Lay thy bow of pearl apart,

And thy crystal shining quiver;
Give unto the flying hart

Space to breathe, how short soever:
Thou that mak'st a day of night,
Goddess excellently bright!

BEN JONSON.

SONNET.

EAGLES.

(COMPOSED AT DUNOLLIE CASTLE IN THE BAY

D

OF OBAN.)

ISHONOUR'D Rock and Ruin! that, by
law

Tyrannic, keep the Bird of Jove embarr'd
Like a lone criminal whose life is spared.
Vex'd is he, and screams loud. The last I saw
Was on the wing; stooping, he struck with awe
Man, bird, and beast, then, with a consort pair'd,
From a bold headland, their loved aery's guard,
Flew high above Atlantic waves, to draw
Light from the fountain of the setting sun.
Such was this Prisoner once; and, when his plumes
The sea-blast ruffles as the storm comes on,
In spirit for a moment he resumes

His rank 'mong free-born creatures that live free,
His power, his beauty, and his majesty.

WORDSWORTH.

THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN.

A

T the corner of Wood Street, when daylight appears,

Hangs a thrush that sings loud, it has sung for

three years:

Poor Susan has pass'd by the spot, and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the Bird.

'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She

sees

A mountain ascending, a vision of trees;

Bright volumes of vapour through Lothbury glide, And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside.

Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale, Down which she so often has tripp'd with her pail ; And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, The one only dwelling on earth that she loves.

She looks, and her heart is in heaven: but they fade,

The mist and the river, the hill and the shade: The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, And the colours have all pass'd away from her eyes! WORDSWORTH.

R

E

THE PAINS OF SLEEP.

RE on my bed my limbs I lay,

It hath not been my use to pray
With moving lips or bended knees;
But silently by slow degrees,
My spirit I to Love compose,
In humble trust mine eye-lids close,
With reverential resignation,

No wish conceived, no thought exprest,
Only a sense of supplication ;
A sense o'er all my soul imprest-
That I am weak, yet not unblest,
Since in me, round me, everywhere
Eternal strength and wisdom are.

But yester-night I pray'd aloud
In anguish and in agony,

Up-starting from the fiendish crowd

Of shapes and thoughts that tortured me: A lurid light, a trampling throng,

Sense of intolerable wrong,

And whom I scorn'd, those only strong!
Thirst of revenge, the powerless will
Still baffled, and yet burning still!
Desire with loathing strangely mix'd
On wild or hateful objects fix'd:
Fantastic passions! maddening brawl!
And shame and terror over all!
Deeds to be hid which were not hid,
Which all confused I could not know,
Whether I suffer'd, or I did:

For all seem'd guilt, remorse or woe,
My own or others', still the same
Life-stifling fear, soul-stifling shame.

So two nights pass'd: the night's dismay
Sadden'd and stunn'd the coming day.
Sleep, the wide blessing, seem'd to me
Distemper's worst calamity.

The third night, when my own loud scream
Had waked me from the fiendish dream,
O'ercome with sufferings strange and wild,
I wept as I had been a child;

And having thus by tears subdued
My anguish to a milder mood,
Such punishments, I said, were due
To natures deepliest stain'd with sin,-
For aye entempesting anew

The unfathomable hell within,
The horror of their deeds to view,
To know and loathe, yet wish and do!
Such griefs with some men well agree,
But wherefore, wherefore fall on me?
To be beloved is all I need,

And whom I love, I love indeed.

COLERIDGE.

B

THE SKYLARK.

IRD of the wilderness,

Blithesome and cumberless,

Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea !
Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place

O to abide in the desert with thee!

Wild is thy lay and loud,
Far in the downy cloud,

Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.
Where, on thy dewy wing,

Where art thou journeying?

Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

O'er fell and fountain sheen,

O'er moor and mountain green,

O'er the red streamer that heralds the day,
Over the cloudlet dim,

Over the rainbow's rim,
Musical cherub, soar singing away!

Then, when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather-blooms Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place

O to abide in the desert with thee!

JAMES HOGG.

"W

EDWARD, EDWARD.

[OLD BALLAD.]

HY does your brand sae drap wi' blude,
Edward, Edward?

Why does your brand sae drap wi' blude,

And why sae sad gang ye, O?" “O, I hae kill'd my hawk sae gude,

Mither, mither:

O, I hae kill'd my hawk sae gude:
And I hae nae mair but he, O."