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his humble friends and his loom in Scotland. I died in deep poverty at Dundee, Feb. 29, 1848,

From this time a change came over him. He walked about, as his brother-poet Gow said, "with his death upon him." The last paper he wrote was entitled "Weeds," for which Douglas Jerrold sent him five pounds.

He

and his remains were honoured with a public funeral. He had married a second time, and left a widow and three children, for whom a handsome sum was afterwards raised by subscription.

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He launched a leaf o' jessamine,

On whilk he daured to swim,

An' pillowed his head on a wee rosebud, Syne laithfu', lanely, Love 'gan send

Down Ury's waefu' stream.

The birds sang bonnie as Love drew near, But dowie when he gaed by;

Till lulled wi' the sough o' mony a sang, He sleepit fu' soun' an' sailed alang Neath heav'n's gowden sky!

'Twas just whaur creepin' Ury greets

Its mountain-cousin Don,

There wandered forth a weel-faur'd dame, Wha listless gazed on the bonnie stream, As it flirted an' played wi' a sunny beam That flickered its bosom upon.

Love happit his head, I trow, that time,
The jessamine bark drew nigh,
The lassie espied the wee rosebud,
An' aye her heart gae thud for thud,
An' quiet it wadna lie.

"O gin I but had yon wearie wee flower
That floats on the Ury sae fair!"
She lootit her hand for the silly rose-leaf,
But little wist she o' the pawkie thief
Was lurkin' an' laughin' there!

Love glower'd when he saw her bonnie dark e'e,
An' swore by heaven's grace

He ne'er had seen, nor thought to see,
Since e'er he left the Paphian lea,

Sae lovely a dwallin' place.

Syne, first of a', in her blythesome breast,
He built a bower, I ween;

An' what did the waefu', devilick neist?
But kindled a gleam like the rosy east,
That sparkled frae baith her een.

An' then beneath ilk high e'e-bree
He placed a quiver there;

His bow? what but her shinin' brow?
An' O! sic deadly strings he drew

Frae out her silken hair.

Guid be our guard! sic deeds waur deen,
Roun' a' our countrie then;

An' mony a hangin' lug was seen
'Mang farmers fat, an' lawyers lean,
An' herds o' common men'

DREAMINGS OF THE BEREAVED.

The morning breaks bonnie o'er mountain an' stream,

An' troubles the hallowed breath o' my dream! The gowd light of morning is sweet to the e'e, But, ghost-gathering midnight, thou'rt dearer

to me.

The dull common world then sinks from my sight,
An' fairer creations arise to the night;
When drowsy oppression has sleep-sealed my e'e,
Then bright are the visions awaken'd to me!

O! come, spirit mother, discourse of the hours,
My young bosom beat all its beating to yours,
When heart-woven wishes in soft counsel fell,
On ears-how unheedful prov'd sorrow might tell!
That deathless affection-nae trial could break,
When a' else forsook me ye wouldna forsake;
Then come, O! my mother, come often to me,
An' soon an' for ever I'll come unto thee!
An' thou shrouded loveliness! soul-winning Jean,
How cold was thy hand on my bosom yestreen!

'Twas kind-for the lowe that your e'e kindled there

O! bless

Will burn-ay, an' burn, till that breast beat nae
mair.
Our bairnies sleep round me.
ye their
sleep,
Your ain dark-e'ed Willie will wauken an' weep;
But, blythe in his weepin', he'll tell me how you,
His heaven-hamed mammie, was "dautin' his
brow."

THE MITHERLESS BAIRN.
When a'ither bairnies are hushed to their hame,
By aunty, or cousin, or frecky grand-dame:
Wha stan's last an' lanely, an' naebody carin'?---
"Tis the puir doited loonie-the mitherless bairn!

The mitherless bairn gangs till his lane bed,
Nane covers his cauld back, or haps his bare head;
An' litheless the lair o' the mitherless bairn!

Though dark be our dwallin'—our happin' though His wee hackit heelies are hard as the airn, bare,

An' night closes round us in cauldness an' care;
Affection will warm us—an' bright are the beams
That halo our hame in yon dear land of dreams.
Then weel may I welcome the night's deathy reign,
Wi' souls of the dearest I mingle me then;
The gowd light of morning is lightless to me,
But oh for the night wi' its ghost revelrie!

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For, oh! I thought I ne'er had seen a look so kind before!

I heard my true love sing, and she taught me many a strain,

But a voice so sweet, oh! never shall my cold ear hear again.

In all our friendless wanderings, in homeless penury,

Her gentle song and jetty eye were all unchanged to me.

I saw my true love fade-I heard her latest sigh

I wept no friv'lous weeping when I closed her lightless eye;

Far from her native Tay she sleeps, and other

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Aneath his cauld brow, siccan dreams tremble
there,

O'hands that wont kindly to kame his dark hair!
But mornin' brings clutches, a' reckless an' stern,
That lo'e nae the locks o' the mitherless bairn!

Yon sister, that sang o'er his saftly-rock'd bed,
Now rests in the mools whaur her mammie is laid;
The father toils sair their wee bannock to earn,
An' kens nae the wrangs o' his mitherless bairn!

Her spirit, that pass'd in yon hour o❜ his birth,

Still watches his wearisome wand'rings on earth,

Recording in heaven the blessings they earn

Wha couthilie deal wi' the mitherless bairn!

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When night in holy silence brings

The God-willed hour of sleep,
Then, then the red-eyed revel swings
Its bowl of poison deep!

When morning waves its golden hair,
And smiles o'er hill and lea,
One sick ning ray is doomed to glare
On yon rude revelry!

The rocket's flary moment sped,

Sinks black'ning back to earth;
Yet darker-deeper sinks his head
Who shares the drunkard's mirth!

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to have been a man of ability.

After Hervey's death, February 17, 1859, a collection of his poems was made by his widow, which, together with a memoir from her practised pen, was published in the United States in 1867. Dr. D. M. Moir says:-"The genius of T. K. Hervey (for he has genius at once pathetic and refined) is not unallied to that of Pringle and Watts, but with a dash of Tom Moore. He writes uniformly with taste and elaboration, polishing the careless and

THOMAS KIBBLE HERVEY was born February | years afterwards he was sole editor, proves him 4, 1799, at Paisley, the birthplace of so many poets and men of eminence. He was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, and devoted some years to the study of law, but abandoned it and adopted the more congenial pursuit of literature. In 1824 Hervey published his poem "Australia," which contains many exquisite descriptive passages, showing that he possessed the "inspiration and the faculty divine." Five years later he issued The Poetical Sketch-book, including a third edition of "Australia." His next volumes, pub-rejecting the crude; and had he addressed lished in the order named, were Illustrations of Modern Scripture, The English Helicon, and The Book of Christmas, every page of which affords a literary feast worthy of the happy season. Mr. Hervey was also the author of a satirical poem entitled "The Devil's Progress," and many popular pieces contributed to the pages of various annuals edited by him. His connection with the London Athenæum, of which at its commencement and for several

himself more earnestly and more unreservedly to the task of composition, I have little doubt, from several specimens he has occasionally exhibited, that he might have occupied a higher and more distinguished place in our poetical literature than he can be said to have attained. His 'Australia' and several of his lyrics were juvenile pledges of future excellence which maturity can scarcely be said to have fully redeemed."

THE CONVICT SHIP.

Morn on the waters! and, purple and bright,
Bursts on the billows the flushing of light;
O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun,
See the tall vessel goes gallantly on;
Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail,

And her pennon streams onward, like hope, in the gale.

The winds come around her in murmur and song,

And the surges rejoice as they bear her along.

See! she looks up to the golden-edged clouds,
And the sailor sings gaily aloft in the shrouds.
Onward she glides amid ripple and spray,
Over the waters-away and away!
Bright as the visions of youth ere they part,
Passing away, like a dream of the heart!
Who-as the beautiful pageant sweeps by,
Music around her and sunshine on high-
Pauses to think, amid glitter and glow,
Oh! there be hearts that are breaking below!

Night on the waves! and the moon is on high,
Hung like a gem on the brow of the sky,
Treading its depths in the power of her might,
And turning the clouds, as they pass her, to light!
Look to the waters! asleep on their breast,
Seems not the ship like an island of rest?
Bright and alone on the shadowy main,
Like a heart-cherished home on some desolate
plain!

Who-as she smiles in the silvery light,
Spreading her wings on the bosom of night,
Alone on the deep as the moon in the sky,
A phantom of beauty-could deem, with a sigh,
That so lovely a thing is the mansion of sin,
And that souls that are smitten lie bursting
within?

Who, as he watches her silently gliding,
Remembers that wave after wave is dividing
Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not sever,
Hearts that are parted and broken for ever?
Or deems that he watches, afloat on the wave,
The death-bed of hope, or the young spirit's
grave?

"Tis thus with our life while it passes along,
Like a vessel at sea amidst sunshine and song!
Gaily we glide in the gaze of the world,
With streamers afloat and with canvas unfurled,
All gladness and glory to wandering eyes,
Yet chartered by sorrow and freighted with sighs;
Fading and false is the aspect it wears,

As the smiles we put on, just to cover our tears; And the withering thoughts that the world cannot know,

Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below; Whilst the vessel drives on to that desolate shore Where the dreams of our childhood are vanished and o'er.

THE DEAD TRUMPETER.

Wake, soldier! wake! thy war-horse waits
To bear thee to the battle back;-
Thou slumberest at a foeman's gates;-
Thy dog would break thy bivouac;-
Thy plume is trailing in the dust,
And thy red falchion gathering rust!

Sleep, soldier! sleep! thy warfare o'er,Not thine own bugle's loudest strain Shall ever break thy slumbers more,

With summons to the battle-plain; A trumpet note more loud and deep Must rouse thee from that leaden sleep.

Thou need'st nor helm nor cuirass now,
Beyond the Grecian hero's boast,—
Thou wilt not quail thy naked brow,
Nor shrink before a myriad host,-
For head and heel alike are sound-
A thousand arrows cannot wound.

Thy mother is not in thy dreams,
With that mild, widowed look she wore
The day-how long to her it seems!—

She kissed thee at the cottage door,
And sicken'd at the sounds of joy
That bore away her only boy.

Sleep, soldier! let thy mother wait
To hear thy bugle on the blast;
Thy dog, perhaps, may find the gate;
And bid her home to thee at last;-
He cannot tell a sadder tale

Than did thy clarion, on the gale, When last-and far away-she heard its lingering echoes fail!

THE GONDOLA GLIDES.

The gondola glides,

Like a spirit of night, O'er the slumbering tides, In the calm moonlight. The star of the north

Shows her golden eye, But a brighter looks forth From yon lattice on high!

Her taper is out,

And the silver beam Floats the maiden about

Like a beautiful dream! And the beat of her heart

Makes her tremble all o'er; And she lists with a start

To the dash of the oar.

But the moments are past,
And her fears are at rest,
And her lover at last

Holds her clasped to his breast;

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JAMES LAWSON was born in Glasgow, November 9, 1799. He completed his education at the university of his native city, and in 1815 emigrated to the United States, and entered the counting-house of a relative resid- | ing in New York. A few years later the failure of the firm of which Lawson was a partner induced him to turn his attention to literature. In company with James G. Brooks and John B. Skilman he established the Morning Courier, the first number of which appeared in 1827. In 1829 Lawson retired from this concern, and joined Amos Butler in the Mercantile Advertiser, with which he was associated till 1833. In 1830 he published a volume entitled Tales and Sketches by a Cosmopolite. His next work was Giordano: a Tragedy, an Italian state story of love and conspiracy, which was first performed at the Park Theatre, New York. The prologue was written by William Leggett, and the epilogue by P. M. Wetmore. Mr. Lawson has several times appeared before the public in connection with the stage. He was associated with the American poets Fitz - Greene Halleck and William Cullen Bryant on the committee which secured for Edwin Forrest the prize play of

"Metamora" by John A. Stone, and he was also one of a similar committee which selected the prize play of "Nimrod Wildfire, or the Kentuckian in New York," by James K. Paulding.

Since his retirement from the press in 1833 Mr. Lawson has engaged in the business of marine insurance, and is well known among the mercantile men of New York. He has been during the past fifty years a frequent contributor of criticisms, essays, tales, and verse to the periodicals of the day; and in 1857 printed for private circulation an octavo volume entitled Poems: Gleanings from Spare Hours of a Business Life, with the following dedication:-"To my Children and their Mother, these poems, at their solicitation thus gathered together but not published, are affectionately inscribed by the father and husband, James Lawson." This handsome volume was followed in 1859 by Liddesdale, or the Border Chief: a Tragedy, which was also printed for private circulation. Mr. Lawson has for many years resided at Yonkers, on the Hudson, where he is well known as a public-spirited citizen and the genial entertainer of men of letters.

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