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Or is it over ? - art thou dead ?

Dead ? — and no warning shiver ran Across my heart, to say thy thread

Of life was cut, and closed thy span !

If Colin 's weel, and weel content,

I hae nae mair to craye : And gin I live to keep him sae

I 'm blest aboon the lave : And will I see his face again?

And will I hear him speak ?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.
For there 's nae luck about the house,

There's nae luck at a';
There 's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman 's awa'.

WILLIAM J. MICKLE.

Could from earth's ways that figure slight

Be lost, and I not feel ’t was so ? Of that fresh voice the gay delight

Fail from earth's air, and I not know?

Or shall I find thee still, but changed,

But not the Marguerite of thy prime ? With all thy being rearranged,

Passed through the crucible of time;

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oar,

0, what more of the world could one wish for

THE EMIGRANT'S WISH. beside, As we gazed on the river unrolled,

I WISH we were hame to our ain folk, Till we heard, or we fancied, its musical tide,

Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk, When it flowed through the gateway of gold! Where the simple are weal, and the gentle are leal,

And the hames are the hames o' our ain folk. *Jennie June," then I said, “let us linger no

We've been wi' the gay, and the gude where

we've come, On the banks of the beautiful river;

We're courtly wi' many, we're couthy wi' some; Let the boat be unmoored, and be muffled the But something 's still wantin' we never can find

Sin' the day that we left our auld neebors behind. And we'll steal into heaven together. If the angel on duty our coming descries,

0, I wish we were hame to our ain folk, You have nothing to do but throw off the dis- Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk, guise

Where daffin and glee wi' the friendly and free That you wore while you wandered with me,

Made our hearts aye sae fond o' our ain folk. And the sentry shall say, Welcome back to the Though Spring had its moils, and Summer its skies,

toils, We long have been waiting for thee.'

And Autumn craved pith ere we gathered its

spoils, Oh ! how sweetly she spoke, ere she uttered a

Yet Winter repaid a' the toil that we took, word,

When ilk ane crawed crouse by his ain ingle nook. With that blush, partly hers, partly even's, And a tone, like the dream of a song we once O, I wish we were hame to our ain folk, heard,

Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk, As she whispered, This way is not heaven's: Where maidens and men in hall and in glen For the River that runs by the realm of the blest Still welcome us aye as their ain folk. Has no song on its ripple, no star on its breast; They told us in gowpens we'd gather the gear, Oh! that river is nothing like this,

Sae sune as we cam' to the rich Mailins here, For it glides on in shadow beyond the world's But what are the Mailins, or what are they worth, west,

If they be not enjoyed in the land o' our birth ! Till it breaks into beauty and bliss.”

Then I wish we were hame to our ain folk, I am lingering yet, but I linger alone,

Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk, On the banks of the beautiful river ;

But deep are the howes and high are the knowes, ’T is the twin of that day, but the wave where it That keep us awa’ frae our ain folk. shone

The seat by the door where our auld faithers sat, Bears the willow-tree's shadow forever.

To tell a' the news, their views, and a' that,
While down by the kailyard the burnie rowed

clear,
’T was mair to my liking than aught that is here.

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BENJAMIN F. TAYLOR.

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ABSENT.

FROM you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April, dressed in all his trim,
Hath put a spirit of Youth in everything,
That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him.
Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odor and in hue,
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they

grew :
Nor did I wonder at the lilies white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose ;
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.
Yet seemed it winter still, and you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.

Then I wish we were hame to our ain folk,
Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk,
Where the wild thistles wave o'er th' abode o' the

brave,
And the graves are the graves o' our ain folk.
But happy, gey lucky, we'll trudge on our way,
Till our arm waxes weak and our haffets grow

gray ;
And, tho’ in this world our ain still we miss,
We'll meet them at last in a world o' bliss.

And then we'll be hame to our ain folk,
Our kind and our true-hearted ain folk,
Where far 'yont the moon in the heavens aboon
The hames are the hames o' our ain folk.

SHAKESPEARE,

ANONYMOUS.

thee ;

thee;

dened ;

COME TO ME, DEAREST.

Smiles coming seldom, but childlike and simple,

Planting in each rosy cheek a sweet dimple ; COME to me, dearest, I'm lonely without thee,

0, thanks to the Saviour, that even thy seeming Daytime and night-time, I'm thinking about Is left to the exile to brighten his dreaming. Night-time and daytime, in dreams I behold

You have been glad when you knew I was gladUnwelcome the waking which ceases to fold thee. Come to me, darling, my sorrows to lighten,

Dear, are you sad now to hear I am saddened ? Come in thy beauty to bless and to brighten ;

Our hearts ever answer in tune and in time, love, Come in thy womanhood, meekly and lowly,

As octave to octave, and rhyme unto rhyme, love : Come in thy lovingness, queenly and holy.

I cannot weep but your tears will be flowing,

You cannot smile but my cheek will be glowing ; Swallows will flit round the desolate ruin,

I would not die without you at my side, love, Telling of spring and its joyous renewing ;

You will not linger when I shall have died, love. And thoughts of thy love, and its manifold treasure, Are circling my heart with a promise of pleasure. Come to me, dear, ere I die of my sorrow, O Spring of my spirit, O May of my bosom, Rise on my gloom like the sun of to-morrow; Shine outon my soul, till it bourgeon and blossom; Strong, swift, and fond as the words which I The waste of my life has a rose-root within it. speak, love, And thy fondness alone to the sunshine can win it. With a song on your lip and a smile on your

cheek, love. Figure that moves like a song through the even; Come, for my heart in your absence is weary, Features lit up by a reflex of heaven ;

Haste, for my spirit is sickened and dreary, Eyes like the skies of poor Erin, our mother, Come to the arms which alone should caress thee, Where shadow and sunshine are chasing each come to the heart that is throbbing to press thee !

other;

JOSEPH BRENNAN.

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ISAPPOINTMENT

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In This, I fondly hoped to last,
But Imry with malignant

a Irrent whom Dealt alone could sever

with malignant Grash Kas toon the from my Anost forever

sos

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