And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain;
These constitute a state;

And sovereign law, that state's collected will,
O'er thrones and globes elate

Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill.
Smit by her sacred frown,

The fiend, Dissension, like a vapor sinks;
And e'en the all-dazzling crown

Hides his faint rays, and at her bidding shrinks;
Such was this heaven-loved isle,

Than Lesbos fairer and the Cretan shore!

No more shall freedom smile?

Shall Britons languish, and be men no more?
Since all must life resign,

Those sweet rewards which decorate the brave

'Tis folly to decline,

And steal inglorious to the silent grave.

SIR WILLIAM JONES.

To the Cuckoo.

HAIL, beauteous stranger of the grove!

Thou messenger of Spring!

Now heaven repairs thy rural seat,
And woods thy welcome sing.

Soon as the daisy decks the green,
Thy certain voice we hear.
Hast thou a star to guide thy path,
Or mark the rolling year?

Delightful visitant! with thee

I hail the time of flowers,
And hear the sound of music sweet
From birds among the bowers.

The school-boy, wandering through the wood
To pull the primrose gay,

Starts, thy most curious voice to hear,
And imitates thy lay.

What time the pea puts on the bloom,
Thou fliest thy vocal vale,

An annual guest in other lands,
Another spring to hail.

Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green,

Thy sky is ever clear;

Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,

No winter in thy year!

Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee!
We'd make, with joyful wing,
Our annual visit o'er the globe,
Attendants on the Spring.

JOHN LOGAN.

Auld Robin Gray.

WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, and a' the kye at hame,

And a' the weary warld to sleep are gane,

The waes o' my heart fall in showers from my e'e,

While my gudeman sleeps sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride,

But saving a crown he had naithing else beside:

To mak' the crown a pound, my Jamie went to sea,

And the crown and the pound were baith for me.

He had nae been gane a year and a day,

When my faither brake his arm, and our cow was stole

away;

My mither she fell sick, and Jamie at the sea,

And auld Robin Gray cam' a courting to me.

My faither could na wark, my mither could na spin,
I toil'd day and night, but their bread I could na win;
Auld Rob maintain'd 'em baith, and wi' tears in his ee,
Said, "Jennie, for their sakes, oh marry mẹ."

My heart it said nay, for I look'd for Jamie back,

But the wind it blew hard, and the ship was a wrack— The ship was a wrack, why did na Jamie dee?

Or why was I spared to cry, Wae's me!

My faither urged me sair, my mither did na speak,

But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break: They gi'ed him my hand, though my heart was at sea,— So auld Robin Gray is gudeman to me!

I had na been a wife a week but only four,
When, sitting sae mournfully out at my door,

I saw my Jamie's wraith, for I could na think it he,
Till he said, "I'm come hame, love, to marry thee."

Sair, sair did we greet, and mickle did we say,—
We took but ae kiss, and tare oursels away:

I wish I were dead, but I am na lik' to dee,-
Oh, why was I born to say, Wae's me!

I

gang like a ghaist, but I care not to spin;

I dare not think on Jamie, for that would be a sin;

So I will do my best a gude wife to be,

For auld Robin Gray is kind unto me.

LADY ANNE BARNARD.

Mary's Dream.

THE moon had climbed the highest hill
Which rises o'er the source of Dee,

And from the eastern summit shed

Her silver light on tower and tree,

When Mary laid her down to sleep,

Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea,
When, soft and slow, a voice was heard,
Saying, "Mary, weep no more for me!"

She from her pillow gently raised

Her head, to ask who there might be,
And saw young Sandy shivering stand,
With visage pale, and hollow e'e.
"O Mary dear, cold is my clay;

It lies beneath a stormy sea.
Far, far from thee I sleep in death;
So, Mary, weep no more for me!

'Three stormy nights and stormy days
We tossed upon the raging main;
And long we strove our bark to save,
But all our striving was in vain.
Even then, when horror chilled my blood,
My heart was filled with love for thee:

The storm is past, and I at rest;

So, Mary, weep no more for me!

"O maiden dear, thyself prepare;

We soon shall meet upon that shore,
Where love is free from doubt and care,
And thou and I shall part no more!"
Loud crowed the cock, the shadow fled,
No more of Sandy could she see;
But soft the passing spirit said,
"Sweet Mary, weep no more for me!"

What is Time?

JOHN LOWE.

I ASKED an aged man, with hoary hairs,
Wrinkled and curved with worldly cares:

"Time is the warp of life," said he; “O, tell
The young, the fair, the gay, to weave it well!"
I asked the ancient, venerable dead,

Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled:

From the cold grave a hollow murmur flowed, "Time sowed the seed we reap in this abode!" I asked a dying sinner, ere the tide

Of life had left his veins: "Time!" he replied;
"I've lost it! ah, the treasure!"-and he died.
I asked the golden sun and silver spheres,
Those bright chronometers of days and years:
They answered, "Time is but a meteor glare,"
And bade me for eternity prepare.

I asked the Seasons, in their annual round,
Which beautify or desolate the ground;
And they replied (no oracle more wise),
"'T is Folly's blank, and Wisdom's highest prize!"
I asked a spirit lost,-but O the shriek

That pierced my soul! I shudder while I speak.
It cried, "A particle! a speck! a mite
Of endless years, duration infinite!"
Of things inanimate, my dial I
Consulted, and it made me this reply,-
"Time is the season fair of living well,
The path of glory or the path of hell."
I asked my Bible, and methinks it said,
"Time is the present hour, the past has fled;
Live! live to-day! to-morrow never yet
On any human being rose or set."

I asked old Father Time himself at last;
But in a moment he flew swiftly past,

His chariot was a cloud, the viewless wind
His noiseless steeds, which left no trace behind.
I asked the mighty angel who shall stand
One foot on sea and one on solid land:
"Mortal!" he cried, "the mystery now is o'er;
Time was, Time is, but Time shall be no more!"
WILLIAM MARSDEN.