She'll hear thee woo'd by wandering gale,

Rise sweetly in thy midnight song,

Now, rapid roll, full ton'd, and strong,

Now, low and dying, weep along.

Oh! she will hear thee oft bewail
The fate of lovers true, and tell,
How many an evil tide befell

Maids, who have lov'd but all too well.

The steel-clad knight as home he wends,
From battle toils, and sieges dire,
Will pause, and check his courser's fire,
And under thy old oak retire :

For, lo! thy song of triumph blends
Its warlike notes with rustling breeze;
And falling, rising, through the trees,
Mimes his old hall's festivities.

O Harp! be still a little while,
Nor wake thy dirge of melting numbers,
Stay till thy master calmly slumbers,
Where no bale his bliss encumbers.

Now, take with thee his last faint smile,
And benison, in death's arms given,
Oh now begin thy mournful steven,
And waft my soul on it to heaven!

FINIS.

All white hang the bushes o'er Elaw's sweet stream,

Joanna Baillie, 157

Blow on, ye wild winds, o'er his hallowed

By the side of a mountain, o'ershadowed with trees,

300

Can a crown give content,

note

218

Claudine lived contented, and peace was her lot, .

Fair dream of my slumber, sad thoughts of my waking,
Far lone amang the highland hills,

Farewell! if ever fondest prayer,

Byron,

142

Farewell, oh sweet hope! I have wept thee in sadness,
For many a wistful hour to pity dear,

From his booth on the hill, the sad shepherd retires, .
From my slumber I woke at the dead hour of
night,

note

298

Robt. Glassford, 175

note

J. Findlay, 434

How eerily, how drearily, how wearily to pine,

280

How green the fields, the flowers how fair,

note

Patic Birnie,

289

How still is the night, and how death-like the gloom,

I have known what it was to be happy and gay,

Sir W. Raleigh, 415
James Yool, 109

In vain thou call'st for a mirthful smile,

W. Reader, .

327

Isabelle! Isabelle! hark to my soft lute,

409

I saw from the beach when the morning was shining,

It was Dunois, the young and brave, was bound for Palestine,

note

I've no sheep on the mountains, nor boat on the lake,
I whispered her my last adieu,

Fanny de Beauharnois, 361
Joanna Baillie, 69

note

Keen and cold is the blast loudly whistling around,
Keen blaws the wind o'er the bracs o' Gleniffer,
Kenmure's on an' awa, Willie,

note

194

Let us haste to Kelvin grove, bonnic lassie, O,
Light springs the pang, light passes by,

Loud roar'd the tempest, the night was descending,

Mark'd you her eye of heavenly blue,

Mary, why thus waste thy youth-time in sorrow,

May heaven holpe the Mayde,

My cruel love to danger go,

My father and mother now lie with the dead,
My friend is the man I would copy through life,

My dying sire, in battle slain,

Anderson,

223

Anderson,

88