SKETCHES FROM THE LEGEND OF LADY GRISELD BAILLIE.

WHEN, sapient, dauntless, strong heroic man,
Our busy thoughts thy noble nature scan,

Whose active mind, its hidden cell within,

Frames that from which the mightiest works begin;

Whose secret thoughts are light to ages lending,

Whose potent arm is right and life defending

For helpless thousands, all on one high soul depending:We pause delighted with the fair survey,

And haply in our wistful musings say,

What mate to match this noble work of heaven,
Hath the all wise and mighty Master given?

One gifted like himself, whose head devises

High things, whose soul at sound of battle rises;

Who with glaiv'd hand will thro' armed squadrons ride,
And, death confronting, combat by his side;
Will share with equal wisdom grave debate,
And all the cares of chieftain, kingly state?
Ay, such, I trow, in female form hath been
Of olden times, and may again be seen,
When cares of empire, or strong impulse swell
The generous breast, and to high deeds impel;
For who can these as meaner times upbraid,
Who think of Saragossa's valiant maid ?
But she of gentle nature, softer, dearer,
Of daily life the active kindly cheerer;
With generous bosom, age, or childhood shielding,
And in the storms of life tho' moved, unyielding;
Strength in her gentleness, hope in her sorrow,
Whose darkest hours some ray of brightness borrow
From better days to come, whose meek devotion

Calms every wayward passion's wild commotion;
In want and suffering, soothing, useful, sprightly,
Bearing the press of evil hap so lightly,

Till evil's self seems its strong hold betraying
To the sweet witch'ry of such winsome playing;
Bold from affection, if by nature fearful,

With varying brow, sad, tender, anxious, cheerful,
This is meet partner for the loftiest mind,

With crown or helmet graced, yea, this is womankind!

Come ye
whose grateful memory retains
Dear recollection of her tender pains,

To whom your oft-conn'd lesson, daily said,
With kiss and cheering praises was repaid;

To gain whose smile, to shun whose mild rebuke,
Your irksome task was learned in silent nook,
Tho' truant thoughts the while, your lot exchanging
With freer elves, were wood and meadow ranging; –
And ye, who best the faithful virtues know,
Of a link'd partner, tried in weal and woe,
Like the slight willow, now aloft, now bending,
But, still unbroken, with the blast contending,
Whose very look call'd virtuous vigor forth,
Compelling you to match her noble worth; -
And ye who in a sister's modest praise,
Feel manly pride, and think of other days,
Pleased that the playmate of your native home
Hath in her prime an honored name become;
And ye, who in a duteous child have known
A daughter, help-mate, sister, blent in one,
From whose dear hand which to no hireling leaves
Its task of love, your age sweet aid receives;
Who reckless marks youths' waning faded hue,
And thinks her bloom well spent, when spent for you;
Come all, whose thoughts such dear remembrance bear,
And to my short and faithful lay give ear.

THE SISTER.

THERE is a sight all hearts beguiling –
A youthful mother to her infant smiling,
Who with spread arms and dancing feet,
And cooing voice, returns its answer sweet.
Who does not love to see the grandame mild,
Lesson with yearning looks the list'ning child?
But 'tis a thing of saintlier nature,

Amidst her friends of pigmy stature,
To see the maid in youth's fair bloom,
A guardian sister's charge assume,
And, like a touch of angel's bliss

Receive from each its grateful kiss.

To see them, when their hour of love is past,
Aside their grave demeanor cast;
With her in mimic war they wrestle;
Beneath her twisted robe they nestle;
Upon her glowing cheek they revel,
Low bended to their tiny level;
While oft, her lovely neck bestriding,
Crows some arch imp, like huntsman riding.
This is a sight the coldest heart may feel,

To make down rugged cheeks the kindly tear to steal.

*

THE WIFE.

THEIR long-tried faith in honor plighted,
They were a pair by heaven united,
Whose wedded love, thro' lengthened years,
The trace of early fondness wears.

Her heart first guessed his doubtful choice,
Her ear first caught his distant voice,
And from afar her wistful eye

Would first his graceful form descry.

Even when he hied him forth to meet
The open air in lawn or street,

She to her casement went,

And after him, with smile so sweet,
Her look of blessing sent.

The heart's affection-secret thing!
Is like the cleft-rock's ceaseless spring,
Which free and independent flows
Of summer rains or winter snows.
The fox-glove from its side may fall,

The heath-bloom fade, or moss flower white,
But still its runlet, bright tho' small,

Will issue sweetly to the light.

WITH her and her good lord, who still

Sweet union held of mated will,

Years passed away with lightsome speed;

But oh! their bands of bliss at length were riven, And she was clothed in widow's sable weed, Submitting to the will of Heaven.

And then a prosperous race of children good
And tender, round their noble mother stood,
And she the while, cheered with their pious love,
Waited her welcome summons from above.
But whatsoe'er the weal or woe

That Heaven across her lot might throw,
Full well her Christian spirit knew
Its path of virtue straight and true.
Good, tender, generous, firm, and sage,
Through grief and gladness, shade and sheen,
As fortune changed life's motley scene,
Thus passed she on to reverend age,
And when the heavenly summons came,

Her spirit from its mortal frame,

And weight of mortal cares to free,

It was a blessed sight to see,

The parting saint her state of honor keeping,

In gifted, dauntless faith, whilst round her, weeping, Her children's children mourned on bended knee.

CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS.

Is there a man, that from some lofty steep,
Views in his wide survey the boundless deep,
When its vast waters, lined with sun and shade,
Wave beyond wave, in seried distance, fade
To the pale sky ; or views it, dimly seen,
The shifting screens of drifted mist between,
As the huge cloud dilates its sable form,

When grandly curtain'd by th' approaching storm,-
Who feels not his aw'd soul with wonder rise
To Him whose power created sea and skies,
Mountains and deserts, giving to the sight
The wonders of the day and of the night?
But let some fleet be seen in warlike pride,
Whose stately ships the restless billows ride,
While each, with lofty masts and brightening sheen
Of fair spread sails, moves like a vested Queen ;—
Or rather, be some distant bark, astray,
Seen like a pilgrim on his lonely way,

Holding its steady course from port and shore,
A form distinct, a speck, and seen no more,—
How doth the pride, the sympathy, the flame,
Of human feeling stir his thrilling frame?
"O Thou! whose mandate dust inert obey'd,
"What is this creature man whom thou hast made?"