"Tis the chief of Glenara laments for his dear; And her sire, and the people, are call'd to her bier. Glenara came first with the mourners and shroud; Her kinsmen they followed, but mourned not aloud; Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around: They marched all in silence-they look'd on the ground. In silence they reach'd over mountain and moor, To a heath where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar; "Now here let us place the gray stone of her cairn: "Sad is my fate!" said the heart-broken stranger, The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee; Or cover my harp with the wild-woven flowers, "Erin, my country! though sad and forsaken, Why speak ye no word?" said Glenara the stern. Oh, cruel fate! wilt thou never replace me The scarlet hip and blackberry In Cora's glen the calm how deep! The torrent spoke, as if his noise His foam, beneath the yellow light Dear Linn! let loftier falling floods Have prouder names than thine; And king of all, enthroned in woods, Let Niagara shine. Barbarian, let him shake his coasts With reeking thunders far His voice appals the wilderness: More fury would but disenchant Be thou the Scottish Muse's haunt, LINES WRITTEN ON VISITING A SCENE IN ARGYLESHIRE. At the silence of twilight's contemplative hour I have mused in a sorrowful mood, On the wind-shaken weeds that embosomed the bower Where the home of my forefathers stood. All ruin'd and wild is their roofless abode, And lonely the dark raven's sheltering tree: And travell'd by few is the grass-cover'd road, Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trod, To his hills that encircle the sea. Yet wandering, I found on my ruinous walk, From each wandering sunbeam a lonely embrace, For the night-weed and thorn overshadow'd the place Where the flower of my forefathers grew. Sweet bud of the wilderness! emblem of all But patience shall never depart! Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal and bright, In the days of delusion by fancy combined With the vanishing phantoms of love and delight, Abandon my soul like a dream of the night, And leave but a desert behind. Be hush'd, my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems May thy front be unalter'd, thy courage elate! Yea, even the name I have worshipp'd in vain Shall awake not the sigh of remembrauco again: To bear is to conquer our fate. ODE TO THE MEMORY OF BURNS. Soul of the Poet! wheresoe'er And fly like fiends from secret spell, For he was chief of bards that swell And love's own strain to him was given, With Pythian words unsought, unwill'd,- Who that has melted o'er his lay Nor skill'd one flame alone to fan: What patriot-pride he taught!-how much Him in his clay-built cot, the Muse On Bannock-field what thoughts arouse And all their scorn of death and chains? And see the Scottish exile, tann'd With love that scorns the lapse of time, Encamp'd by Indian rivers wild, The scenes that bless'd him when a child, O deem not, 'midst this worldly strife, It is the muse that consecrates And thou, young hero, when thy pall Such was the soldier-Burns, forgive 1 Major Edward Hodge, of the 7th Hussars, who fell Farewell, high chief of Scottish song! Farewell! and ne'er may Envy dare LINES ON REVISITING CATHCART. Oh! scenes of my childhood, and dear to my heart, Ye green waving woods on the margin of Cart, How blest in the morning of life I have stray'd By the stream of the vale and the grass-cover'd glade. Then, then every rapture was young and sincere, Ere the sunshine of bliss was bedimm'd by a tear, And a sweeter delight every scene seem'd to lend, That the mansion of peace was the home of a friend. Now the scenes of my childhood, and dear to my heart, All pensive I visit, and sigh to depart; Their flowers seem to languish, their beauty to cease, For a stranger inhabits the mansion of peace. But hush'd be the sigh that untimely complains, While friendship and all its enchantment remains, While it blooms like the flower of a winterless clime, Untainted by chance, unabated by time. THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. Our bugles sang truce-for the night-cloud had lower'd, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpower'd, The weary to sleep, and the wounded to die. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw; And twice ere the morning I dreamt it again. at the head of his squadron, in the attack of the Polish Lancers. THOMAS BROWN. BORN 1778- DIED 1820. THOMAS BROWN, one of the most eminent | burgh Review, established in 1802—the leadof modern metaphysicians, was the youngest ing article in the second number on "Kant's son of Samuel Brown, minister of Kirkmabreck, Philosophy" being from his pen. An essay on in the stewartry of Kirkcudbright, and was Hume's Theory of Causation established his born in the manse of that parish, January 9, growing reputation, and soon after, when Pro1778. Having lost his father when very fessor Stewart's declining health obliged him young, he was placed by a maternal uncle at to be occasionally absent from his chair, Brown various academies in England; and in his was appointed his substitute. In this new fourteenth year he entered the University of sphere he met with gratifying success, and after Edinburgh, attending, among other courses of two years was appointed joint-professor with lectures, those of Professor Dugald Stewart. his former teacher. The young student made rapid progress in his In 1814 appeared the Paradise of Coquettes, studies, and soon gained the friendship of his his largest poetical work. A reviewer of celebrated preceptor. In the year 1797 Brown note declared it to be "by far the best and became a member of the "Academy of Phy- most brilliant imitation of Pope that has apsics," a philosophical association established peared since the time of that great writer; by a few young men of talent, some of whom with all his point, polish, and nicely balanced were afterwards the originators of the Edin-versification, as well as his sarcasm and witty burgh Review. As a member of this society he formed the acquaintance of Brougham, Jeffrey, Leyden, Sydney Smith, and others subsequently greatly distinguished in the walks of literature. malice." In 1816 he published another poem, entitled the "Wanderer in Norway," followed soon after by "Agnes," and "Emily," two separate volumes of poems, all of which met with considerable favour and success. Professor Brown died at Brompton, London, April 2, 1820, and his remains were removed to the churchyard of his native parish. After his decease his Lectures on the Philosophy of the Human Mind were published in four 8vo volumes, and have deservedly obtained a high reputation. Miss Margaret Brown, sister of the philosopher, a lady of gentle Christian character, was the author of a number of very respectable poems, which were collected and published at Edinburgh in 1819, in a small 12mo volume. THE FAITHLESS MOURNER. When thy smile was still clouded in gloom, I thought of the virtues, scarce cold in the tomb, I spoke not of love; yet the breast, Which mark'd thy long anguish deplore The sire, whom in sickness, in age, thou hadst bless'd, Though silent, was loving thee more. How soon wert thou pledged to my arms, day; |