Whose likeness never can delight the eye,

Or glad the heart. Oh! there is ever pain Mixed up with pleasure, and the brightest

thing,

However pure, some shadow with them bring.

IV.

Such was the morning, such its sovereign power
Over this soul; and, willing to possess

Some portion of that beauty, one sweet flower
Sparkling with dew, hung down in loveliness;
I plucked it! radiant as youth's virtuous hour,
To-day I found it! oh, but who could guess
It was the same ? Scent, colour, beauties fled,
Like feelings crushed, and young hopes cold and
dead.

V.

'Tis ever thus, Glenalvon, day by day,

The heart's long-cherished flowers droop and

die,

Each morrow takes some lovely thing away,

Like dewdrops that return to the sky
Just as they sparkled on the wilding spray,
Leaving its opening petals shrunk and dry.
Oh! may thy heart for many years retain
The sweets of poesy without the pain!

No. II.

TO A FRIEND, ON HIS LEAVING THE COUNTRY.

I.

How oft when mild evening in beauty is throwing

A gorgeous farewell o'er the scene far and wide, And when sunset in all its soft splendour is glowing, In circlets of gold o'er the Slaney's blue tide, Shall I think, as I gaze on that varying splendour, Of the hours I have passed with the friend of my

soul,

Whose heart is as warm, and whose feelings as tender,

As e'er met in friendship and smiles round the bowl.

II.

Ah, yes! and when melody, music, and gladness

Encircle the board at the festival cheer,

Will a thought of thee throw o'er this bosom a sadness

When I look round and find that thou too art not

here;

Like the memory of childhood that o'er us comes stealing,

In visions too bright for the pen to impart,

Shall thy name be embalmed in the innermost feel

ing,

Of all that is prized and endeared to this heart.

III.

When around thee domestic enchantments are

twining,

And thy favourite boy by thy knee is at play, And the moon in its holiest radiance is shining, Oh! wilt thou remember thy friend far away? And when 'midst life's heartlessness, strife, and commotion,

Thy heart may then turn, as turn it will,

To thy own native vales by the side of the ocean, Then think of one friend that is true to thee still.

No. 12.

MY OLD COMPANIONS.

I.

My old companions! how I love the few
That still remain of all that little band!

Unlike the rest of mankind, they were true,
And changed not; though some sought a foreign.
strand,

And held but slight communion with the land

That gave them birth, yet their day-dreams stray, And conjure up, like an enchanter's wand,

The friends of youth, the old familiar play,
And all those visions of life's fair but fleeting day.

II.

Yes; I have ever loved them, for they came

And went away like the fresh flowers of Spring, And what though others come! they're not the

same,

Round which our young affections used to cling. Though kind and faithful, they can never bring

Back to the lonely heart the glorious hours Of early life, unmixed, without a sting,

When every scene appeared like love's own bowers,

And all the fragrant earth one wilderness of

flowers.

III.

One sought a home where evening, soft and mild, Threw its rich splendour o'er the western wave, A denizen a pilgrim of the wild,

In foreign climes, rather than be a slave In his own land! Oh! he was noble, brave, And generous; and gladly would have sought His country's freedom in a bloody grave: For from his early years his spirit caught The light of liberty, unconquered and unbought.

IV.

Another grappled with his adverse lot,

Until each hope and light had one by one

Faded away, and left a dreary blot,

A stain, a mildew on a soul that shone

Amid the gloom, like lightning's flash upon
Some splendid ruin, scathed, rent, and bare,
Fit emblem of a soul that's blasted by despair!

V.

Lowered and sunk he too hath left his home,
A blank within his heart, and on his brow,
Not grief, nor hate, nor scorn, but each did come
And "set his signet there," yet could not bow
Nor break that iron soul. But even now,

As when the waters of life's summer stream
In gladness broke beneath the bounding prow,
Oh! speak of some remembered place or name,
And once again that soul's all love, and light, and
flame.

VI.

The next is passing life away within

A city's precincts, with its crowd and noise, But oft his thoughts have wandered to the glen Where we have strayed when we were careless

boys;

Aye, and that reverie gives sweeter joys

Than the gay revels laugh of heartlessness: The practised smile, the sparkling bowl soon cloys, And mirth that mocks the inward soul's distress, And simoon-like, makes the poor heart a wilder

ness.