Even to the last thy every word To glad, to grieve— Was sweet as sweetest song of bird On summer's eve; In outward beauty undecayed, Death o'er thy spirit cast no shade, And like the rainbow thou didst fade, We mourn for thee when blind blank night The chamber fills; We pine for thee when morn's first light Reddens the hills: The sun, the moon, the stars, the sea, All, to the wall-flower and wild-pea, Are changed-we saw the world through thee, Casa Wappy! And though, perchance, a smile may gleam. Of casual mirth, It doth not own, whate'er may seem, An inward mirth: We miss thy small step on the stair; We miss thee at thine evening prayer! All day we miss thee, everywhere, Casa Wappy! Snows muffled earth when thou didst go, In life's spring bloom, Down to the appointed house below, The silent tomb. But now the green leaves of the tree, Return-but with them bring not thee, "Tis so; but can it be (while flowers Revive again) Man's doom, in death that we and ours For aye remain? Oh! can it be, that o'er the grave The grass renewed should yearly wave, Yet God forget our child to save? Casa Wappy! It cannot be: for were it so Thus man could die, Life were a mockery, Thought were woe, And Truth a lie; Heaven were a coinage of the brain, Religion frenzy, Virtue vain, And all our hopes to meet again, Casa Wappy! Then be to us, O dear, lost child! With beam of love, A star, death's uncongenial wild Smiling above; Soon, soon thy little feet have trod Yes, 'tis sweet balm to our despair, Fond, fairest boy, That heaven is God's, and thou art there, With Him in joy: There past are death and all its woes, There beauty's stream forever flows, And pleasure's day no sunset knows, Casa Wappy! Farewell, then for a while, farewell— Pride of my heart! It cannot be that long we dwell, Thus torn apart: Time's shadows like the shuttle flee: And, dark howe'er life's night may be,. Beyond the grave I'll meet with thee, Casa Wappy! MOONLIGHT E HURE HY AR D. ROUND thee, pure Moon, a ring of silvery clouds The footsteps of her love. Within their shrouds, Thy silvery beams the mouldering Abbey float, Death strikes; and Silence, 'mid the evening gloom, REV. THOMAS ROSS, LL.D. 1769-1843. THE following is extracted from a manuscript translation of Ossian's Poems by the late Dr. Ross, of Lochbroom, Ross-shire, Scotland. The manuscripts are now in possession of his son-in-law, the Rev. Mr. Thomson, of New York. Dr. Ross was regarded as the most accomplished Gaelic scholar of his day; his translation of the Psalms of David into the Gaelic language, is now the one in general use in the churches in the Highlands of Scotland. It is not now needful to revive the old controversy respecting the Ossianic poems. That Ossian as a poet, and that Fingal, as one of his chief heroes, were known in Scotland centuries before M'Pherson's birth, may be learned from Barbour and others of the ancient Scottish bards whose works are still extant, and that the songs of the bard should be transmitted from generation to generation, even though unwritten, is no greater wonder than that the Iliad or Odyssey should have passed from sire to son during the four hundred years that elapsed from their first utterance by the poet to their collection in their present form. Nor was M'Pherson's the first attempt to collect the poems of the immortal bard. Previous to the year 1760, Rev. John Farquharson, of Strathglass, had collected, during a residence of thirty years in that district, compositions in the Gaelic language sufficient to fill a large folio three inches thick. Having removed from Strathglass to Douay, he carried his collection with him, and while there, the first edition of M'Pherson's translation was published in England. Farquharson obtained a copy of the translation, and spent much of his time in comparing it with the original collection by himself. There exists no probability that M'Pherson ever met Farqu |