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CLARENS, ON LAKE LEMAN.

And, as they fell around them furling,
Above them shone the crescent curling;
And that deep silence was unbroke,
Save where the watch his signal spoke,
Save where the steed neighed oft and shrill,
And echo answered from the hill,
And the wide hum of that wild host
Rustled like leaves from coast to coast,
As rose the Muezzin's voice in air
In midnight call to wonted prayer;
It rose, that chanted mournful strain,
Like some lone spirit's o'er the plain:
'Twas musical, but sadly sweet,
Such as when winds and harp-strings meet,
And take a long unmeasured tone,
To mortal minstrelsy unknown.

CLARENS, ON LAKE LEMAN.

CLARENS! sweet Clarens, birth-place of deep Love,
Thine air is the young breath of passionate thought;
Thy trees take root in Love; the snows above
The very glaciers have his colours caught,
And sun-set into rose-hues sees them wrought
By rays which sleep there lovingly: the rocks,
The permanent crags, tell here of Love, who sought

In them a refuge from the worldly shocks,
Which stir and sting the soul with hope that woos, then

mocks.

Clarens! by heavenly feet thy paths are trod, -
Undying Love's, who here ascends a throne
To which the steps are mountains; where the god
Is a pervading life and light,-so shown
Not on those summits solely, nor alone

LORD BYRON.

In the still cave and forest; o'er the flower
His eye is sparkling, and his breath hath blown,

His soft and summer breath, whose tender power
Passes the strength of storms in their most desolate hour.

All things are here of him; from the black pines,
Which are his shade on high, and the loud roar
Of torrents, where he listeneth, to the vines
Which slope his green path downward to the shore,
Where the bowed waters meet him, and adore,
Kissing his feet with murmurs; and the wood,
The covert of old trees, with trunks all hoar,

But light leaves, young as joy, stands where it stood, Offering to him, and his, a populous solitude.

A populous solitude of bees and birds,
And fairy-formed and many-coloured things,
Who worship him with notes more sweet than words,
And innocently open their glad wings,
Fearless and full of life: the gush of springs,
And fall of lofty fountains, and the bend
Of stirring branches, and the bud which brings

The swiftest thought of beauty, here extend,
Mingling, and made by Love, unto one mighty end.

He who hath loved not, here would learn that lore,
And make his heart a spirit; he who knows
That tender mystery, will love the more;
For this is Love's recess, where vain men's woes,
And the world's waste, have driven him far from those,
For 'tis his nature to advance or die;
He stands not still, but or decays, or grows

Into a boundless blessing, which may vie
With the immortal lights, in its eternity!

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OUR native land-our native vale

A long and last adieu!
Farewell to bonny Teviotdale,

And Cheviot mountains blue.

Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds,

And streams renowned in songFarewell, ye braes and blossomed meads, Our hearts have loved so long.

THOMAS PRINGLE.

Farewell, the blithesome broomy knowes,

Where thyme and harebells growFarewell, the hoary, haunted howes,

O'erhung with birk and sloe.

The mossy cave and mouldering tower

That skirt our native dell—
The martyr's grave, the lover's bower,

We bid a sad farewell!

Home of our love! our father's home!

Land of the brave and free! The sail is slapping on the foam

That bears us far from thee!

We seek a wild and distant shore,

Beyond the western main-
We leave thee to return no more,

Nor view thy cliffs again!

Our native land our native vale

A long and last adieu! Farewell to bonny Teviotdale,

And Scotland's mountains blue!

[graphic]

EATON STANNARD BARRETT.

179--18

THE SYMPTOMS OF LOVE.

WHAT will not man, if ardent Love inspire ?
Home he forsakes, and ease, and wealthy sire.
To gain his nymph even empire he foregoes,
Hearth-happy monarch of the cot and rose.
Give him a brook, he yields superfluous Nile,
And crowns are baubles parted for a smile.

Then how he sees conspicuous in her face,
All earthly charms, and more than human grace!
Her trifling whim is his important law;
In her 'tis wisdom to discuss a straw.
The goblet moistened at her lip, he drains;
Snatched from her curl, one precious hair retains:
Hoards up her words, unuttered wants supplies,
Intelligent to learn her asking eyes.
Else jealous, and on vengeful project bound,
He seeks her absent, to neglect her found.

Such symptoms his. But if the maiden feel,
She shows her love by struggling to conceal;
By forced discourse till irksome men depart,
By musing interval, and waking start;

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