And spirits hovering o'er us shall bless the | Beloved now that o'er thee is waving the wild-wood, And the worm only living where rapture hath been.

Where the wild thistles wave o'er the beds o' the | And though in this world our own still we miss,

brave.

And the graves are the graves o' our ain folk; But happy-gae-lucky, we'll trudge on our way, Till the arm waxes weak and the haffet grows gray;

We'll meet them at last in a warl' o' bliss;

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

ROBERT POLLOK.

BORN 1798- DIED 1827.

was on the borders of fever, I rose every morn ing equally fresh, without one twitch of headache; and with all the impatience of a lover hasted to my study. Towards the end of the

The gifted author of the "Course of Time" was born at the farm of North Muirhouse, in the parish of Eaglesham, Renfrewshire, October 19, 1798. He acquired the rudiments of his education at Langlee and at a school at Newton-tenth book-for the whole consists of ten books Mearns, and afterwards entered the University of Glasgow. Being destined for the ministry he studied for five years in the divinity hall of the United Secession Church at Glasgow, under the Rev. Dr. Dick of that city. During his student days he wrote a series of tales relating to the sufferings of the Covenanters, which were published anonymously. A second edition of these "Tales," accompanied by a portrait and memoir of the author, appeared after his death.

The spirit of poetry and inspiration was formed and "became a living soul" within Robert Pollok in the rural solitudes of Muirhouse, where he spent his boyhood. His short compositions written at this time gave, how ever, little promise of the poetic power developed by him later in life. His celebrated poem was commenced in December, 1824, and finished in the space of nineteen months. The following letter announcing its completion was addressed to his brother, July 7, 1826:"It is with much pleasure that I am now able to tell you that I have finished my poem. Since I wrote to you last, I have written about three thousand five hundred verses; which is considerably more than a hundred every suc cessive day. This you will see was extraordinary expedition to be continued so long; and I neither can nor wish to ascribe it to anything but an extraordinary manifestation of divine goodness. Although some nights I

--where the subject was overwhelmingly great, and where I, indeed, seemed to write from immediate inspiration, I felt the body beginning to give way. But now that I have finished, though thin with the great heat and the unintermitted mental exercise, I am by no means languishing and feeble. Since the 1st of June, which was the day I began to write last, we have had a Grecian atmosphere? and I find the serenity of the heavens of incalculable benefit for mental pursuit. And I am convinced that summer is the best season for great mental exertion, because the heat promotes the circulation of the blood, the stagnation of which is the great cause of misery to cogitative men. The serenity of mind which I have possessed is astonishing. Exalted on my native mountains, and writing often on the top of the very highest of them, I proceeded from day to day as if I had been in a world in which there was neither sin, nor sickness, nor poverty. In the four books last written I have succeeded, in almost every instance, up to my wishes; and in many places I have exceeded anything that I had conceived. This is not boasting, remember. I only say that I have exceeded the degree of excellence which I had formerly thought of."

The Course of Time" was issued in March, 1827, and was at once recognized as a great work. In style it sometimes resembles the lofty march of Milton, and at other times

in the neighbouring churchyard of Millbrook, near the sea-shore, where a granite obelisk, erected by the admirers of his genius, marks his grave. But, as the inscription on it truly says, "His immortal poem is his monument.' The same year witnessed Robert Pollok's advent as a poet and a preacher and his untimely death. He has been described as tall, well proportioned, of a dark complexion "sicklied o'cr with the pale cast of thought," with deep-set eyes, heavy eyebrows, and black bushy hair. "A smothered light burned in his dark orbs, which flashed with a meteor brilliancy whenever he spoke with enthusiasm and energy."

imitates that of Blair and Young. With much | buried with the rites of the Church of England of the spirit and the opir.ions of Cowper, Pollok lacked his taste and refinement: shortcomings which time might have removed, but like Henry Kirke White and David Gray he was destined for an early grave. In less than two months after the appearance of his poem he was licensed for the ministry. The success of the "Course of Time" had excited high hopes in respect to his professional career, which were, however, not destined to be realized. He preached but four times, once for his friend Dr. John Brown of Edinburgh, when the writer's father happened to be present, and was greatly impressed with his power and self-possession. Symptoms of pulmonary disease becoming ap parent, produced by over-exertion in his studies while preparing for the ministry and in the composition of his poem, Pollok spent the summer of 1827 under the roof of a clerical friend, where every means were tried for the restoration of his health. These proving unsuccessful he was persuaded to try the climate of Italy, his many admirers promptly furnishing the means necessary for the journey. He reached London along with his sister, but by the advice of physicians, who deemed him unable to endure the journey to the Continent, he proceeded to Shirley Common, near Southampton, where he died, September 18, 1827. He was

After Pollok's death several short poems from his pen, together with a memoir of his life, were published by his brother at Edinburgh, and in New York a volume appeared entitled "Life, Letters, and Literary Remains of Robert Pollok, edited by Rev. James Scott." The sum paid for the "Course of Time," a poem that has passed through eighty editions in Scotland and at least double that number in the United States, amounted to £2500-a price greatly exceeding that given for the poems of Sir Walter Scott and Thomas Campbell, and nearly as large as was ever paid to any poet in the height of his fame, and when poetry was most in vogue with the public.

BOOK I.

THE COURSE OF TIME.1

ARGUMENT.-Invocation to the Eternal Spirit.-The subject of the Poem announced.-A period long after the Last Judgment described. -Two youthful Sons of Paradise, waiting on the battlements of Heaven, observant of the return of holy messengers, or the arrival from distant worlds of spirits made perfect, discover one directing his flight towards Heaven.-The hills of Paradise. -The Mount of God.-Welcome of the faithful servant.-The hill of the Throne of God pointed out to him.-The Sons of Paradise offer to guide him into the presence of the Most High.-The New-arrived, bewildered by the strange sights beheld in his flight, begs for knowledge, and the solution of the mysteries he has seen.-Describes his flight through Chaos, and arrival at the place of Everlasting Punishment-Wall of fiery adamant-The worm that

1 He (Pollok) had much to learn in composition; and, had he lived, he would have looked almost with humili

never dies-Eternal Death-Hell-The dreadful sights
beheld there.--The youthful Sons of Heaven refer the
New-arrived to an ancient Bard of Adam's race -
They fly towards his dwelling.-Flight through the
fields of Heaven.-The Bard of Earth described-His
Bower in Paradise.-He is entreated to clear up the
wondering doubt of the New-arrived, who tells what
he has seen and conjectured.-The Bard informs him
the gracious form he beheld in Hell is Virtue-Agrees
to relate the history of the human race.

Eternal Spirit! God of truth! to whom
All things seem as they are-Thou who of old
The prophet's eye unscaled, that nightly saw,
While heavy sleep fell down on other men,
In holy vision tranced, the future pass
Before him, and to Judah's harp attuned
Burdens that made the Pagan mountains shake,

ation on much that is at present eulogized by his devoted admirers. But the soul of poetry is there,

And Zion's cedars bow-inspire my song;
My eye unscale; me what is substance teach,
And shadow what, while I of things to come,
As past, rehearsing, sing the course of Time,
The second birth, and final doom of man.

The muse that soft and sickly woos the ear
Of love, or chanting loud, in windy rhyme,
Of fabled hero, raves through gaudy tale,
Not overfraught with sense, I ask not: such
A strain befits not argument so high.
Me thought and phrase severely sifting out
The whole idea, grant, uttering as 'tis
The essential truth-Time gone, the righteous
saved,

The wicked damned, and Providence approved.

Hold my right hand, Almighty! and me teach
To strike the lyre, but seldom struck, to notes
Harmonious with the morning stars, and pure
As those by sainted bards and angels sung,
Which wake the echoes of Eternity;
That fools may hear and tremble, and the wise,
Instructed, listen of ages yet to come.

Long was the day, so long expected, past
Of the eternal doom, that gave to each
Of all the human race his due reward.

The stream of life; and long-alas! how long
To them it seemed! the wicked who refused
To be redeemed, had wandered in the dark
Of hell's despair, and drunk the burning cup
Their sins had filled with everlasting woe.

Thus far the years had rolled, which none but
God

Doth number, when two sons, two youthful sons
Of Paradise, in conversation sweet-

For thus the heavenly muse instructs me, wooed
At midnight hour with offering sincere
Of all the heart, poured out in holy prayer
High on the hills of immortality,
Whence goodliest prospect looks beyond the walls
Of heaven, walked, casting off their eye far
through

The pure serene, observant if returned
From errand duly finished any came;
Or any, first in virtue now complete,
From other worlds arrived, confirmed in good.

Thus viewing, one they saw, on hasty wing,
Directing towards heaven his course; and now,
His flight ascending near the battlements
And lofty hills on which they walked, approached.
For round and round, in spacious circuit wide,
Mountains of tallest stature circumscribe

The sun, earth's sun, and moon, and stars, had The plains of Paradise, whose tops, arrayed ceased

To number seasons, days, and months, and years,
To mortal man; Hope was forgotten, and Fear;
And Time, with all its chance, and change, and
smiles,

And frequent tears, and deeds of villany

Or righteousness, once talked of much as things
Of great renown, was now but ill remembered;
In dim and shadowy vision of the past
Seen far remote, as country which has left
The traveller's speedy step, retiring back
From morn till even; and long Eternity
Had rolled his mighty years, and with his years
Men had grown old. The saints, all home returned
From pilgrimage, and war, and weeping, long
Had rested in the bowers of peace, that skirt

though often dimly enveloped, and many passages there are, and long ones too, that heave and hurry and glow along in a divine enthusiasm.--Professor Wilson.

The "Course of Time" is a very extraordinary poem; vast in its conception, vast in its plan, vast in its materials, and vast, if very far from perfect, in its achievement. The wonderful thing is, indeed, that it is such as we find it, and not that its imperfections are numerous. It has nothing at all savouring of the little or conventional in it, for he passed at once from the merely elegant and graceful -Dr. D. M. Moir,

Pollok's “Course of Time," much overlauded on its first appearance, is the immature work of a man of genins who possessed very imperfect cultivation. It is clumsy in plan, tediously dissertative, and tastelessly

In uncreated radiance, seem so pure,
That nought but angel's foot, or saint's elect
Of God, may venture there to walk. Here oft
The sons of bliss take morn or evening pastime,
Delighted to behold ten thousand worlds
Around their suns revolving in the vast
External space, or listen the harmonies
That each to other in its motion sings;
And hence, in middle heaven remote, is seen
The mount of God in awful glory bright.
Within, no orb create of moon, or star,
Or sun, gives light; for God's own countenance,
Beaming eternally, gives light to all.
But farther than these sacred hills, His will
Forbids its flow, too bright for eyes beyond.
This is the last ascent of virtue; here
All trial ends, and hope; here perfect joy,

magniloquent; but it has passages of good and genuine poetry.-Professor W. Spalding.

The sentiments of the author are strongly Calvinistic, and in this respect, as well as in a certain crude ardour of imagination and devotional enthusiasm, the poem reminds us of the style of Milton's early prose treatises. It is often harsh, turgid, and vehement.-Dr. Robert Chambers.

This poem is pregnant with spiritual hope, but overshadowed by gloomy views of merely human objects and pursuits. The style is often turgid, without the epi grammatic vividness of Young. As the production of a youth the "Course of Time" must rank among the most wonde:ful efforts of genius.-Daniel Ee ymgeour.

With perfect righteousness, which to these | In boast; for what I am to God I owe,