Fair Banner! 'gainst thee bloody Claver'se came hewing

His road through our helms, and our glory sub. duing;

And Nithsdale Dalzell-his fierce deeds to requite,
On his house darkest ruin descended like night-
Came spurring and full on the lap of our war,
Disastrous shot down like an ominous star.
And Allan Dalzell-may his name to all time
Stand accurs'd, and be named with nought nobler
than rhyme-

Smote thee down, thou fair Banner, all rudely, and left

Thee defiled, and the skull of the bannerman cleft.

Fair Banner, fair Banner, a century of wo
Has flowed on thy people since thou wert laid low.

And now, lovely Banner! led captive and placed, 'Mid the spoils of the scoffer, and scorned and disgraced,

And hung with the helm and the glaive on the wall,

'Mongst idolatrous figures to wave in the hall, Where the lips, wet with wine, jested with thee profane,

And the minstrel, more graceless, mixed thee with his strain,

Till the might and the pride of thy conqueror

fell,

And the owl sat and whoop'd in the halls of Dal

zell.

O thou holy Banner! in weeping and wail
Let me mourn thy soiled glory, and finish

my tale.

And yet, lovely Banner! thus torn from the brave, And disgraced by the graceless, and sold by the slave,

And hung o'er a hostel, where rich ruddy wine, And the soul-cheering beverage of barley divine, Floated glorious, and sent such a smoke-in his flight

The lark stayed in air, and sung, drunk with delight.

Does this lessen thy lustre ? or tarnish thy glory? Diminish thy fame, and traduce thee in story? Oh, no, beauteous Banner! loosed free on the beam,

By the hand of the chosen, long, long shalt thou stream!

And the damsel dark-eyed, and the Covenant swain, Shall bless thee, and talk of dread Bothwell again.

THE VOICE LIFTED UP AGAINST
CHURCHES AND CHAPELS.

AND will ye forsake the balmy, free air,
The fresh face of heaven, so golden and fair,
The mountain glen, and the silver brook,
And nature's free bountith and open book,
To sit and worship our God with a groan,
Hemmed in with dead timber and shapen stone?
Away-away-for it never can be,

The green earth and heaven's blue vault for me.

Wo! wo! to the time when to the heath-bell
The seed of the Covenant sing their farewell,

And leave the mount written with martyr story, The sun beaming bright in his bridegroom glory; And leave the green birks, and the lang flowering broom,

The breath of the woodland steeped rich in perfume;

And barter our life's sweetest flour for the bran, The glory of God for the folly of man.

JOHN MALCOLM.

THE WISH.

"Oh! that I had the wings of a dove, that I might flee away and be at rest.

So prayed the Psalmist to be free

From mortal bonds and earthly thrall ; And such, or soon or late, shall be

Full oft the heart-breathed prayer of all; And we, when life's last sands we rove,

With faltering foot and aching breast,
Shall sigh for wings that waft the dove,
To flee away and be at rest.

While hearts are young and hopes are high,
A fairy scene doth life appear;—
Its sights are beauty to the eye,

Its sounds are music to the ear:
But soon it glides from youth to age,

And of its joys no more possessed,

We, like the captive of the cage,

Would flee away and be at rest.

Is ours fair woman's angel smile,
All bright and beautiful as day?
So of her cheek and eye the while,
Time steals the rose and dims the ray;
She wanders to the spirit's land,

And we, with speechless grief opprest,
As o'er the faded form we stand,
Would gladly share her place of rest.

Beyond the hills-beyond the sea,-
Oh! for the pinions of a dove;
Oh! for the morning's wings to flee
Away, and be with them we love,—
When all is fled that's bright and fair,
And life is but a wintry waste,
This this at last must be our prayer,
To flee away and be at rest!

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.

EXTRACT

FROM A CAMBRIDGE PRIZE POEM ON THE RESTORATION OF LEARNING IN THE EAST,

BY THE RIGHT HON. CHARLES GRANT.

BRITAIN, thy voice can bid the dawn ascend,
On thee alone the eyes of ASIA bend.
High Arbitress! to thee her hopes are given,
Sole pledge of bliss and delegate of Heaven;
In thy dread mantle all her fates repose,
Or bright with blessings, or o'ercast with woes ;-
And future ages shall thy mandate keep,
Smile at thy touch, or at thy bidding weep.
Oh! to thy godlike destiny arise!

Awake and meet the purpose of the skies!
Wide as thy sceptre waves, let India learn
What virtues round the shrine of empire burn;
Some nobler flight let thy bold Genius tower,
Nor stoop to vulgar lures of fame or power;
Such power as gluts the tyrant's purple pride,
Such fame as reeks around the homicide.