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Tell her that's young,
That, hadst thou sprung
Small is the worth
Bid her come forth,
Then die ! that she
May read in thee ;
Yet, though thou fade,
And teach the maid,
* This closing stanza was added by Henry Kirke White, a poetical genius of high attainment, and of still more exquisite promise.
LOVE WILL NOT BLOOM WHERE ENVY
Love will not bloom where envy breathes;
It shuns ambition's rays,
Round hearts which avarice sways:--
And seek our mountain home,
Free as the winds we'll roam.
There lightly bounds the vigorous roe,
The sky-lark carols high ;-
In artless melody: .
The daisy's heaven-ward eyem
All breathe of peace and joy.
There scowls, nor jealousy, nor pride
No worldly passions war And, though the great our joys deride,
Their own are meaner far: Long, long shall love its flowers display
Beneath contentment's smile, Where minds are innocently gay,
And hearts devoid of guile.
THE PLEASURE OF A TEAR.
There is, when day's last shadows fly,
And no observer near; . 'Neath memory's retrospective eye, A secret rapture in a sigh
A pleasure in a tear.
There is, when hush'd is every sound,
The world absorb'd in sleep; When peaceful silence reigns around,
A charm in pensive mood profound, • To sit alone and weep.
Then come, now bustling day is o'er,
And tranquil hours appear, Peace to my wounded heart restore, And let experience taste once more
The pleasure of a tear.
THE LORD'S MARIE...
The Lord's Marie has kepp'd her locks
Up wi' a gowden kame,
And awa to the tryste has gane;
* This truly excellent old song, was "procured by the Editor of the he liques of Burns, from Mrs. Copeland of Dalbeatie, in Galloway, by wo! exertions many specimens of the Caledonian Muse, of unquestionable biety have been rescued from oblivion. It is founded, says Mrs. Copeland, °
O saft, saft fell the dew on her locks,
And saft, saft on her brow;
And I kiss'd it aff, I trow!
O whare gat ye that leal maiden,
Sae jimpy lac'd and sma’?
Wha dings our lasses a'?
Wi' heaven in her e'e ?
Sweet naiden, will ye pree ?
Fu' white, white was her bonnie neck,
Twist wi' the satin twine,
While she supp'd the bluid-red wine. • Come, here's thy health, young stranger doo,
Wha wears the gowden kame;
And kend na wha to name.'
traditional story of a daughter of Lord Maxwell of Nithsdale accom. panying, in disguise, a peasant to a rustic dancing tryste. “The Lord daughter sae gay," was discovered through the disguise of her rustic habili. ments. Tradition places the song at the Revolution, 1688. The language is more modern, but the ideas belong to that period. It is one of those happy productions, which keep a lasting hold of the mind by their enticing tale, and simple dramatic narration ; indeed, the simplicity of our lyrics, their broad humour, their vivid description, and their strong touches of native feeling and sensibility, make a lasting impression on the heart. They are perhaps the fairest any nation can boast, and will survive amid the wreck of those which society tramples down in its progress.