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When the kye come hame, when the kye come hame, 'Tween the gloamin' and the mirk, when the kye come hame.

'Tis not beneath the burgonet, nor yet beneath the crown, 'Tis not on couch of velvet, nor yet on bed of down'Tis beneath the spreading birch, in the dell without a name, Wi' a bonnie, bonnie lassie, when the kye come hame.

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Then the eye shines so bright, the hale soul to beguile,
There's love in every whisper, and joy in every smile;
O, wha wad choose a crown, wi' its perils and its fame,
And miss a bonnie lassie, when the kye come hame?

See yonder pawkie shepherd, that lingers on the hill,
His ewes are in the fauld, and his lambs are lying still:
Yet he downa gang to bed, for his heart is in a flame—
To meet his bonnie lassie, when the kye come hame.

Awa' wi' fame and fortune-what comfort can they gi'e? And a' the arts that prey upon man's life and liberty:

Gi'e me the highest joy that the heart o' man can frame— My bonnie, bonnie lassie, when the kye come hame.

His Skylark is a general favorite, for its rich melody :

Bird of the wilderness, blithesome and cumberless,
Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!
Emblem of happiness, blest is thy dwelling-place—
O to abide in the desert with thee!

Wild is thy lay and loud, far in the downy cloud,
Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.

Where, on thy dewy wing, where art thou journeying?
Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

O'er fell and fountain sheen, o'er moor and mountain green,
O'er the red streamer that heralds the day,

Over the cloudlet dim, over the rainbow's rim,
Musical cherub, soar, singing away!

Then, when the gloaming comes, low in the heather bloom
Sweet will thy welcome and bed of loye be!
Emblem of happiness, blest is thy dwelling-place—

O to abide in the desert with thee!

LAMB-the gentle, genial "Elia"-thus soliloquizes upon the loss of friends :

I have had playmates, I have had companions,

In my days of childhood, in my joyful school-days;
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces!

I have been laughing, I have been carousing,
Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies;
All, all are gone, the old familiar faces!

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Ghost-like I paced round the haunts of my childhood;
Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse,

Seeking to find the old familiar faces.

Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother,
Why wert not thou born in my father's dwelling?
So might we talk of the old familiar faces:
How some they have died, and some they have left me,
And some are taken from me; all are departed;

All, all are gone—the old familiar faces!

The genius of KIRKE WHITE, which elicited the beautiful tribute of Byron, is seen in the following lines, addressed to An Early Primrose :

Mild offspring of a dark and sullen sire!

Whose modest form, so delicately fine,

Was nursed in whirling storms, and cradled in the winds:

Thee, when young Spring first questioned Winter's sway,

And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight,

Thee on this bank he threw, to mark his victory.

In this low vale, the promise of the year,
Serene, thou openest to the nipping gale,
Unnoticed and alone, thy tender elegance.

So virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms
Of chill adversity; in some lone walk

Of life she rears her head, obscure and unobserved;

While every bleaching breeze that on her blows,
Chastens her spotless purity of breast,

And hardens her to bear serene the ills of life.

Hear MONTGOMERY'S glowing apostrophe to Home:

There is a spot of earth supremely blest―
A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest—
Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride;
While in his softened looks benignly blend
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend;
Here woman reigns,—the mother, daughter, wife,—
Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of life ;
In the clear heaven of her delighted eye,
An angel-guard of loves and graces lie;
Around her knees domestic duties meet,
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.

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The beautiful lines which he wrote upon Burns, will win a welcome from every reader :

:

What bird, in beauty, flight, or song, can with the Bard compare,
Who sang as sweet, and soared as strong, as ever child of air?
His plume, his note, his form, could Burns for whim or pleasure

change;

He was not one, but all by turns, with transmigration strange :The blackbird, oracle of Spring, when flowed his moral lay; The swallow, wheeling on the wing, capriciously at play;

The humming-bird, from bloom to bloom, inhaling heavenly balm; The raven, in the tempest's gloom, the halcyon in the calm :

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The woodlark in his mournful hours, the goldfinch in his mirth; The thrush, a spendthrift of his powers, enrapturing heaven and earth;

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The swan, in majesty and grace, contemplative and still:
But roused-no falcon in the chase could like his satire kill;
The linnet, in simplicity; in tenderness, the dove;
But more than all beside was he the nightingale in love.

Oh! had he never stooped to shame, nor lent a charm to vice,
How had devotion loved to name that bird of paradise!
Peace to the dead! In Scotia's choir of minstrels great and small,
He sprang from his spontaneous fire, the phoenix of them all!

One of the most spirit-stirring poems in the language is Montgomery's Patriot's Pass-word. It is founded on the heroic achievement of Arnold de Winkelried, at the battle of Sempach, in which the Swiss insurgents secured the freedom of their country against the despotic power of Austria, in the fourteenth century:

Ir arms the Austrian phalanx stood,—
A living wall, a human wood!
Impregnable their front appears,
All horrent with projected spears,
Whose polished points before them shine,
From flank to flank, one brilliant line,
Bright as the breakers' splendors run
Along the billows to the sun.
Opposed to these, a hovering band
Contended for their fatherland.

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Marshalled once more at Freedom's call,
They came to conquer, or to fall,—

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