O for a soft and gentle wind!

I heard a fair one cry;

But give to me the snoring breeze,
And white waves heaving high;
And white waves heaving high, my boys,
The good ship tight and free-
The world of waters is our home,
And merry men are we.

There's tempest in yon horned moon,
And lightning in yon cloud;

But hark, the music, mariners!
The wind is piping loud;
The wind is piping loud, my boys,
The lightning flashing free-

While the hollow oak our palace is,

Our heritage the sea.

THE SUN RISES BRIGHT IN FRANCE.

THE sun rises bright in France,

And fair sets he:

But he has tint the blythe blink he had

In my ain countree.

O it's nae my ain ruin

That saddens aye my e'e,

But the dear Marie I left ahin', Wi' sweet bairnies three.

My lanely hearth burn'd bonnie, An' smiled my ain Marie; I've left a' my heart behin'

In my ain countree.

The bud comes back to summer, And the blossom to the bee;

But I'll win back-O never,

To my ain countree.

O I am leal to high Heaven,
Where soon I hope to be,

An' there I'll meet ye a' soon
Frae my ain countree.

A FRAGMEUI.

GANE were but the winter-cauld,
And gane were but the snaw,
I could sleep in the wild woods,
Where prim-roses blaw.

Cauld's the snaw at my head,

And cauld at my feet,

And the finger o' death's at my een, Closing them to sleep.

Let nane tell my father,

Or my mither sae dear,
I'll meet them baith in heaven

At the spring o' the year.

THOMAS PRINGLE.

1788-1834.

THOMAS PRINGLE was born in Roxburghshire. He was concerned in the establishment of Blackwood's Magazine, and was the author of "Scenes of Teviotdale," "Ephemerides," and other poems, all of which display fine feeling and a cultivated taste. Although from lameness ill-fitted for a life of hardship, Mr. Pringle, with his father and several brothers, emigrated to the Cape of Good Hope in the year 1820, and there established a little township or settlement named Glen Lynden. The poet afterward removed to Cape Town, the capital; but, wearied with his Caffre-land exile, and disagreeing with the governor, he returned to England and subsisted by his pen. His services were engaged by the African Society as secretary to that body, a situation which he continued to hold until within a few months of his death. In the discharge of its duties, he evinced a spirit of active humanity and an ardent love to the cause to which he was devoted. His last work was a series of African sketches, containing an interesting personal narrative, interspersed with verse.