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and an abiding monument of his thorough | George Buchanan's, while the same authorities knowledge, not only of Scottish Gaelic and its consider his translation into Gaelic heroic cognate dialects, but of the Arabic, Chaldaic, verse of the "Iliad " of Homer to be "deserving Hebrew, Persian, and other oriental tongues. of great praise for its fidelity to the original, He also enjoys an enviable reputation as a poet. at the same time that the versification, in its His Greek and Latin odes have been by com- fulness and freeness, its eloquence and granpetent judges pronounced as second only to deur, is truly Homeric."

A DREAM.1

"Dreams descend from Jove."-POPE'S HOMER.

Late was the hour. With weary toil opprest
My spirits crav'd the fresh'ning balm of rest.
On the soft down with outstretcht limbs I lay,
When thought through devious glooms began to
stray:

In no determin'd channel flow'd the tide;
Thick-streaming swarms all op'ning portals send;
These, in one undistinguish'd whirlpool blend;
Till Reason left her charge, and sleep profound
In its soft chains th' abstracted senses drown'd.

'Twas thus I mus'd:-"Great God! how vain is In vision tranc'd, methought I roam'd alone man!

His strength, a moth's! his term of life, a span!
His hopes, a bubble! all his fairy schemes
Confusion's tow'r, a moon-struck maniac's
dreams!

O fool! on earthly props to build his trust,
When the next hour may blend those props with
dust!

Dear BEATTIE! soul of worth! for ever gone! Heav'n's planet quench'd, ere half its glory shone!

Just as a grateful country wove the bays,

To crown thee with the well-earn'd meed of praise!

Through dismal wastes where not a starlet shone:
Down the tall forests rush'd the winds amain,
Heav'n pour'd its torrents o'er the floated plain:
The rest, my verse, unfold, along thy changeful3

strain.

ODE.

What thick'ning glooms o'erspread the dreary scene!

Black-vested Darkness on his throne of clouds, Apparent monarch of the vast domain,

Hath stretch'd his veil o'er mountains, fields, and floods!

Ah! who could dream that fate had form'd the Fierce Boreas raves athwart the starless skies,

snare

For manhood's blooming prime-for worth so
rare!

The precious lodge of that transcendent mind
By all the golden stores of wit refin'd,
Reason's own Fane-a mass of lifeless clay,
And those exalted powers-a vapour flown away!
But Nature, Conscience, and the God above
Proclaim my fears absurd: for God is love!
The wondrous fates that rule the earth and skies
Are God's supreme decrees: and God is wise!
He gives and takes his own! then, thought, be
still,

And learn submission to the sov'reign will!

As thus I ponder'd, thoughts came crowding
fast,

Empty and vagrant as the veering blast;
A thousand forms th' illusive imps assume
By Fancy textur'd in her magic loom;
Sporting along, th' unnumber'd phantoms glide,

I Written subsequent to the death of James Beattie, professor of humanity and natural history in Marischal College, Aberdeen, who died Oct. 4, 1810.-ED.

Before him driving all the vap'ry world:
In mountains see the battling deeps arise,
A roaring waste, in wild confusion hurl'd!
See! see! whence yon keen-dazzling flash?
Creation in one blaze of fire!

Yon horrid, heart-appalling crash

To conscience speaks th' Eternal's ire!
Flash after flash, and peal on peal

Add tenfold horror to the gloom!
The mountains on their bases reel,
All Nature's works the tumult feel.
And Chaos gaping threats a gen'ral tomb!

Anon! upon the whirlwind's blast,

From orb to orb Jehovah's tow'rs!
Creation, through its boundless vast

Did homage to the Pow'r of pow'rs!
"Hush, uproar!" said all nature's Lord;
Uproar obeyed th' Omnific word!
Fierce turbulence was calm'd to peace,
The bolts expire, the thunders cease:

2 The measure of the ode is irregular, excepting in the two anthems.

The hurricane's all-rending breath,
Hush'd by the voice, was still as death!
The ocean's billowy empire strown
Like a great glassy pavement shone:
Aloft the vap'ry columns rise

In thin white flakes dispers'd o'er all the skies, The azure dome high swelling to the view, While Night's red-trembling fires illume th' unmeasur'd blue.

When lo! where Jove the space adorns,

Girt by his circumvolving fires,
Between the Bull's refulgent horns,

And the gay Pleiads' dancing choirs,
Methought there shot a lucid tide

Effusive billowing o'er the sky,
As a huge ocean, far and wide

O'erflowing all the tracts on high;
Thick, and more thick, the inundation roll'd,
It seem'd descending to our world below,
Myriads of figures fledg'd with wings of gold,
Rank above rank, the circling orders glow:
Myriads of spirits, once who bore

The cumb'ring load of mortal clay,
Now starry crowns in triumph wore,
And look'd like blazing orbs of day:
Of ev'ry creed, of ev'ry tongue,1

Of ev'ry age, from pole to pole,

The first-born church,2 in one harmonious throng,
One gracious Father of the world extol:
From the five zones of our terrestrial ball,

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These deck'd him with a wreath that burn'd like fire,

Jews, Brahmins, Turks, and Christians, side And there, with Christ's elect, he tun'd his

by side,

In one great host ador'd the God of all,

And Him who for the worst offenders died.

That moment, in my wond'ring view,
Just issu'd from the mortal frame,
Ascending on th' aereal blue,

(BEATTIE was once his earthly name;)
With a fair angel,3 such as guards the good,
High on the vapour's ridgy breast he stood:
Aloft to meet the radiant pomp they sail'd;
A general shout the soul's arrival hail'd,
Loud as of thunder roll'd through turbid clouds,
Or the hoarse roar of Ocean's rushing floods!
All heav'n's melodious minstrelsy was strung,
While harp and voice attuned, this anthem sung:

Welcome, welcome, earthly guest!
Welcome from thy home of clay!
Welcome to Immanuel's feast!
Welcome to the thrones of day!

Bid adieu to trembling fears,
Mercy blots each guilty stain;
Bid adieu to grief and tears;

Sin and death no more can pain!

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1 Genesis xii. 3—xv. 5; Rev. viii. 9, 10-xxi. 24-26; amiable pupil of the author's, who died in old Aber

Acts x. 28-34, 35

Heb. xii. 92-24.

3 Ps. xxxiv. 7.

deen, May 6, 1810, after two days' illness. Eheu! quam tenni pendent mortalia filo!

From age to age the destin'd race

Their central suns around:
His arm supports the mighty frame!
He smiles! Creation shouts acclaim!
He frowns! red bolts disruptive flame,
And all her spheres confound!

Ethereal thrones! adore the plan
Whose depths in vain we try to scan,
The work of sov'reign grace for man,
A fallen world to save!

The glories of the cross resound,
The streaming blood, the gaping wound,
In brazen chains the dragon bound,

The triumph o'er the grave!

When, answ'ring to the notes sublime
That spheres along their orbits chime,
The hours began to measure time,

We sung Immanuel's praise!
His name shall with Jehovah's blend,
When time hath reach'd his destin'd end,
And suns and planets all ascend

In one devouring blaze!

Then death, and sin, and hell shall die,
His ransom'd, then, shall mount on high,
Along the wide empyreal sky,

With angel-hosts to rove:

A new creation rise again,

Exempt from darkness, guilt, and pain,
And all existence sing the reign
Of universal love!

Hallelujah! hallelujah! hallelujah!

As thus they chanted to their harps of gold,
And wide thro' echoing space their music roll'd,
Behold a wondrous scene! from either end
The vast-disparting concave seem'd to rend!
A blaze as of ten thousand thousand suns,
From GLORY'S SOURCE in dreadful effluence runs,
Kindling th' immense! In this abyss of light
The host was wrapt-thick darkness veil'd my
sight,

And all the splendid dream, dissolving, mix'd with night.

THE MAVIS OF THE CLAN.1

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Clan Lachlan's tuneful mavis, I sing on the The beauty of the purple-bell, the daisy of the

branches early,

And such my love of song, I sleep but half the night-tide rarely;

No raven I, of greedy maw, no kite of bloody beak,

1 In this allegorical composition the poet assumes the character of a song bird, a not uncommon custom among the Gaelic Fards, several of whom assume the character of the "mavis" of their own clan.-ED.

lea.

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And now I close my clannish lay, with blessings | As the cloud's yellow wreath on the mountain's on the shade high brow, That bids the mavis sing her song, well-nurtured, The locks of my fair one redundantly flow; Her cheeks have the tint that the roses display, When they glitter with dews on the morning of May.

undismay'd

The shade where bloom and cresses, and the earhoney'd heather,

Are smiling fair, and dwelling in their brotherhood together;

For the sun is setting largely, and blinks my eye its ken;

'Tis time to loose the strings, I ween, and close my wildwood strain.

THE MELODY OF LOVE.1

As the planet of Venus, that gleams o'er the grove, Her pearl-circled bosom diffuses bright rays, Her blue rolling eyes are the symbols of love;

Like the moon when the stars are bedimm'd with her blaze.

The mavis and lark, when they welcome the dawn, Make a chorus of joy to resound through the lawn; But the mavis is tuneless, the lark strives in vain, When my beautiful charmer renews her sweet strain.

Not the swan on the lake, or the foam on the When summer bespangles the landscape with shore,

Can compare with the charms of the maid I adore; Not so white is the new milk that flows o'er the pail,

Or the snow that is shower'd from the boughs of the vale.

flowers,

While the thrush and the cuckoo sing soft from the bowers,

Through the wood-shaded windings with Bella I'll rove,

And feast, unrestrained, on the smiles of my love.

THOMAS M. CUNNINGHAM.

BORN 1776-- DIED 1834.

THOMAS MOUNSEY CUNNINGHAM was born at Culfaud, Kirkcudbright, June 25, 1776. He received his education at the village school of Kellieston, not far from Dumfries, and subsequently at the Dumfries Academy. His father's circumstances being much reduced by unfortunate farming speculations, it became needful that Thomas should learn some trade, and he was accordingly apprenticed by his own desire to a mill-wright. It was during intervals of leisure, while acquiring a knowledge of his laborious occupation, that he first composed verses, which, being submitted to his father's notice, were highly praised. In 1797 he obtained employment at Rotherham, near Sheffield, and a few years later entered the establishment of Rennie, the celebrated London engineer. He afterwards became foreman to Mr. Dickson, also an engineer, and superinThe first verse of this lyric was composed by a lady.

The poet completed it in Gaelic, and then translated the whole into English.-ED.

tendent of Fowler's chain-cable manufactory. In 1812 he returned to Rennie's establishment as a clerk, and was ultimately promoted to the position of chief clerk, with a liberal salary. He was much esteemed by his employer, being noted for his regularity and industry.

On leaving his father's house to seek his fortune, Thomas Cunningham had been advised by friends to abjure his poetical proclivities, and he seems for a time to have followed their advice. For a period of nine years nothing appeared from his pen. At length, in 1806, he became a contributor to the Scots Magazine, the editor of which was enthusiastic in praising his compositions. James Hogg, also a contributor, took pains to discover the author, and sent him an epistle expressive of his admiration. An intimacy ensued between the poets, which ever after continued, and when the Shepherd planned the Forest Minstrel he made application

to his friend Cunningham for contributions. No less than twenty-five of the songs contained

538

THOMAS MOUNSEY CUNNINGHAM.

in that collection were from the pen of Cunning- | Fell," on which he had bestowed great labour,

and which contained a humorous description of the scenes and characters familiar to his early days. Cunningham died of Asiatic cholera October 28th, 1834, in the fifty-eighth year of his age. Some of his productions, like those of other Scottish poets of distinction who published their lyrics anonymously, had the honour of being attributed to Robert Burns. No better evidence of their quality could be ad

ham. Just as his name was becoming known by his lyrics he took offence at a criticism in the Scots Magazine, and for a second time ceased writing for a period of nine years, until discovering one of his songs in a collection entitled the Nithsdale Minstrel, he was induced to resume his pen, and wrote a severe poetical castigation of the publishers of the Minstrel for their unauthorized appropriation. On the origin of the Edinburgh Magazine, induced. His first and last volume of poems, 1817, he became a contributor, and under the title of the "Literary Legacy," wrote many curious sketches, as well as songs and ballads, for its pages. During his latter years, his brother Allan relates, he unfortunately committed to the flames a poem entitled "Braken

entitled Har'st Kirn, and other Poems and Songs, appeared in 1797. The principal piece, which furnishes the title to the book, was written during the year of its publication, and is descriptive of the fun and frolic of a harvesthome in a farm-house of Scotland.

FAREWELL, YE STREAMS.

Farewell, ye streams, sae dear to me,
My bonny Clouden, Nith, and Dee;
Ye burns that row sae bonnily,

Your siller waves nae mair I'll see.

Yet though frae your green banks I'm driven.
My saul away could ne'er be riven;
For still she lifts her e'en to heaven,

An' sighs to be again wi' thee.

Ye canty bards ayont the Tweed,
Your skins wi' claes o' tartan cleed,
An' lilt alang the verdant mead,

Or blythely on your whistles blaw;
An' sing auld Scotia's barns an' ha's,
Her bourtree dykes an' mossy wa's,

Her faulds, her bughts, an' birken shaws,
Whar love an' freedom sweeten a'.

Sing o' her carles teuch an' auld,
Her carlines grim that flyte an' scauld,
Her wabsters blythe, an' souters bauld,

Her flocks an' herds sae fair to see.
Sing o' her mountains bleak an' high;
Her fords, whar neighrin' kelpies ply;
Her glens, the haunts o' rural joy;

Her lasses, lilting o'er the lea.

To you the darling theme belangs,
That frae my heart exulting spangs;
Oh, mind, amang your bonnie sangs,
The lads that bled for liberty.
Think on our auld forbears o' yore,
Wha dyed the muir wi' hostile gore;

Wha slavery's bands indignant tore,
An' bravely fell for you an' me.
My gallant brithers, brave an' bauld.
Wha haud the pleugh or wake the fauld,
Until your dearest bluid rin cauld

Aye true unto your country be.

Wi' daring look her dirk she drew,
An' coost a mither's e'e on you;

Then let na ony spulzie crew

Her dear-bought freedom wrest frae thee.

THE BEGGAR.

Wha's this, bedight in tatter'd claes,
Comes loutin' owre a sturdy rung,

Wi' cloutit wallets fore and aft,
And at his belt a gully hung?
Deep is the glen wi' drifted snaw,

And keen the wind blaws owre the hill:
Ye downa up Borinairoch gang,

The nippin' cauld your bluid will chill.

Come in, an' share the kindly bleeze,
Whare feckless eild his bouk may warm;
Come in, an' share the frien'ly beild,

To shield thee frae the bitter storm.
Ye mauna trow that ilka Scot
Is reft o' pity's holy flame;
Auld neiber, gie's your shiverin' neive,

An' mak' my lanely ha' your hame.

Now, though the scone our Leczy beuk
Was toastit nice as scone cou'd be,

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