marriage. Jean probably expected that, if her par ents were first made acquainted with her fault by the announcement of clandestine nuptials, they would look more mildly upon it; for such is a common course of circumstances in her rank in life in Scotland. But it was otherwise in this case. Knowing well that Burns was not in flourishing circumstances, it appeared to the father that marriage, so far from mending the matter, made it worse.

Burns came forward on this occasion with all the manliness which his character would have led us to expect. He admitted the hopelessness of his present circumstances; but he offered to go out to Jamaica in the hope of bettering them, and of coming home in a few years and claiming Jean as his wife. If this plan should not meet Mr. Armour's approbation, he was willing to descend even to the condition of a cominon laborer, in order to furnish means for the present support of his wife and her expected offspring. Mr. Armour met every proposal with rejection. He announced his resolution, if possible, to annul the marriage, such as it was. Yielding to his demand, probably preferred in no mild mood, Jean surrendered the paper to her angry father, by whom it was placed in the hands of Mr. Aiken of Ayr. There were some violent and distressing scenes between the parties. Not endowed by nature with very deep or abiding feelings, and depressed in spirit by the sense of her error, Jean, to the utter confusion of Burns, appeared less willing to cleave to her husband than to her father. The poet viewed her conduct with deep resentment, and was thrown by it into a state of mind which, according to his own confession, "had very nearly

given him one or two of the principal qualifications for a place among those who have lost the chart and mistaken the reckoning of rationality."

He instantly made up his mind to exile from his much-loved country. His poverty and imprudeuce made that course desirable; and after the mortifica tion he had met with, he had no longer the wish to stay at home. He therefore agreed with a Dr. Doug las to go out to Jamaica as a book-keeper on his

estate.

Оn thou pale orb, that silent shines,

While care-untroubled mortals sleep!
Thou seest a wretch who inly pines,
And wanders here to wail and weep!
With woe I nightly vigils keep

Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam;
And mourn, in lamentation deep,
How life and love are all a dream.

I joyless view thy rays adorn
The faintly-markèd distant hill:
I joyless view thy trembling horn
Reflected in the gurgling rill:
My fondly-fluttering heart be still!
Thou busy power, remembrance, cease!

Ah! must the agonising thrill

For ever bar returning peace!

No idly-feigned poetic pains.

My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim;

No shepherd's pipe-Arcadian strains ;
No fabled tortures, quaint and tame:
The plighted faith, the mutual flame,
The oft-attested Powers above,
The promised father's tender name —
These were the pledges of my love!

Encircled in her clasping arms,

How have the raptured moments flown! How have I wished for fortune's charms For her dear sake, and hers alone! And must I think it!-is she gone, My secret heart's exulting boast? And does she heedless hear my groan? And is she ever, ever lost?

Oh can she bear so base a heart,
So lost to honour, lost to truth,
As from the fondest lover part,

The plighted husband of her youth!
Alas! life's path may be unsmooth!

Her way may lie through rough distress! Then who her pangs and pains will soothe, Her sorrows share, and make them less?

Ye winged hours that o'er us passed,
Enraptured more, the more enjoyed,
Your dear remembrance in my breast,

My fondly-treasured thoughts employed. That breast, how dreary now, and void,

For her too scanty once of room! Even every ray of hope destroyed,

And not a wish to gild the gloom!

The morn that warns th' approaching day, Awakes me up to toil and woe:

I see the hours in long array,

That I must suffer, lingering, slow.
Full many a pang, and many a throe,
Keen recollection's direful train,

Must wring my soul ere Phoebus, low,
Shall kiss the distant western main.

And when my nightly couch I try,

Sore harassed out with care and grief,
My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye
Keep watchings with the nightly thief.
Or if I slumber, fancy, chief,

Reigns haggard-wild in sore affright:
Even day, all bitter, brings relief
From such a horror-breathing night.

Oh thou bright queen, who o'er th' expanse; Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway Oft has thy silent-marking glance

Observed us, fondly-wandering, stray!

The time unheeded sped away,

While love's luxurious pulse beat high, Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray,

To mark the mutual kindling eye.

Oh scenes in strong remembrance set!
Scenes never, never to return!
Scenes, if in stupor I forget,
Again I feel, again I burn!

From every joy and pleasure torn,
Life's weary vale I'll wander through;
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn
A faithless woman's broken vow.

DESPONDENCY.

AN ODE.

OPPRESSED with grief, oppressed with care,

A burden more than I can bear,

I set me down and sigh:
Oh life! thou art a galling lead,
Along a rough, a weary road,
To wretches such as I!
Dim-backward as I cast my view,
What sickening scenes appear!

What sorrows yet may pierce me through,

Too justly I may fear!

Still caring despairing,

Must be my bitter doom;

My woes here shall close ne'er

But with the closing tomb!