"I hope you will do us the favour of dining with us to-morrow; but I lose no time in assuring you that I find, with the greatest satisfaction you will certainly be returned for the borough of as soon as ever you shew yourself; and will accompany you thither. Parliament is the proper place for talent like yours.

Sir George L

66 I am,

"Dear Sir,

"Your admirer and friend,

"W"

When Deleval had ceased to read, the silence, caused no doubt by good and also partly by bad feelings, remained awhile unbroken; while he was absorbed in watching the emotions of his agitated mother, who, at length, bursting into tears, and throwing herself on his neck, exclaimed, "Oh! Willie, Willie! now then I see thou art already a great man; ay, and still a good man too (blessed be He who has made and kept thee so!)-for thou hast not forgotten thy poor old mother!"

THERE'S NONE A FEELING HATH WITH ME.

BY HENRY SCOTT.

"Tis morn; the sun comes blithely on

And rouseth Nature's glee;

All earth is glad; but there is none

A feeling hath with me!

The very trees are not alone,

The breeze doth fan them, and the sun

Doth woo them fervently;

The birds are singing to the flowers,
And Spring is busy in the bowers.

"Tis sad to mark the joy and life
Around, above, below,-
Earth, ocean, air, with joyance rife
In Nature's vernal glow,

---

Then turn and gaze into my breast,
And mark all there in darkness drest,
Where weeds of sorrow grow;
And watch the spirit's strife within,
And fear Despair the victory win!

162

NONE A FEELING HATH WITH ME.

Alas, how changed! To me this earth
Was one wide field of joy;

For me the sun more bright shone forth,
For me more blue the sky;

For me more freshly bloomed the flowers,
More rich for me the green-wood bowers;
The birds for me sang high;

The very thunder cloud that came
Awaked wild rapture with its flame!

"Tis not dull misanthropic gloom
That darkens all I see;

Nor grief for those within the tomb,
Or bright hopes reft from me;
Nor bitter dregs of long distress,

That make me feel such loneliness

"Tis that cold thought which ne'er doth flee, "There's none a feeling hath with me!"

But hush! thou impious heart of clay,

Thyself in ashes bow;

How dare a thing created say,
"High Heaven, what doest thou?"
I surely am not all alone-

There is a FRIEND-a mighty one-
Whose blood for me did flow :
And hope doth whisper unto me
"There's ONE a feeling hath with thee!"

THE SWORD CHAUNT

OF

THORSTEIN RAUDI.

BY W. MOTHERWELL, ESQ.

"Tis not the grey hawk's flight
O'er mountain and mere;
"Tis not the fleet hound's course
Tracking the deer;

"Tis not the light hoof-print

Of black steed or grey,
Though sweltering it gallop
A long summer's day,
Which mete forth the lordships
I challenge as mine:
Ha! ha! 'tis the good brand
I clutch in my strong hand,
That can their broad marches

And numbers define.

LAND GIVER! I kiss thee.

Dull builders of houses,
Base tillers of earth,
Gaping, ask me what lordships
I owned at my birth;
But the pale fools wax mute,
When I point with my sword
East, west, north, and south,
Shouting, "There am I lord!"
Wold and waste, town and tower,
Hill, valley, and stream,
Trembling, bow to my sway
In the fierce battle fray,
When the star that rules Fate, is

This falchion's red gleam,
MIGHT GIVER! I kiss thee.

I've heard great harps sounding
In brave bower and hall;
I've drank the sweet music
That bright lips let fall;
I've hunted in greenwood,
And heard small birds sing -
But away with this idle

And cold jargoning;

The music I love, is

The shout of the brave,

The yell of the dying,

The scream of the flying,

When this arm wields Death's sickle,

And garners the grave.

JOY GIVER! I kiss thee.