Lightens with love-and hope-and anxious fears! And pangless. And death came soon and swift, The huge pile sank down at once Into the opening earth. Walls—arches-roofAnd deep foundation stones-all mingling fell! CCCXXXVI. WILL. MOTHERWELL, 1797-1835. SCHOOL-DAYS. I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet, Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof, When baith bent down owre ae braid page, Wi' ae buik on our knee, Thy lips were on thy lesson, but My lesson was in thee. O mind ye how we hung our heads, How cheeks brent red wi' shame, My head rins round and round about, As ane by ane the thochts rush back When hinnied hopes around our hearts CCCXXXVII. THOMAS DALE, 1797-18**. FUNERAL DIRGE. Dear as thou wert, and justly dear, We will not weep for thee, One thought shall check the starting tear, And thus shall Faith's consoling power The tears of love restrain; Oh! who that saw thy parting hour, Triumphant in thy closing eye CCCXXXVIII. THO. HAYNES BAYLY, 1797-1839. 1. THE NEGLECTED CHILD. I never was a favourite, My mother never smiled I've turned away, to hide my tears, There was no knee for me! And yet I strove to please with all I strove to please,-and infancy How blessed are the beautiful! Love watches o'er their birth; -- Oh, beauty, in my nursery I learned to know thy worth, For even there I often felt Forsaken and forlorn; And wished-for others wished it tooI never had been born! I'm sure I was affectionate; But in my sister's face There was a look of love that claimed A smile or an embrace: But when I raised my lip to meet They spoke not in my eyes. But, oh! that heart too keenly felt I saw my sister's lovely form With gems and roses decked : I did not covet them; but oft, I envied her the privilege But soon a time of triumph came,— For sickness o'er my sister's form 'Twas then, unwearied, day and night, I watched beside her bed; And fearlessly upon my breast I pillowed her poor head. She lived!-and loved me for my care,- I was a lonely being once, 2. SONG: I'D BE A BUTTERFLY. I'd be a butterfly born in a bow'r, Where roses and lilies and violets meet; Roving for ever from flower to flower, And kissing all buds that are pretty and sweet. I'd never languish for wealth or for power, I'd never sigh to see slaves at my feet, I'd be a butterfly born in a bow'r, And kissing all buds that are pretty and sweet. Oh could I pilfer the wand of a fairy, I'd have a pair of those beautiful wings; Their summer day's ramble is sportive and airy, Rock'd in a rose when the nightingale sings. What though you tell me each gay little rover Shrinks from the breath of the first autumn day, Surely 'tis better when summer is over, To die, when all fair things are fading away. Some in life's winter may toil to discover Means of procuring a weary delay ; I'd be a butterfly living a rover, Dying when fair things are fading away. 3. SONG: OH NO, WE NEVER MENTION HER Oh, no! we never mention her, Her name is never heard; My lips are now forbid to speak From sport to sport they hurry me, And when they win a smile from me, They bid me seek in change of scene But were I in a foreign land, 'Tis true that I behold no more For oh there are so many things, The breeze upon the sunny hills, Aye, every leaf I look upon, Forbids me to forget. They tell me she is happy now, Like me perhaps she struggles with But if she loved as I have loved, She never can forget. CCCXXXIX. DAVID MACBETH MOIR, 1798-1851. EVENING. Lo! in the south a silver star |