And the clear ripple curls to break,
Soft as a tress on Beauty's cheek,-
Or whether the roused billows roll
Before the blast their foam and spray,
And seem to course into the bay,
Following, like racers to the goal ;-
There, be it sun-shine, be it storm,
When the wild waters have receded,
Unknown, unheeding, and unheeded,
Is seen to glide a slender form;
And you may trace her fragile hand,
And little foot-print on the sand;
And there she hath some viewless shrine,
And scatters many flow'ry token,
And seems to shed, like one heart-broken,
Tears, salter than the ocean-brine.

a

She brings each earliest bud, that hastes,
Blushing to hail the spring's return;
She brings the latest rose that wastes
Above the year's funereal urn;
And when the storm the ocean treads,
And the pale stars have hid their heads,
Trembling to hear the waters sweep,
And the hoar winter hath crawl'd forth
Slowly, from out his dreary north,
She wanders there,-though but to weep.

Where most the bruising foot hath trod,
There is the slender daisy seen,
And still a ring of deeper green
Marks where the lightning shakes the sod:-
Love, shrinking as thou seem'st to be,
What others fear emboldens thee,

And thy impress is seen alone,

(As flowers, entomb'd by earthquake shock, Will leave faint limnings in the rock,)

On hearts that fate hath chill'd to stone.

Ask, why she comes-and comes to weep,-
Her name and race if ye would seek,
The Hind, whose pittance serves to keep
The hectic in that faded cheek,

く

And he shall, haply, make reply
Thus-with his head shook, or his eye-

He is a scared, though kindly slave,

And hath but listen'd from some screen,
Some nook-those woes which she would have
Unheard at least, if not unseen.

As years, with sullen flow, creep by,
E'en grief will find a soft decline,
And she will sit and muse and sigh,
Still answering less by word than sign.
But when the moon hangs, red and broad,
Above the deep, on his shadowy road,
I've heard her scream-loud as those may
Convuls'd at heart with some strange shock,
And laugh,-fantastic-as the spray
When the wild billow meets the rock-

1

VOL. X.

"They scoop'd his grave the ocean-brim,
There, on the green-flood's very verge,
That, every sun, the restless surge

Might sweep away all trace of him.
But yet, methinks, he'll better rest
Even in the changeful ocean's breast,

Than in yon field's sepulchral bed,
Where every day some armed heel,
That help'd to thrust down England's weal,

May stalk above his lowly head.

"Yes-even the hireling priests are gone
To hymn the scornful Conqueror,
And leave their loyal love to her,
The worm-they would have trod upon.
Though they have left me here alone,
And kneel before the Norman's throne,
I still can weep, and ask the waters

To see his tomb-and wait their leave-
There's no one to revenge these slaughters,
But there's a heart still left to grieve.

"It was an hour of agony

E'en now I feel that mortal sick'ning,
Those fainting pangs of soul-to see
The corses gash'd, and life-blood thick'ning,
And still to be compell'd to trace
The lines of each distorted face-

But oh! when I had fix'd mine eye
On his pale brow and raven hair,
And when they let me kiss them there,
What bliss it would have been to die!

-"They say, the day-the hour he perish'd,
The peacock that his hand caress'd
Did droop and hide; nor those that cherish'd
Could tempt him to his wonted nest.

He would not grace the victor's gate,
Nor help to swell his insolent state;-
But when the autumn leaves were strewn,
And the bare boughs the blasts were shaking,
He died-contented and forsaken;

So hard it is to pine-alone.

" But summer leaves are still the greenest,

And turn them where the beam falls strongest;
Even so, the men whose souls are meanest,
Where fortune's kindest, smile the longest.
Yet there's a charm in a true grief
For one beloved a wild relief
In constant, though in hopeless sorrow;
And if to-night the envious wave
Shall snatch these chaplets from his grave,
I've sweeter flowers and tears to-morrow.

The milk-white cups, that arch to the sky,
And the drooping leaves, recal to mind
The soul so gentle, yet so high,

That could be lofty, and still be kind.

"And, as the wreath must soon decay,
And the waves sweep o'er it, where 'tis lying,
O would that, so, I might pass away,

And their hour of blow be mine of dying.
I ask no more, but calm to rest,
On the grave of him that I loved best,
To share his tomb so wild and lonely,
By foes and friends at once forgot,
Where the eye of memory glanceth not,
And the wave and moon-beam visit only."

T. D.

THE MOUNT OF OLIVES.

" And when they had sung a hymn, they went out into the Mount of Olives." MATT. xxvi. 30.

1. Messias.

Now is the Father glorified,
And I in him and he in me;
Now will he glorify his Son,
And seat him at his side.

A little while, and ye no more shall see,
Nor follow me where I am gone:
Our toil is well nigh finish'd now,
And heaven and earth, and sea and sky,
Before the Son of Man shall bow,

When he is lifted high !
A crown shall be around his brow-
And death and hell shall sink and die !
Peace be to him that giveth peace,
And woe to him that worketh woe,
The captived man shall find release,
The proud oppressor fallen low,

Shall feel his own sharp scourge, and all his

tortures know.

2.

Semichorus Apostolorum.

The King the prophets prophecied,
The Lord of earth and heaven-

Now to his chosen race is given !
Now hath the bridegroom sought the bride!
Rejoice ye lands! Shiloh is come,
And seeks in glory his long lost home.
Now bid the trumpet's echoes swell,
Bear him in triumph to David's throne!
There shall our Lord for ever dwell,

And bless the land he call'd his own!

3.
Chorus Apostolorum.
The lamp is lighted now,
No hand shall quench its beam again;
Yea, wide and wider shall it glow,
And lighten on the sons of men,
And every heart shall fear and bow,
In silence then!

When Moses stood before the Lord On Sinai, and heard his wordThunders roll'd, and lightnings shone, And clouds were round Jehovah's throne; Thesky wasrent, the mountains reel'd, And high the mandates there reveal'd. But oh! what mortal tongue may say The wonders of the second dayWhen bands of seraphim shall bring Emanuel in all his power; And cherubim shall hail their king Enthroned in Salem's tower!

4. Messias.

Go on your way in peace,
And walk before your God,
In fear, in love, in righteousness.
Let every earth-born jarring cease,
And tread the path that I have trod;
Through pain, and danger, and distress,
A little while, and I shall sleep,
And it is yours to mourn and weep

Your lord and master gone.
But fear ye not, you are my sheep-
Still shall your Shepherd lead you on;
The Comforter from heaven descends,
And wonders, power, and mighty deeds
Shall mark his way even to the ends
Of all the earth, and where he leads
The stubborn proudest spirit bends.
When I have burst the fetters of the tomb,
And at my Father's own right hand,
With thousand saints in glory stand,
Then shall the Holy Spirit come!

5.

Semi-chorus.

Mourn, Israel, mourn!
Thy Lord is torn
With hate's sharp knife, and envy'sthorn,
Oh woe! oh woe!

And claps his wings in joy to hear The groan that tells him death is near; Then shalt thou darkness dread_but more the coming light!

8.

Semi-chorus.

Oh, who shall pray to God! Oh woe !
Who shall avert the destined blow ?
What be the holy sacrifice ?
When altars smoke and perfumes rise,
Go, Israel, go!
And weep and pray-Oh no! Oh no!
Thy end is near.
Thou shalt not tempt thy God again;
Now be thy portion wail, and fear,
Contempt and pain!

As thou received thy Lord-so be thy fate
with men.

9. Chorus.

What glorious vision meets our eyes,
A new Jerusalem in the skies!

For earth and sea have passed away,
And hark! eternal spirits say-
"Now hath God fix'd his throne with men,
They shall his people be.-
No weeping shall be heard again,
And death thou shalt not see,-
For all that were have passed away."
No temple riseth there-
God is himself their holy shrine,

The Lamb their temple fair!
They have no sun, no day, no night,
But God is their eternal light !
And thousand saints in glory there,
Raise high their golden harps in air,

And echo back the strain,
"Worthy the Lamb who died to save,
Who broke the bondage of the grave;
Who died and lives again!
His be the conqueror's meed, for Death

himself was slain!"

THE STEAM-BOAT;

Or, The Voyages and Travels of Thomas Duffle, Cloth-merchant in the

Saltmarket of Glasgow.

No. VIII.

WHEN I had abundantly satisfied my curiosity with the curious things of London, I was admonished by my purse, which had suffered a sore bowel complaint from the time of my arrival, that it behoved me to think of taking it to grass and replenishment in the Salt-market. Accordingly after settling counts with Mrs Damask, I got a hackney to carry my portmanty to the wharf, where I embarked on board the Mountaineer steam-boat, bound, God willing, to the Port of Leith.

I had not been long on board when, lo! and behold who should I see, flourishing his cane, but that nice, good-tempered, fat man, whose genius and talents in the abstruse art of song writing make such a figure in Blackwood's Magazine.

"Hey, Doctor!" quo I at length; "Hegh, sirs, but a sight of you here is gude for sair een-whar d'ye come frae?"

The Doctor, who is a pawkie loon, as is well kent, said nothing at first, but looking as it were down at me with an inquisitive and jealousing ee, cried out, in his funny way, "Whar did that creature speak frae? Lord sake, Tammy Duffle, how came ye here? What's ta'en you a gallanting out o' the Salt-Market? I thought the Gallowgate would hae been the farthest o' your tramps. But ye hae nae doubt been up wi' a cargo o' your loyalty to the Coronation. Lord sake, man, but I'm glad to see you: I have nae had the visibility o' a Christian face since the Heavens kens when, Tammy."

In this way the Odontist for a space o' time continued his mirthful devices till the vessel was put under way by the steam being set on, when we had soine solid conversation thegether-in the first place anent the news from Glasgow, of which the Doctor was in great want, by reason of his long absence; and in the second, concerning the Doctor's experience, and observes on the kingdom of France, and the city of Paris, appertaining thereto. But as it is his full intention to give the world some narration of his travels, it would be a breach of confidence to rehearse herein what he told to me.

While we were thus holding a jocose conversation, a gentleman that had the look of a divine joined in with us, and he being taken with the Doctor's funny sayings, began to ettle at something of the sort himself; and upon his suggestion the Doctor, and him, and me, retired to a corner by ourselves, where the Odontist called on the steward to bring us a bottle of the port out of his basket of sea-stores; for the Doctor, being a man of a jolly as well as a jocose humour, had laid in a plentiful extra supply of divers sorts of good wines.

This stranger turned out to be no other than the Rev. Mr Birkwhistle, the Minister of Dintonknow. He is an elderly man, of a composed appearance, with something, however, of a peeryweery twinkling about the een, which be trayed that he knew more than he let on. He had been at London on some gos pel affair anent the call of a minister; but whether he had been on the leet, and wasna successful, or merely as a visitant-ablins to spy the nakedness of the land, I'll no take it upon me to say; but he had a fouth of queer stories, which it was a curiosity to hear of, in the manner that he discoursed of the same. Among others, he told us of a very surprising thing that befell himself.

THE WIG AND THE BLACK CAT.

TALE, NO. XIII.

"By an agreement with the session," said Mr Birkwhistle, "I was invited to preach the action sermon at Kilmartin, and my new wig coming home from Glasgow by the Saltcoats carrier on the Thursday afore, I took it unopened on the Saturday evening in the box to the Manse, where I was to bide during the preachings with the widow. It happened, however, that in going in the stage-fly from my own parish to Kilmartin, a dreadful shower came on, and the box with my new wig thereintil, being on the outside tap of the coach, the wind flew and the rain fell, and by the help and colleagury of the twa, the seams of the box were invaded, and the wig, when I took it out on the Saturday night, was just a clash o' weet.

"At that time o' night, there wasna a barber to be had for love or money within three miles o' the Manse; indeed I dinna think, for that matter, there was a creature o' the sort within

the bounds and jurisdictions of the parish; so that I could make no better o't than to borrow the dredge-box out of the kitchen, and dress the wig with my own hands.

"Although Mr Keckle had been buried but the week before, the mistress, as a' minister's wives of the right gospel and evangelical kind should be, was in a wholesome state of composi ty, and seeing what I was ettling at, said to me, the minister had a blockhead whereon he was wont to dress and fribble his wig, and that although it was a sair heart to her to see ony other man's wig upon the same, I was welcome to use my freedoms there with. Accordingly, the blockhead, on the end of a stick, like the shank of a carpet-besom, was brought intil the room; and the same being stuck into the finger-hole of a buffet-stool, I sett myself to dress and fribble with my new wig, and Mrs Keckle the while sat beside me, and we had some very