This night the proud chief his presumption shall rue ;
Rise, brother, these chinks in his heart-blood will glue :
Thy fantasies frightful shall flit on the wing,
When loud with thy bugle Glen-Lyon shall ring,"

Like glimpse of the moon through the storm of the night,
Macgregor's red eye shed one sparkle of light:
It faded-it darken'd-he shudder'd-he sigh'd
“No! not for the universe!” low he replied.

Away went Macgregor, but went not alone ;
To watch the dread rendezvous, Malcolm has gone.-

Few minutes had pass’d, ere they spied on the stream,
A skiff sailing light where a lady did seem ;
Her sail was the web of the gossamer's loom,
The glow-worm her wake-light, the rainbow her boom ;
A dim rayless beam was her prow and her mast,
Like wold-fire, at midnight, that glares on the waste.
Tho'rough was the river with rock and cascade,
No torrent, no rock, her velocity stay'd ;
She wimpled the water to weather and lee,
And heav'd as if borne on the waves of the sea.

Young Malcolm beheld the pale lady approach,
The chieftain salute her, and shrink from her touch.
He saw the Macgregor kneel down on the plain,
As begging for something he could not obtain ;
She rais’d him indignant, derided his stay,
Then bore him on board, set her sail, and away !

Tho' fast the red bark down the river did glide,
Yet faster ran Malcolm adown by its side ;
“Macgregor! Macgregor" he bitterly cried ;
"Macgregor! Macgregor!" the echoes replied,
He struck at the lady, but, strange though it seem,
His sword only fell on the rocks and the stream ;
But the groans from the boat, that ascended amain,
Were groans from a bosom in horror and pain. -
They reach'd the dark lake, and bore lightly away ;
Macgregor is vanish'd for ever and aye !

THE INQUIRY.

Charles Mackay.

Tell me, ye winged winds,

That round my pathway roar,
Do ye not know some spot

Where mortals weep no more?

Some lone and pleasant dell,

Some valley in the west,
Where, free from toil and pain,

The weary soul may rest ?-
The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low,
And sighed for pity as it answer'd—“No!"

Tell me, thou mighty deep,

Whose billows round me play,
Know'st thou some favour'd spot,

Some island far away,
Where weary man may find

The bliss for which he sighs,
Where sorrow never lives,

And friendship never dies ?--
The loud waves, rolling in perpetual flow,
Stopp'd for a while, and sighed to answer"No!"

-
And thou, serenest moon,

That with such holy face
Dost look

upon

the earth,
Asleep in night's embrace-
Tell me, in all thy round,

Hast thou not seen some spot
Where miserable man

May find a happier lot ? —
Behind a cloud the moon withdrew in woe,
And a voice, sweet but sad, responded—“No!"

Tell me, my sacred soul,

Oh! tell me, Hope and Faith,
Is there no resting-place

From sorrow, sin, and death?
Is there no happy spot

Where mortals may be bless’d,
Where grief may find a balm,

And weariness a rest ?-
Faith, Hope, and Love-best boons to mortals given-
Wav'd their bright wings, and whisper'd—“Yes, in heaven!"

CELADON AND AMELIA.

Thomson
'Tis listening fear, and dumb amazement all,
When to the startled eye, the sudden glance,
Appears far south, eruptive through the cloud;
And, following slower, in explosion vast,
The thunder raises his tremendous voice !
At first heard solemn, o'er the verge of Heaven,

The tempest grows : but, as it nearer comes,
And rolls its awful burden on the wind,
The lightnings flash a larger curve, and more
The noise astounds ; till, over head, a sheet
Of livid flame discloses wide ; then shuts,
And opens

wider ; shuts and opens still,
Expansive, wrapping, æther in a blaze :
Follows the loosen'd, aggravated roar,
Enlarging, deep’ning, mingling ; peal on peal
Crush'd horrible, convulsing heaven and earth.

Guilt hears appal’d, with deeply troubled thought : And yet, not always on the guilty head Descends the fated flash.—Young Celadon And his Amelia were a matchless pair; With equal virtue form’d, and equal grace, The same; distinguish'd by their sex alone : Her's the mild lustre of the blooming morn, And his the radiance of the risen day.

They lov’d; but such their guileless passion was
As in the dawn of time inform’d the heart
Of innocence and undissembling truth.
'Twas friendship, heighten'd by the mutual wish;
The enchanting hope, and sympathetic glow,
Beam'd from the mutual eye. Devoting all
To love, each was to each a dearer self;
Supremely happy in the awaken'd power
Of giving joy. Alone, amid the shades,
Still in harmonious intercourse, they liv'd
The rural day, and talk'd the flowing heart;
Or sigh’d, and look'd unutterable things !

So pass’d their life-a clear, united stream,
By care unruffled ; till, in evil hour,
The tempest caught them on the tender walk,
Heedless how far, and where its mazes stray'd ;
While, with each other bless’d, creative love
Still bade eternal Eden smile around.
Presaging instant fate, her bosom heav'd
Unwonted sighs; and stealing oft a look
Towards the big gloom, on Celadon her eye
Fell tearful, wetting her disorder'd cheek.
In vain assuring love, and confidence
In Heaven, repress'd her fear; it grew, and shook
Her frame near dissolution. He perceiv'd
The unequal conflict; and as angels look
On dying saints, his eyes compassion shed,
With love illumin'd high. “ Fear not,” he said,
“Sweet innocence ! thou stranger to offence
And inward storm! He, who

yon

skies involves
In frowns of darkness, ever smiles on thee
With kind regard. O’er thee the secret shaft
That wastes at midnight, or the undreaded hour
Of noon, flies harmless ; and that very voice,

a

Which thunders terror through the guilty heart,
With tongues of seraphs; whispers peace to thine !
'Tis safety to be near thee sure, and thus
To clasp perfection !” From his void embrace-
Mysterious Heaven! that moment to the ground,
A blacken'd corse, was struck the beauteous maid !
But, who can paint the lover, as he stood
Pierc’d by severe amazement, hating life,
Speechless, and fixed in all the death of woe?
So-faint resemblance !-on the marble tomb;
The well-dissembled mourner stooping stands,
For ever silent, and for ever sad.

SCENE FROM “ THREE WEEKS AFTER MARRIAGE.”

me.

Lady R.-O la!-I am quite fatigued- -I can hardly move why don't you help me, you barbarous man?

Sir C.-There : take my arm-
Lady R.-But I won't be laughed at -

I don't love you. Sir C.-Don't you? Lady R.-No. Dear me! this glove! why don't you help me off with my glove! Pshaw! you awkward thing ; let it alone : you an't fit to be about me. -Reach me a chair-you have no compassion for

I am so glad to sit down.-Why do you drag me to routs ?You know I hate 'em.

Sir C.-Oh! there's no existing, no breathing, unless one does as other people of fashion do.

Lady R.—But I am out of humour-I lost all my money.
Sir C.-How much ?
Lady R.—Three hundred.

Sir C.-Never fret for that I don't value three hundred pounds to contribute to your happiness.

Lady R.-Don't you !-Not value three hundred pounds to please me? Sir C.-You know I don't.

Lady R.-Ah! you fond fool! But I hate gaming-It almost metamorphoses a woman into a fury-Do you know that I was frighted at myself several times to-night-I had a huge oath at the very tip of my tongue.

Sir C.-Had ye?

Lady R.–I caught myself at it—and so I bit my lips; and then I was crammed up in a corner of the room with such a strange party at a whist ble, looking at black and red spots—did you mind 'em ? Sir C.-You know I was busy elsewhere.

Lady R.—There was that strange unaccountable woman, Mrs. Nightshade. She behaved so strangely to her husband; a poor, inoffensive, good-natured, good sort of a good-for-nothing kind of man. But she so teazed him ; “How could you play that card? Ah, you've a head! and so has a pin-You're a numskull, you know you are-Ma'am he has the

a

poorest head in the world ; he does not know what he is about-you know you don't; ah fie! I'm ashamed of you !"

Sir C.-She has served to divert you, I see.

Eady R. -And then, to crown all, there was my Lady Clackitt, who runs on with an eternál volubility of nothing, out of all season, time, and place. - In the very midst of the game she begins : “ Lard, ma'am, I was apprehensive I should not be able to wait on your Ladyship- -my poor little dog, Pompey ; the sweetest thing in the world! A spade led ?-there's the knave-I was fetching a walk, M'em, the other morning in the Park—a fine frosty morning it was ; I love frosty weather of all things-Let me look at the last trick — And so, M'em, little Pompey

— and if your Ladyship were to see the dear creature pinched with the frost, and mincing his steps along the Mall, with his pretty little innocent faceI vow I don't know what to play ; and so, M'em, while I was talking to Captain Flimsey—your Ladyship knows Captain Flimsey? Nothing but rubbish in

my

hand! I can't help it. And so, M'em, five odious frights of dogs beset my poor Pompey, the dear creature has the heart of a lion ; but who can resist five at once? And so Pompey barked for assistancethe hurt he received was upon his chest—the doctor would not advise him to venture out till the wound is healed, for fear of an inflammation. Pray, what's trumps ?”

Sir C.-My dear, you'd make a most excellent actress.

Lady R.-But, Sir Charles; how shočkingly you played the last rubber, when I stood looking over you !

Sir C.--My love, I played the truth of the game.
Lady R.-No, indeed, my dear, you played it wrong.
Sir C.-Po! nonsense! you don't understand it.
Lady R.-I beg your pardon; I'm allowed to play better than you.
Sir C.-All conceit, my dear : I was perfectly right.
Lady R.—No such thing, Sir Charles; the diamond was the play.
Sir C.-Po! po! ridiculous! the club was the card against the world.
Lady R.-Oh, no, no, no; I say it was the diamond.
Sir C.-Madam, I say it was the club.
Lady R.—What do you fly into such a passion for ?

Sir Ci-Death and fury, do you think I don't know what I'm about? I tell you once more the club was thë judgment of it.

Lady R. May be so—have it your own way.

Sir C.-Vexation! you're the strangest woman that ever lived ; there's no conversing with you- -Look’ye here, my Lady Racket—'tis the clearest case in the world, I'll make it plain in a moment.

Lady R.-Well, Sir !-ha! ha! ha!

Sir C.-I had four cards left- -a trump had led—they were sixno, no, no, they were seven, and we nine- then you know—the beauty of the play was to

Lady R.-Well, now, 'tis amazing to me that you can't see it-Give me leave, Sir Charles-your left hand adversary had led his trump—and he had before finessed the club and roughed the diamond

now if you had put on your diamond

Sir C.-But, Madam, we played for the odd trick.
Lady R.–And sure the play for the odd trick
Sir C.-Death and fury! can't you hear me?
Lady R.—Go on, Sir.