comes,
With rotten tooth and putrid gums:
The doctor takes his dentist tools,
Fixes the screw, and tugs and pulls ;
His dinner cold, his hands this mess in,
All for a shilling or a blessing.
Now comes the night, with toil opprest,
He seeks his bed in hope of rest:
Vain hope, his slumbers are no more,
Loud sounds the knocker at the door,
A farmer's wife, at ten miles distance,
Groaning, calls out for his assistance:
Fretting and fuming in the dark,
He in the tinder strikes a spark,
And, as he yawning heaves his breeches,
Envies his neighbour bless'd with riches.

QUIS.