My plaid shall shield thy peerless charms

Frae evening's fanning gale,

And saft shall be my circling arms,

And true my simple tale;

And seated by the murmuring brook,
Within the flowery den,

If love's reveal'd in word or look,
There's nane on earth can ken.
Oh! scenes delighting, smiles inviting,
Heartfelt pleasures len',

And oh! how fain to meet alane,
When nane on earth can ken.

There's music in the lighted ha',
And looks in laughing een,
That seem affection forth to show,
That less is felt than seen.
But silent in the faithfu' heart
The charm o' love shall reign,
Or words shall but its power impart
To make it mair our ain.

Let worldlings doat upon their wealth,
And spendthrifts hae their glee,
Not a' the state o' a' the great,
Shall draw a wish frae me;
Away wi' thee by glen an' bower,
Far frae the haunts o' men,
Oh! a' the bliss o' hour like this,
The world can never ken.

VOL. III.

Oh! scenes delighting, smiles inviting,
Heartfelt pleasures len',

And aye how fain we'll meet again,
When nane on earth can ken.

N

DANIEL WEIR.

DANIEL WEIR was born at Greenock, on the 31st of March 1796. His father, John Weir, was a shoemaker, and at one period a small shopkeeper in that town. From his mother, Sarah Wright, he inherited a delicate constitution. His education was conducted at a private school; and in 1809, he became apprentice to Mr Scott, a respectable bookseller in Greenock. In 1815, he commenced business as a bookseller on his own account.

Imbued with the love of learning, and especially of poetry, Weir devoted his hours of leisure to extensive reading and the composition of verses. To the "Scottish Minstrel" of R. A. Smith, he contributed several respectable songs; and edited for Messrs Griffin & Co., booksellers in Glasgow, three volumes of lyric poems, which appeared under the title of "The National Minstrel," "The Sacred Lyre," and "Lyrical Gems." These collections are adorned with many compositions of his own. In 1829, he published a "History of the Town of Greenock," in a thin octavo volume, illustrated with engravings. He died on the 11th November 1831, in his thirty-fifth year.

Possessed of a fine genius, a brilliant fancy, and much gracefulness of expression, Weir has decided claims to remembrance. His conversational talents were of a remarkable description, and attracted to his shop many persons of taste, to whom his poetical talents

were unknown. He was familiar with the whole of the British poets, and had committed their best passages to memory. Possessing a keen relish for the ludicrous, he had at command a store of delightful anecdote, which he gave forth with a quaintness of look and utterance, so as to render the force of the humour totally irresistible. His sarcastic wit was an object of dread to his opponents in burgh politics. His appearance was striking. Rather mal-formed, he was under the middle size; his head seemed large for his person, and his shoulders were of unusual breadth. His complexion was dark, and his eyes hazel; and when his countenance was lit upon the recitation of some witty tale, he looked the impersonation of mirthfulness. Eccentric as were some of his habits and modes of action, he was seriously impressed by religious principle; some of his devotional compositions are admirable specimens of sacred poetry. He left an unpublished MS. poem, entitled "The Pleasures of Religion."

SEE THE MOON.

SEE the moon o'er cloudless Jura
Shining in the lake below;
See the distant mountain tow'ring
Like a pyramid of snow.

Scenes of grandeur-scenes of childhood-
Scenes so dear to love and me!
Let us roam by bower and wildwood—
All is lovelier when with thee.

On Leman's breast the winds are sighing;

All is silent in the

grove;

And the flow'rs, with dew-drops glist'ning,
Sparkle like the eye of love.

Night so calm, so clear, so cloudless;
Blessed night to love and me!
Let us roam by bower and fountain—
All is lovelier when with thee.

LOVE IS TIMID.

LOVE is timid, love is shy,

Can you tell me, tell me why?
Ah! tell me why true love should be
Afraid to meet the kindly smile
Of him she loves, from him would flee,

Yet thinks upon him all the while?
Can you tell me, tell me why
Love is timid, love is shy?

Love is timid, love is shy,

Can you tell me, tell me why?
True love, they say, delights to dwell
In some sequester'd, lonely bow'r,
With him she loves, where none can tell
Her tender look in passion's hour.

Can you tell me, tell me why
Love is timid, love is shy?

Love is timid, love is shy,

Can you tell me, tell me why?
Love, like the lonely nightingale,
Will pour her heart, when all is lone;
Nor will repeat, amidst the vale,

Her notes to any, but to one.
Can you tell me, tell me why
Love is timid, love is shy?

RAVEN'S STREAM.

My love, come let us wander
Where Raven's streams meander,
And where, in simple grandeur,
The daisy decks the plain.

Peace and joy our hours shall measure;
Come, oh! come, my soul's best treasure!
Then how sweet, and then how cheerie,
Raven's braes will be, my dearie.

The silver moon is beaming,
On Clyde her light is streaming;
And, while the world is dreaming,

We'll talk of love, my dear.