Then wider as awoke the day,

Was seen a speck--a tiny wing.
That, from the sward, drifting away,
Rose up at heaven's gate, to sing
A matin hymn melodious: Hark!
That orison !-it was the lark,
Hailing the advent of the sun,
Forth like a racer come to run
His fiery course; in brilliant day
The vapours vanishing away,
Had left to his long march a clear
Cloud-unencumbered atmosphere;
And glowed, as on a map unfurled,
The panorama of the world.

Fair was the landscape-very fair—
Yet something still was wanting there;
Something, as 'twere, to lend the whole
Material world a type of soul.

The dreamer wist not what might be
The thing a-lacking; but while he

Pondered in heart the matter over,
Floating between him and the ray
Of the now warm refulgent day,

What is it that his eyes discover?
As through the fields of air it flew,
Larger it loomed, and fairer grew
That form of beauty and of grace,
Which bore of grosser worlds no trace,
Until, as Earth's green plains it neared,
Confest, an Angel's self appeared.

Eye could not gaze on shape so bright, Which from its atmosphere of light, And love, and beauty, shed around,

From every winnow of her wings, Upon the fainting air perfumes,

Sweeter than Thought's imaginings ; And at each silent bend of grace, The dreamer's ruptured eye could trace, (Far richer than the peacock's plumes,) A rainbow shadow on the ground, As if from out elysium's bowers.

From brightest gold to deepest blue,
Blossoms of every form and hue

Had fallen to earth in radiant showers.
Vainly would human words convey
Spiritual music, or portray
Seraphic loveliness-the grace
Flowing like glory from that face,-
Which, as 'twas said of Una's, made
Where'er the sinless virgin strayed,
A sunshine in the shady place:
The snow-drop was her brow; the rose
Her cheek; her clear full gentle eye
The violet in its deepest dye;

The lily of the Nile her nose;

Before the crimson of her lips
Carnations waned in dim eclipse;
And downwards o'er her shoulders white,
As the white rose in fullest blow,
Her floating tresses took delight
To curl in hyacinthine flow :

Her vesture seemed as from the blooms
Of all the circling seasons wove,

With magic warp in fairy looms,

And tissued with the woof of love.

Robert Pollok.

Boru 1799

Died 1827.

THIS distinguished poet was born at Muirhouse, in Renfrewshire, where his father was a farmer. He studied at the University of Glasgow, and was educated for the ministry in the (Presbyterian) United Secession Church. Previous to being licenced he had finished his "Course of Time," a poem so ambitious for a young student, that he had difficulty in obtaining a publisher. Through the influence of Professor Wilson it was at length published in Edinburgh, and speedily obtained an extensive circulation. Pollok is also the author of some prose tales on the Covenanters, which have had a considerable sale. But health had been undermined by excessive study. He undertook a journey to Italy in the hope of re-establishing it; but it was too late, the disease was too far advanced and he returned only to die at Southampton on 15th September 1827.

FRIENDSHIP.

NOT unremembered is the hour when friends

Met. Friends, but few on earth, and therefore dear
Sought oft, and sought almost as oft in vain;

Yet always sought, so native to the heart,
So much desired and coveted by all.

Nor wonder those-thou wonderest not, nor need'st.
Much beautiful, and excellent, and fair,

Than face of faithful friend, fairest when seen
In darkest day; and many sounds were sweet,
Most ravishing and pleasant to the ear;
But sweeter none than voice of faithful friend,
Sweet always, sweetest heard in loudest storm.
Some I remember, and will ne'er forget;
My early friends, friends of my evil day;
Friends in my mirth, friends in my misery too;
Friends given by God in mercy and in love;
My counsellors, my comforters, and guides;
My joy in grief, my second bliss in joy;
Companions of my young desires; in doubt
My oracles, my wings in high pursuit.
O, I remember, and will ne'er forget,
Our meeting spots, our chosen sacred hours,
Our burning words that uttered all the soul,
Our faces beaming with unearthly love;
Sorrow with sorrow sighing, hope with hope
Exulting, heart embracing, heart entire.
As birds of social feather helping each
His fellow's flight, we soared into the skies,
And cast the clouds beneath our feet, and Earth,
With all her tardy, leaden-footed cares,

And talked the speech, and ate the food of heaven!

BYRON.

THERE was another, large of understanding,
Of memory infinite, of judgment deep,
Who knew all learning, and all science knew;
And all phenomena in heaven and earth
Traced to their causes; traced the labyrinths
Of thought, association, passion, will;
And all the subtile, nice affinities

Of matter traced; its virtues, motions, laws;
And most familiarly and deeply talked
Of mental, moral, natural, divine.

Leaving the earth, at will he soared to heaven,
And read the glorious visions of the skies;

And to the music of the rolling spheres
Intelligently listened; and gazed far back
Into the awful depths of Deity;

Did all that mind assisted most could do
And yet in misery lived, in misery died.
Because he wanted holiness of heart.

A deeper lesson this to mortals taught,
And nearer cut the branches of their pride:
That not in mental, but in moral worth,
God excellence placed, and only to the good,
To virtue, granted happiness alone.

Alaric Alexander Watts. (Born 1797

Died 1864.

BORN in London, 19th March 1797. He was for some time a tutor in a family in Manchester, and during his residence there he published, in 1822, "Poetic Sketches." In the same year he became editor of a Leeds paper, and afterwards a busy labourer in the literary field. In 1850 he published his most perfect poems, Lyrics of the Heart." In 1853 he was presented by Government with a pension of £100 a-year, which he enjoyed till his death, 5th April 1864.

TEN YEARS AGO.

I TOO am changed-I scarce know why-
Can feel each flagging pulse decay;
And youth and health, and visions high,
Melt like a wreath of snow away;

Time cannot sure have wrought the ill;

Though worn in this world's sickening strife,

In soul and form, I linger still

In the first summer month of life;

Yet journey on my path below,

Oh! how unlike-ten years ago!

But look not thus: I would not give

The wreck of hopes that thou must share,

To bid those joyous hours revive,

When all around me seemed so fair.

We've wandered on in sunny weather,

When winds were low, and flowers in bloom,

And hand in hand have kept together,

And still will keep, 'mid storm and glɔom ;

Endeared by ties we could not know
When life was young-ten years ago!

Has Fortune frowned? Her frowns were vain,
For hearts like ours she could not chill;
Have friends proved false! Their love might wane,
But ours grew fonder, firmer still.
Twin barks on this world's changing wave,

Steadfast in calms, in tempests tried;
In concert still our fate we'll brave,
Together cleave life's fitful tide;

Nor mourn, whatever winds may blow,
Youth's first wild dreams-ten years ago!

Lord Macaulay.

Born 1800

Died 1859.

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY was born at Rothley Temple, Leicestershire, on 25th October 1800. His father was Zachary Macaulay, son of a Scotch minister, from the Isle of Lewis. Thomas was educated at Cambridge, where he gained two medals for prize poems. In 1825 appeared in the "Edinburgh Review" his article on Milton, which attracted universal notice; it was the first of that long series of brilliant papers which were the earlier basis of his fame. He studied for the English bar, into which he was admitted in 1826. In 1830 Macaulay was returned as Whig member for Calne, and was a prominent supporter of Reform. In 1834 he went to India as a member of the Supreme Council of Calcutta. Returning to England with a fortune, he re-entered political life as Secretary at War in 1839. In 1840, he was returned as M.P. for the city of Edinburgh, which he represented till 1847, when he lost his election. He declined to re-enter Parliament for any other place, and devoted his leisure to the composition of the well known " Lays of Ancient Rome," published in 1842, and of the "History of England," which met with a reception equal to Gibbon's immortal work. Honours were heaped upon him. He was elected rector of Glasgow University in 1849. In 1850 he was appointed Professor of Ancient History in the Royal Academy. In 1852 he was re-elected M.P. for the city of Edinburgh without canvass of any kind. In 1853 he received the Prussian Order of Merit; and in 1857 he was raised to the peerage as Baron Macaulay of Rothley. His health seems to have been injured by the confinement attending his literary labours, and he died on 20th December 1859.

FROM "THE LAYS OF ANCIENT ROME."

THEN out spake brave Horatius,

The captain of the gate;

'To every man upon this earth

Death cometh soon or late.