Too young to labor, mother strove

To gain a livelihood for me,

And while from place to place we'd move,
I cheered her with my childish glee ;
Unto the town our way we sped

Through this dark forest; hope has fled!

Yes! hope has fled, for she, whose love
Urged her with sickness to contend,
No longer lives, and I must rove,
Without a parent, guide, or friend,
Unless, kind stranger! thou wilt cheer
The boy, whose mother slumbers here.

Albert de Courcy was his name,
And on the field of Waterloo
He fell; it was a field of fame,
But ah! of desolation too!

Stranger the orphan's prayers are thine,
May joy and peace around thee shine!

Farewell, my mother! from above
Now smile upon thy orphan boy;
Befriended, cherished now with love,
Again his heart may throb with joy!
Often thy grave, with tearful eye

And throbbing heart, with flowers he 'll strew;

And think, like to thy soul on high,

Life's faded plant will bloom anew!

A FRAGMENT, FROM A SATIRICAL ODE.*

Si natura negat, facit indignatio versum.― Juv.

SHAME! shame! are these the men who 're called to stand

The first and foremost in a happy land?
Can learning find no kind reception here,
No friend to aid her, and no voice to cheer?
Are there so few, who care to plead her cause,
And give us learning while they give us laws?
Stay, injured goddess! yet one moment stay,
Nor bear the blessings, which thou bring'st, away!
Yet, if thou find no welcome on our shore,
Go; go, where thou art loved and valued more!
Poor soulless wretch! whom nature never meant

To grasp the greatness of a government !
Go, see what other lands have dared to do,
And, as you wonder, learn to practise too;
Pause for a moment in a sister state,

And learn, it is her Harvard makes her great;
Then go to England's favored clime, and gaze
On the proud pomp of learning's palaces.

Her Cambridge and her Oxford ! there they stand,
The proudest boast and glory of the land,

Arches on arches piled, that point to heaven,
The richest presents that her kings have given,†

* Written at fifteen or sixteen.

The following note is appended to the poem in the original manuscript. "King's College, Cambridge, the pride and glory of the University, was founded by Henry the Sixth, and richly endowed by Henry the Sev

The brightest, fairest gems that sparkle now,
Among the brilliants of her jewelled brow,
All that a people's gratitude can give

Back for the blessings under which they live,
The tribute of her children far and near,
All in its rich profusion gathered here!

Kind Genius of my country, come! Oh come !
And shed one blessing more on this our home!
Grant us to feel, with still expanding mind,

That Learning's foe can ne'er be Freedom's friend,
That, when in after times the hand of fame

Shall wreath green chaplets round each honored

name,

Theirs may the brightest and most honored be,
Who were the friends of learning and of thee!

enth. Queen's College was founded by Margaret of Anjou, the wife of Henry the Sixth. Christ's College, and also St. John's, were founded by Margaret, Countess of Richmond and Derby, the mother of Henry the Seventh. Trinity College, possessing 'the most considerable establishment' in the University, was founded by Edward the Third, but received its chief endowments from Henry the Eighth. The endowments of Queen's College were increased by Elizabeth Widville, the wife of Edward the Fourth. Oxford bears among its patrons the names of Henry the First, Richard the First, Edward the Second, Henry the Eighth, and Charles the First. Christ Church College was founded by the unhappy

Cardinal Wolsey."

THE HIGHLAND FIGHT.*

"The clansmen on every side stripped their plaids, prepared their arms, and there was an awful pause of about three minutes, during which the men pulling off their bonnets raised their faces to heaven and uttered a short prayer, then pulled their bonnets over their brows and moved onward!

WAVERLEY.

SILENT and hushed and motionless!
A death-like pause of breathlessness!
Ten thousand thoughts, all wild and deep,
Which, in their frightful passage, sweep
Across those breasts, that beat so high
With throbs of proud expectancy!
But not a whispered word to break
That silence! kingdoms were at stake!
Kings to be made or be undone,
And battles to be lost or won!
The eyes of anxious nations bent
Towards this angry tournament !
Long gathering wrongs avenged not,
Smothered till now, but ne'er forgot!
Anger, and hate, and hope, and fear,
All, in their might concentred here!

To-morrow! Oh that word to-morrow!
How full of love and hope and sorrow!
To-morrow! it may never come !

And there, in prayerful silence now,

Uncovered is each beating brow,

* Written in October, 1831.

And every lip is quivering there,
As it gives forth its whispered prayer;
Each daring fault, and broken vow,

And crimes, all, all, remembered now!
Whole years of crime of

every die

Memory brings back most painfully; —
Children, and wife, and all who press.
Around each heart in tenderness;
Oh God! preserve their helplessness!
Youth's brow of pride and eyes of light,
And age's hairs so purely white,
The morning wind swept softly o'er ;
It never seemed so sweet before!
They thought upon that far-off home,
Whither their feet might never come ;
One tear! it was the only one !

Father in Heaven! thy will be done!

On! on for the notes of our bugles are swelling,

Their war-cry is forth upon mountain and wave; On! on! where the claymores of Scotland are telling, Their cause is the cause of the loyal and brave !

Where the swords of our foemen are flashing the brightest,

Where the shout of the battle is longest and loudest, There the heart of the Highlander ever is lightest, And its throbs are the freest and strongest and proudest !