Deaths.

DEATHS.

May, 5th, At Biggar, the Rev. Daniel M'Naught, minister of the Relief congregation there, much regretted.

25th, At Lidlowan, parish of Killearn, Mr. David Provan, merchant, Glasgow-a young man whose unassuming manners and amiable disposition endeared him to his relations and acquaintances, and has caused his death to be deeply lamented.

June 1st, At Fenwick, Capt. Thomas Miller of the 31st regiment of Foot.

1st, At Edinburgh, at an advanced age, the Rev. Thomas Miller, D. D, minister, Old Cumnock. A high sense of honour-inflexible integrity—social sympathy-benevolence and good humour-and all these mixed with the most perfect politeness and knowledge of the world, and of books, rendered his society exceedingly delightful.— He was indefatigable in the performance of his duties as a clergyman. His own devotion was ardent and tender: and he was assiduous in his endeavours to extend by precept and example the influence of that religion, the history and doctrines of which were his favourite study, while its promises were the joy and consolation of his heart.

3. At Kilmarnock, James Greenshields, Esq. sen. whose upright and independent conduct as a Magistrate, and his mild and condescending manners as a gentleman, secured him the esteem of his fellow citizens, and makes his death to be sincerely regretted.

4. At Edinburgħ, aged 85, Gavin Ralston, Esq. of Ralston, Barrackmaster of Peerhill, Barracks: He was the chief of the very ancient and respectable family of Ralston of that ilk, who had large estates in the counties of Renfrew and Ayr. From his social and convivial disposition, and the genuine goodness and benevolence of his heart, he was highly esteemed during life, and his death regretted by his friends. His remains were brought to Beith, and interred there with Masonic honours.

4th, At Anderston, the Rev. James Stewart, minister of the Relief Congregation there, in the 74th of his age, and the 44th of his ministry. His talents would have rendered him an ornament to any denomination. To discourses evangelical in matter, neat and lucid in arrangement, simple and correct in style, he imparted an interest by a striking, commanding, and graceful address. Chastened fervour and rich variety were his characteristics in prayer. In church judicatories he was fitted to take an active lead, not more by his acquaintance with ecclesiastical regulations than by the soundness of his judgment. In the private circle he was an agreeable and instructive companion; but he uniformly, without ever descending from the dignity of his office, enlivened it by his vivacity, pleasantry and wit, while his fine sensibilities enabled him to enter with equal ease into the feelings of the mourner. Untinged by bigotry and illiberality, the range of his acquaintance was extensive and he has left in every party, those who will sincerely join with his family, and congregation, in their regrets for his loss.

Parody on Lord Ullin's Daughter.

I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not the threatened rompus.

The Smith has raised his iron paws,
An iron block before him,
When O too quick for Gretna's laws;
The tempest gathered o'er them.

But still he married midst the roar
Of chariots fast prevailing,

Young ******* reached the smithy door
In mingled rage and wailing.

For sore dismayed,

Through night and shade,

His sire he did discover,

One aged arm begirt the maid,

And her's were fast in t'other.

Come back! come back! in grief he cried,

And live a widower rather,

And for your children I'll provide,

My father! O my father!

'Twas vain, the bar was in the door, Intrusion all preventing;

Old vulcan's bliss

Was poured on Miss,

And he was left lamenting.

GLASGOW, MAY, 1819.

BRUCE AND COMYN.

Who is he that approaches in armour so bright,
Cried a voice from Lochmaban in silence of night,
The dwelling is closed, and the inmates are gone,
But a stranger appears at the castle alone.

Who is he that approacheth in silence and woe,
As escaped from the grasp of a barbarous foe,
'Tis th' avenger of Wallace who lately hath died,
The avenger of Wallace, the wanderer replied...

The ramparts were opened, a chieftain was seen,
Arrayed in a bonnet of crimson and green,
The claymore he wielded was purple with gore,
Joy seemed to reside in his bosom no more.

A. M.

Bruce and Comyn.

Cried he in a voice that foreboded command,
Is Sir Roger Kirkpatrick the master at hand,
Lochmaban I sought for by night and by day,
And now when I come is the chieftain away!”

Kirkpatrick everted an eye to his crest,

The chief was amazed but the Knight stood confessed,
Stout Annandale flew to his bosom in haste,
And who! but the Bruce had Sir Roger embraced.

His tartans were loosened, his mantle was laid,
And a dagger withdrawn from the fold of his plaid,
Base Comyn I challenge, and if he denies
To fight like a man, by this dagger he dies.'

"Kirkpatrick! Kirkpatrick! a woe has been born,
The trophies that shine in thy hall shall be torn,
This Scroll that the barbarous Comyn hath made,
In a dream by the side of my pillow was laid.'

The coursers are mounted, the chieftains are gone,
Over moss, muir and cairn, through the mountains alone,
The glimmering light of the altar was passed,

The dwelling of Comyn-discovered at last.

He encountered the Knight with a pitiless frown,
The scroll was produced, and his gauntlet thrown down,
Lord Comyn I challenge, and if he denies,

To fight like a man, by this dagger he dies.

Proud chieftain' said Comyn, this vaunting I scorn,.
By Edward, the crown from thy head shall he torn,
Beware! for the ghosts of the dead you have slain,
Shall rise up in terror upon you again.

So seizing a dirk by his belt that was swung,
So pointing the weapon, at Carrick he sprung,
But the monarch arrested the blow as it prest,
And buried a dagger of death in his breast,-

So perish the foes of old Albyn, he cried;
So Bruce hath prevailed, and so Badenach died;
Kirkpatrick, Kirkpatrick-the magic is torn,
That bound us to England's dominion and scorn.

GLASGOW, 1819.

Scorts.

Hope-Fair Ida.

HOPE.

There is a hope of better days,
Of sweeter joys, and louder praise,
That leads the worldly man through strife,
And gilds the paths of active life.
O how fair! but O how fleeting!
Alluring still, and still retreating!
Upon the mourner's weary way
It hardly sheds one timid ray;
Or if it shines, it shines afar,
Like some little nameless star.

But the Hope that dawns from heaven,
Rising o'er the world's decay,
Cheers the heart by anguish riven,

And brightens on to endless day.

May, 1819.

T.

SONG.-FAIR IDA.

Sweet, sweet are the breezes of morn on the heath,
But fragrant and sweeter my young Ida's breath,
As part in soft throbbings her red rosy lips,
Like the flow'ret that opes, while the bee honey sips.
Her face as unclouded as yon silver sky,

The sun that adorns it, her bright rolling eye,
That scatters the shadows and darkness of night,
Which hang over my soul, with effulgence of light.

And pleasant the notes of the lone nightingale,
That thrillingly sweep through the green woody vale;
But ah! the soft accents that flow from her tongue
Are sweeter than music, by nightingale sung.

So meltingly touching, enchantingly sweet,
They sound like the strains which good angels repcat,.
As tuning melodious the smooth flowing measure,
They lave their pure limbs in the fountains of pleasure.

She wanders the mountain, and flits o'er the green
Like a creature of light unexpectedly seen,
The gay blooming flow'rs lift their low drooping heads,
And shoot in fresh verdure, as o'er them she treads.

But oh when her form meets my far-wand'ring eye,
My soul is all rapture and wild ecstacy;

The tender emotions my glad bosom feel
Are like those of spirits, which none can reveal.
Glasgow, 30th May, 1819.

B.