Not as the flying come, in silence and in fear—

They shook the depths of the desert's gloom with their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang, and the stars heard and the sea!

And the sounding aisles of the dim wood rang to the anthems of the free:

The ocean-eagle soared from his nest by the white waves'

foam,

And the rocking pines of the forest roared; this was their welcome home!

There were men with hoary hair amidst that pilgrim

band;

Why had they come to wither there, away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye, lit by her deep love's truth;

There was manhood's brow, serenely high, and the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar? bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas, the spoils of war?-They sought a faith's pure shrine!

Ay, call it holy ground, the soil where first they trod! They have left unstained what there they found-freedom to worship God!

NOTE.-In 1620 some good persons who refused to worship according to the ceremonies of the Established Church, left their homes and founded a settlement in America, to which they gave the name of New England.

Sir Walter Scott was born in Edinburgh in 1771. After attending the High School and the University in that city, he became an apprentice to his father, who was a lawyer. At the age of twenty-eight he was made Sheriff of Selkirkshire-an appointment which brought him 300l. a year-and soon after this he published his first volume of poems under the title of Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border.' Then appeared in rapid succession The Lay of the Last Minstrel,' 'Marmion,' and the Lady of the Lake,' which at once established his character as a poet. Subsequently he wrote those masterly productions known as The Waverley Novels,' a series of prose tales, chiefly historical: Waverley,' "Ivanhoe,"Quentin Durward,' Rob Roy,' The Heart of Midlothian,' Kenilworth,' &c. In 1826 a firm of Edinburgh publishers, in which he was a partner, became bankrupt, and Scott found himself, at the age of fifty-five, 120,000l. in debt. He gallantly set to work to clear off this enormous sum, and had actually repaid 70,000. by the sale of his writings when, in 1831, his health gave way. A voyage to Italy failed to restore him, and he died at Abbotsford, near Melrose, on September 21, 1832.

'Он, listen, listen, ladies gay;

No haughty feat of arms I tell;

Soft is the note, and sad the lay,
That mourns the lovely Rosabelle.

'Moor, moor the barge, ye gallant crew!
And, gentle ladye, deign to stay!
Rest thee in Castle Ravensheugh,

Nor tempt the stormy firth1 to-day.

"The blackening wave is edged with white;
To inch 2 and rock the sea-mews fly;
The fishers have heard the Water Sprite,
Whose screams forebode that wreck is nigh.

'Last night the gifted seer 3 did view

A wet shroud swathed round ladye gay;
Then stay thee, fair, in Ravensheugh:
Why cross the gloomy firth to-day?'
'Tis not because Lord Lindesay's heir
To-night at Roslin 4 leads the ball;
But that my lady mother there
Sits lonely in her castle hall.

''Tis not because the ring they ride,

And Lindesay at the ring rides well;
But that my sire the wine will chide,
If 'tis not filled by Rosabelle.'

O'er Roslin all that dreary night

A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ;

1 The Firth of Forth.

2 Inch means an island.

3 Seers were persons in Scotland who were supposed to be able to foretell future events.

4 Roslin, an old castle near Edinburgh. The St. Clairs were lords of Reslin, and it was believed that when any evil was about to befall any of them the chapel and castle seemed all on fire' the night before.

'Twas broader than the watch-fire light,
And redder than the bright moonbeam.
It glared on Roslin's castled rock,

It ruddied all the copse-wood glen;
'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak,

And seen from caverned Hawthornden.

Seemed all on fire that chapel proud
Where Roslin's chiefs uncoffined lie;
Each baron, for a sable shroud,
Sheathed in his iron panoply.1

Seemed all on fire within, around,
Deep sacristy and altar's pale;
Shone every pillar foliage-bound,2

And glimmered all the dead men's mail.

Blazed battlement and pinnet high,
Blazed every rose-carved buttress fair-
So still they blaze when fate is nigh
The lordly line of high St. Clair.

There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold
Lie buried within that proud chapelle;
Each one the holy vault doth hold—
But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle !

And each St. Clair was buried there,

With candle, with book, and with knell;

But the sea-caves rung, and the wild winds sung,
The dirge of lovely Rosabelle.

1 Iron panoply. The barons of Roslin were all buried in their

armour.

2 The pillars in Roslin Chapel are beautifully carved-images of flowers and leaves appearing in great profusion.

The Hon. Mrs. Norton was born in 1808. From her earliest years she wrote verses. She is the author of several poems which display great beauty and taste.

My beautiful! my beautiful! that standest meekly by, With thy proudly arched and glossy neck, and dark and fiery eye;

Fret not to roam the desert now with all thy winged speed

I may not mount on thee again-thou'rt sold, my Arab steed!

Fret not with that impatient hoof-snuff not the breezy

wind;

The further that thou fliest now, so far am I behind :

1 By permission of Mr. John Blockley, music publisher, 3 Argyll Street, Regent Street.