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In darkness, through the dreary length

Of winter, slept both bud and bloom ;
But Nature now puts forth her strength,

And starts, renew'd, as from the tomb ;
Behold an emblem of thy doom,

O man! a star hath shone to save,
And morning yet shall re-illume

The midnight darkness of the grave !


Yet ponder well, how then shall break

The dawn of second life on thee,-
Shalt thou to hope, to bliss awake?

Or vainly strive God's wrath to flee ?
Then shall pass forth the dread decree,

That makes or weal or woe thine own;
Up and to work ! Eternity

Must reap the harvest Time has sown!

Treasures of the Deep.

What hid'st thou in thy treasure-caves and cells?

Thou hollow-sounding and mysterious Main ! Pale glist'ning pearls, and rainbow-coloured shells, Bright things which gleam unreck'd of and in


Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea!

We ask not such from thee.

Yet more, the Depths have more !-What wealth

untold, Far down, and shining through their stillness,

lies ! Thou hast the starry gems, the burning gold,

Won from ten thousand royal Argosies. Sweep o'er thy spoils, thou wild and wrathful Main !

Earth claims not thee again!

Yet more, the Depths have more !—Thy waves

have roll'd Above the cities of a world gone by! Sand hath fill'd up the palaces of old,

Seaweed o'ergrown the halls of revelry ! Dash o'er them, Ocean ! in thy scornful play,

Man yields them to decay !

Yet more! the Billows and the Depths have more !

High hearts and brave are gather'd to thy breast ! They hear not now the booming waters roar,

The battle-thunders will not break their rest, Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave !

Give back the true and brave !

Give back the lost and lovely !—Those for whom

The place was kept at board and hearth so long

The prayer went up through midnight's breathless

gloom, And the vain yearning woķe 'midst festal song ! Hold fast thy buried isles, thy towers o'erthrown,

-But all is not thine own !


The Savoyard's Return.

little cot,

Oh! yonder is the well-known spot,

My dear, my long-lost native home! Oh! welcome is yon

Where I shall rest no more to roam ! Oh! I have travel'd far and wide,

O'er many a distant foreign land ;
Each place, each province I have tried,
And sung and danced my saraband.

But all their charms could not prevail
To steal my heart from yonder vale.

Of distant climes the false report

Allured me from my native land; It bade me rovemy


support My cymbals and my saraband.

The woody dell, the hanging rock,

The chamois skipping o'er the heights ;
The plain adorn’d with many a flock,
And, oh! a thousand more delights,

That grace yon dear beloved retreat,
Have backward won my weary feet.

Now safe return'd, with wandering tired,

No more my little home I'll leave;
And many a tale of what I've seen

Shall while away the winter's eve.
Oh! I have wander'd far and wide,

O’er many a distant foreign land ;
Each place, each province I have tried,

and danced my saraband;
But all their charms could not prevail
To steal my heart from yonder vale.


Lochiel's Ularning.



Wiz. LOCHIEL ! Lochiel, beware of the day
When the Lowland's shall meet thee in battle array !
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight,
And the clans of Culloden are scatter'd in fight :



They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown ;
Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down !
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain,
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war,
What steed to the desert flies frantic and far ?
'Tis thine, oh Glenullin ! whose bride shall await,
Like a love-lighted watch-tire, all night at the gate.
A steed comes at morning: no rider is there ;
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair.
Weep, Albin ! to death and captivity led!
Oh weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead ;
For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave,
Culloden! that reeks with the blood of the brave.
Loch. Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling

seer !
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear,
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight,
This mantle, to cover the phantom of fright.
Wiz. Ha ! laugh’st thou, Lochiel, my vision to

Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn!
Say, rush'd the bold eagle exultingly forth,
From his home, in the dark rolling clouds of the

north ?
Lo! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode
Companionless, bearing destruction abroad;
But down let him stoop from his havoc on high !
Ab! home let him speed--for the spoiler is nigh.

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