And, stretched beneath the inclement skies,
Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies.

Whilst the warm blood bedews my veins,
And unimpaired remembrance reigns,
Resentment of my country's fate
Within my filial breast shall beat;
And, spite of her insulting foe,
My sympathizing verse shall flow.
Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn
Thy banished peace, thy laurels torn!

Tobias George Smollett.

DEIRDRE'S FAREWELL TO ALBA.

DEIRDRE, wife of Naise, the son of Usna, returning with her husband to Emania in Erin, laments for Alba (Scotland) her adopted country.

A

LAS! and alas, my sorrow!

The pain that hath no relief,
Alas! for the dreadful morrow
To dawn on our day of grief!
O land in the orient glowing,

The last of thy smiles hath shone

On us, for Fate's wind is blowing,

And the wave of our doom speeds on,

And a blight from the westward cometh, and the bloom of our life is gone!

O land of the morn-bright mountains
With the purple moors at their feet,
Of the clear leaf-mirroring fountains

And rivers of waters sweet;
Of the fragrant wood-bowers twining,
And the cataract's sounding roar,

Of the lakes in their splendor shining,

With the pine-woods whispering o'er,

Ah! naught but my lord, my lover, could lure me from thy green shore!

Sweet is it in Daro's valley

To list to the falling rill,

To the breeze in the woodland alley
And the goshawk's note from the hill,
To the light-winged swallow pursuing
His mate with a joyous cry,

To the cuckoo's voice and the cooing
Of doves in the pine-tops high,

And the throstle's song in the thicket, and the lark's from the morning sky!

Under the summer arbor

By the fresh sea-breezes fanned, Where the waters of Drayno's harbor Sing over silver sand,

Happy from morn till even

We've watched the seabirds play,

And the ocean meeting the heaven

In the distance far away,

And the gleam of the white-sailed galleys, and the

flash of the sunlit spray!

In Masan the green, the blooming,
How happy our days did pass;

Many its flowers perfuming,

And studding like gems the grass: There the Foxglove purpled the hollow,

And the Iris flaunted its gold,

And the flower that waits for the swallow,

Its dainty bloom to unfold,

With the Hyacinth blue and the Primrose, laught in the breezy wold.

In Eta of sunny weather

'Neath our happy home-porch hid,
On venison sweet from the heather
And flesh of the mountain kid,
On game from the forest cover
And fish from the crystal stream,

We feasted till eve was over,

And the moon with her silver gleam

Soared o'er the dusky pine-woods out from the realm

of dream.

O land of the East! O Giver

Of freedom from sore distress!
O land where no cloud came ever
To darken our happiness!
O home of pleasure and promise

And peace unto mine and me,

When I see thy shores fade from us,

I sigh in my misery,

And send my voice o'er the waters crying farewell to

thee!

From the Gaelic. Tr. Anon.

SCOTLAND.

Abbotsford.

A FAREWELL TO ABBOTSFORD.

THESE lines were given to Sir Walter Scott at the gate of Abbotsford, in the summer of 1829. He was then apparently in the vigor of an existence whose energies promised long continuance; and the glance of his quick, smiling eye, and the very sound of his kindly voice, seemed to kindle the gladness of his own sunny and benignant spirit in all who had the happiness of approaching him.

[OME of the gifted! fare thee well,

HOME

And a blessing on thee rest!
While the heather waves its purple bell
O'er moor and mountain crest;

While stream to stream around thee calls,

And braes with broom are dressed,
Glad be the harping in thy halls, --
A blessing on thee rest!

While the high voice from thee sent forth
Bids rock and cairn reply,

Wakening the spirits of the North,

Like a chieftain's gathering cry;

While its deep master-tones hold sway
As a king's o'er every breast,
Home of the legend and the lay!
A blessing on thee rest!

Joy to the hearth and board and bower!
Long honors to thy line!

And hearts of proof, and hands of power,
And bright names worthy thine!
By the merry step of childhood, still
May thy free sward be pressed!

While one proud pulse in the land can thrill,

A blessing on thee rest!

Felicia Hemans.

ABBOTSFORD.

[OT only for the Bard of highest worth, But best of men,

Do I invoke ye, Powers of Heaven and Earth!
O, where and when

Shall we again behold his counterpart,
Such kindred excellence of head and heart?

So good and great, benevolent as wise,
On his high throne

How meekly hath he borne his faculties!
How finely shown

A model to the irritable race,

Of generous kindness, courtesy, and grace!

Horace Smith.