How blest on your banks could I dwell, Ye harvests, that wave in the breeze, Were Margret with me to admire! Then the harvest would glitter, how gay, How majestic the mountains aspire! In pensive regret whilst I rove, The fragrance of flow'rs to inhale; Nor odours nor harmony please If anxious to flatter my woes, Or the languor of absence to cheer, Her breath I would catch in the rose, Or her voice in the nightingale hear. To cheat my despair of its prey, What object her charms can assume! How harsh is the nightingale's lay, How insipid the rose's perfume! Ye zephyrs that visit my fair, Ye sunbeams around her that play, Does her sympathy dwell on my care? Does she number the hours of my stay? First perish ambition and wealth, First perish all else that is dear, Ere one sigh should escape her by stealth, Ere my absence should cost her one tear. When, when shall her beauties once more This desolate bosom surprise? Ye fates! the blest moments restore When I bask'd in the beams of her eyes; When with sweet emulation of heart, Our kindness we struggled to show; But the more that we strove to impart, We felt it more ardently glow. BENEATH A GREEN SHADE. Beneath a green shade a lovely young swain Rude winds wi' compassion could hear him complain, Yet Chloe, less gentle, was deaf to his strain. How happy, he cried, my moments once flew, Ere Chloe's bright charms first flash'd in my view! Those eyes then wi' pleasure the dawn could survey; Nor smiled the fair morning mair cheerful than they. Now scenes of distress please only my sight; But see, the pale moon, all clouded, retires; Ye bachelors, warned by the shepherd's distress, Be taught from your freedom to measure your bliss, Nor fall to the witchcraft of beauty a prey, For soon the shades of grief shall cloud The sunshine of thy days; And cares, and toils, in endless round Soon shall thy heart the woes of age ANNA. Shepherds, I have lost my love. Left my flock, my pipe, my crook, Never shall I see them more, All the joys of life are o'er, From gladness changed to mourning. Whither is my charmer flown, Shepherds, tell me whither? Ah, woe for me! perhaps she's gone, For ever and for ever! IMPORTANCE OF EARLY PIETY. In life's gay morn, when sprightly youth With vital ardour glows, And shines in all the fairest charms Which beauty can disclose; Are yet by vice enslav'd, TERRORS OF A GUILTY CONSCIENCE. Cursed with unnumbered groundless fears, By day he mingles with the crowd, TOBIAS G. SMOLLETT. BORN 1721 DIED 1771. TOBIAS GEORGE SMOLLETT, an eminent historian, novelist, and poet, was born in Dalquhurn House, near the village of Renton, Dumbartonshire, in the year 1721. His father dying while he was very young, his education was undertaken by his grandfather Sir James Smollett. After completing his rudimentary studies at the neighbouring school of Dumbarton, he was sent to the University of Glasgow, where he studied medicine. His wish was to be a soldier, but he was opposed in this desire by his grandfather, who having already permitted his elder brother James to enter the army, thought he could better advance the interests of the younger in some other course of life. At the early age of eighteen Smollett's capabilities for poetry began to manifest them selves; and besides writing several keen and skilful satires, he composed "The Regicide," a tragedy founded on the assassination of King James I. In 1740 his grandfather died, without having made any provision for the mother of our author or her family; and thus thrown on his own resources, Smollett resolved to proceed to London and obtain a position in the army or navy. He succeeded in securing the appointment of surgeon's mate on board of a man-of-war, and sailed in the unfortunate expedition to Carthagena. Disgusted with his situation he left the service while the ship was in the West Indies, and resided for some time in Jamaica, where he became attached to Miss Ann Lascelles, an accomplished lady, whom he afterwards married. Returning to London in 1746, Smollett's feelings of patriotism led him to write the beautiful and spirited poem of "The Tears of Scotland," describing the barbarities committed in the Highlands by the English forces under the command of the " Butcher Cumberland" after the battle of Culloden. He originally finished the poem in six stanzas; when, some one representing that such a diatribe against the government might injure his prospects, he sat down and added the still more pointed invective of the seventh stanza:-- "While the warm blood bedews my veins, The same year Smollett published "Advice," a satirical poem, in the manner of Juvenal; and about the same time composed the opera of Alceste," which, in consequence of some ill-timed satires on Rich the manager, shared the same fate as his tragedy of The Regicide." In 1748 appeared "The Adventures of Roderick Random," which soon be came the most popular novel of the age; and this was followed in 1751 by The Adventures of Peregrine Pickle." This was also very successful, and was translated into French. Having obtained the degree of M.D. he settled at Bath, with the intention of practising medicine, but not meeting with success he returned to London, and assumed the character of a professional author, working for the booksellers in the various departments of compilations, translations, criticisms, and miscellaneous essays. In 1753 he published the "Adventures of Count Fathom," followed in 1755 by his translation of Don Quixote. The version of Motteux is now generally preferred to that of our author, though Smollett's is marked by his characteristic humour and versatility of talent. This task finished, Smollett set out on a visit to his native land. His fame had preceded him, and his reception by the literary magnates of Scotland was cordial and flattering. He was also gratified by meeting his surviving parent on arriving at Scotston in Peeblesshire, where his mother resided with her daughter Mrs. Telfer. It was arranged that he should be introduced as a gentleman who was intimately acquainted with her son. The better to support his assumed character he endeavoured to preserve a very serious countenance, approaching to a frown; but while his mother's eyes were rivetted with the instinct of affection upon his countenance, he could not refrain from smiling; she immediately sprang from her chair, and throwing her arms around his neck, exclaimed, "Ah! my son, my son!" She afterwards told him that if he had kept his austere looks and continued to gloom, she might have been deceived; but "your old roguish smile." she added, "betrayed you at once." On his return to London Smollett undertook the editorship of the Critical Review, and was soon afterwards convicted of a libel on Admiral Knowles, one of the commanders at Carthagena; sentenced to pay a fine of £100, and to be confined in prison for three months. During his incarceration he composed the “ Adventures of Sir Launcelot Greaves." His "History of England from the earliest times to the Treaty of Aix-la-Chapelle," in four quarto vols., wa published in 1758, and is said to have been written in fourteen months, a remarkable in- | Leghorn, in a cottage which his countryman stance of literary industry. Its success induced Dr. Armstrong the poet had engaged for him, him to write a continuation of it to 1754. He he wrote his "Expedition of Humphrey Clinnext visited the Continent to seek consolation ker," the most rich, varied, and agreeable of in travel for the loss of his only daughter, and all his novels, which had just been committed on his return he published his "Travels through to the public when he expired, October 21, France and Italy," a work which was severely | 1771, at Monte Nuovo, near Leghorn, leaving criticized by Sterne in his Sentimental Journey. his widow, the Narcissa of "Roderick Ran"Yet be it said," remarks Sir Walter Scott, dom," nearly destitute, in a foreign land. A "without offence to the memory of the witty monument was raised over his grave at Legand elegant Sterne, it is more easy to assume horn by his faithful friend Dr. Armstrong; and in composition an air of alternate gaiety and in 1774 a Tuscan column was erected to his sensibility, than to practise the virtues of memory by his cousin, Smollett of Bonhill, generosity and benevolence which Smollett on the banks of the Leven, near the house in exercised during his whole life, though often, which he was born. So long as his odes to like his own Matthew Bramble, under the dis- Leven Water" and to "Independence" exist guise of peevishness and irritability. Sterne's Smollett can never fail to be admired as a poet, writings show much flourish concerning virtues nor can a feeling of regret be avoided that he of which his life is understood to have pro- did not devote more of his genius to poetic duced little fruit; the temper of Smollett was compositions. We cannot take leave of this distinguished Scotchman-distinguished as a historian, as a novelist, and as the author of lines which possess the masculine strength of Dryden-without alluding to a passage in his novel of "Peregrine Pickle," that passage so inexpressibly touching where the Jacobite exiles stand every morning on the coast of France to contemplate the blue hills of their native land, to which they are never to return! 'Like a lusty winter, Frosty, but kindly." Declining health induced Smollett to make a second visit to Scotland, and on his return he endeavoured to obtain from government an appointment as consul at some Mediterranean port. Failing in this he set out early in 1770 with Mrs. Smollett for the Continent, whence he never returned. During his sojourn near 66 THE TEARS OF SCOTLAND. Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn The wretched owner sees afar What boots it then in every clime, Thy martial glory, crowned with praise, The rural pipe and merry lay Oh! baneful cause, oh! fatal morn, Yet, when the rage of battle ceased, While the warm blood bedews my veins, ODE TO INDEPENDENCE. STROPHE. Thy spirit, Independence, let me share, Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky. Immortal Liberty, whose look sublime He stopt, he gazed, his bosom glowed, STROPHE The curlew screamed, the Tritons blew He flourished bold and sinewy as his sire; ANTISTROPHE. Accomplished thus, he winged his way, And warm with patriot thought the aspiring soul. Those spires that gild the Adriatic wave, Fair Freedom's temple, where he marked her grave. He steeled the blunt Batavian's arms To burst the Iberian's double chain; And cities reared, and planted farms, Hath bleached the tyrant's cheek in every vary- Won from the skirts of Neptune's wide domain. ing clime. What time the iron-hearted Gaul, With frantic superstition for his guide, In Heaven's name urged the infernal blow; ANTISTROPHE, The Saxon prince in horror fled, He, with the generous rustics, sat STROPHE. Arabia's scorching sands he crossed, He, guardian genius, taught my youth | Pomp's tinsel livery to despise; My lips by him chastised to Truth, Ne'er paid that homage which my heart denies. |