No!-but it tells me of a heart
Allied by friendship's living tie;
A prize beyond the herald's art—
Our soul-sprung consanguinity!

KATHRINE! to many an hour of mine

Light wings and sunshine you have lent; And so adieu, and still be thine The all-in-all of life-Content!

GILDEROY.

THE last, the fatal hour is come,
That bears my love from me:
I hear the dead note of the drum,
I mark the gallows' tree!

The bell has toll'd; it shakes my heart;
The trumpet speaks thy name;

And must my Gilderoy depart
To bear a death of shame?

No bosom trembles for thy doom;
No mourner wipes a tear;

The gallows' foot is all thy tomb,
The sledge is all thy bier.

Oh, Gilderoy! bethought we then
So soon, so sad to part,

When first in Roslin's lovely glen
You triumph'd o'er my heart?

Your locks they glitter'd to the sheen,
Your hunter garb was trim;
And graceful was the ribbon green
That bound your manly limb!

Ah! little thought I to deplore
Those limbs in fetters bound;
Or hear, upon the scaffold floor,
The midnight hammer sound.

Ye cruel, cruel, that combined
The guiltless to pursue;
My Gilderoy was ever kind,
He could not injure you!

A long adieu! but where shall fly
Thy widow all forlorn,

When every mean and cruel eye
Regards my woe with scorn?

Yes! they will mock thy widow's tears,
And hate thine orphan boy;

Alas! his infant beauty wears
The form of Gilderoy.

Then will I seek the dreary mound That wraps thy mouldering clay, And weep and linger on the ground, And sigh my heart

away.

OUR bosoms we'll bare for the glorious strife,
And our oath is recorded on high,

To prevail in the cause that is dearer than life,
Or crush'd in its ruins to die!

Then rise, fellow freemen, and stretch the right hand,
And swear to prevail in your dear native land!

'Tis the home we hold sacred is laid to our trustGod bless the green Isle of the brave! Should a conqueror tread on our forefathers' dust,

It would rouse the old dead from their grave! Then rise, fellow freemen, and stretch the right hand, And swear to prevail in your dear native land!

In a Briton's sweet home shall a spoiler abide,
Profaning its loves and its charms?

Shall a Frenchman insult the loved fair at our side?
To arms! oh, my Country, to arms!

Then rise, fellow freemen, and stretch the right hand, wear to prevail in your dear native land!

Shall a tyrant enslave us, my countrymen !—No!
His head to the sword shall be given-

A death-bed repentance be taught the proud foe,
And his blood be an offering to Heaven!
Then rise, fellow freemen, and stretch the right hand,
And swear to prevail in your dear native land!

THE RITTER BANN.

THE Ritter Bann from Hungary
Came back, renown'd in arms,
But scorning jousts of chivalry,
And love and ladies' charms.

While other knights held revels, he
Was wrapt in thoughts of gloom,
And in Vienna's hostelrie

Slow paced his lonely room.

There enter'd one whose face he knew,-
Whose voice, he was aware,

He oft at mass had listen'd to

In the holy house of prayer.

'Twas the Abbot of St. James's monks,
A fresh and fair old man :

His reverend air arrested even
The gloomy Ritter Bann.