Thus still at distance is the goal beheld, Farewell, ye blossomed hedges! and the deep WAITING FOR THE SHIP. Now he stroll'd along the pebbles, now he saunter'd on the pier, Now the summit of the nearest hill he clomb; His looks were full of straining, through all weathers foul and clear, For the ship that he was weary wishing home. On the white wings of the dawn, far as human eye could reach, The soothing winds against his face came blowing strong and sweet, Then they blew as blowing all his hope away. One day a wiseling argued how the ship might be delay'd ""Twas odd," quoth he, "I thought so from the first;" But a man of many voyages was standing Ly and said "It is best to be prepared against the worst." A keen-eyed old coast guardsman, with his telescope in hand, And his cheeks in countless puckers 'gainst the rain, Here shook his large and grizzled head, that all might understand How he knew that hoping longer was in vain. Then silent thought the stranger of his wife and children five, As he slowly turn'd with trembling lip aside; Yet with his heart to feed upon his hopes were kept alive, So for months he watch'd and wander'd by the tide. Went his vision like a sea-gull's o'er the deep; While the fishers' boats lay silent in the bay Lo! what wretched man is that," asked an and on the beach, And the houses and the mountains were asleep. idler at the coast, "Who looks as if he something seem'd to lack?" 'Mid the chat of boys and men, and the laugh Then answer made a villager-" His wife and from women's lips, When the labours of the morning were begun, On the far horizon's dreary edge his soul was with the ships, As they caught a gleam of welcome from the sun. Through the gray of eve he peer'd when the stars were in the sky-- They were watchers which the angels seem'd to send; And he bless'd the faithful lighthouse, with its large and ruddy eye, For it cheer'd him like the bright eye of a friend. The gentle waves came lisping things of proImise at his feet, Then they ebb'd as if to vex him with delay; babes are lost, Yet he thinks that ere to-morrow they'll be back." Oh! a fresh hale man he flourish'd in the spring-time of the year, But before the wintry rains began to dripNo more he climb'd the headland, but sat sickly on the pier, Saying sadly-"I am waiting for the ship." On a morn, of all the blackest, only whiten'd by the spray Of the billows wild for shelter of the shore, He came not in the dawning forth, he came not all the day; And the morrow came-but never came he more. CHARLES MACKAY. CHARLES MACKAY, LL.D., one of the most popular poets of the day, is of honourable extraction, his paternal ancestors being the Mackays of Strathnaver in Sutherlandshire, while, on his mother's side, he is descended from the Roses of Kilravock, near Inverness. Leaves. · He was born at Perth in 1814, but his early of The Lump of Gold and Under Green years were spent in London, his parents having removed there during his infancy, and he received the rudiments of his education in London, which was afterwards completed in the schools of Belgium and Germany. Young Mackay early manifested poetic genius, and in 1836 he gave his first volume of poems to the public. It attracted the attention of the editor of the Morning Chronicle, who at once offered him a place on the paper, which was accepted, and filled with such ability that he was rapidly promoted to the responsible position of subeditor. He soon became well known in London literary society. In 1839 a second volume appeared from his pen, entitled the Hope of the World, a poem in heroic verse. Soon afterwards he published The Thames and its Tributaries, a pleasant gossiping work; followed in 1841 by his History of Popular Delusions, a very entertaining and successful book. In 1842 Mr. Mackay published his romance of Longbeard, Lord of London. His next publication was The Salamandrine, or Love and Immortality, which appeared in 1842, and gave him an honourable position in the front rank of contemporary poets. In 1844 he became editor of the Glasgow Argus, a journal devoted to the advocacy of advanced liberal opinions. His residence in Scotland enabled him to visit many places famous in Scottish history, the results of which were his Legends of the Isles, published in 1845, his Voices from the Crowd in 1846, and his Voices from the Mountains in 1847. A few months before the publication of the last-named volume the University of Glasgow conferred upon him the degree of LL.D. After conducting the Argus with ability and success for a period of three years, he received the appointment of editor of the Illustrated London News, and returned to the metropolis. The same year appeared his Town Lyrics, a series of ballads, exhibiting the lights and shadows of the town. In 1850 was published his poem of "Egeria," probably the most artistic of his productions; and in 1856 he gave to the world two more volumes of poetry with the respective titles 1 Hngh Miller remarks of this work that "it was written while the author was conducting the sub-editorial department of a daily London paper, nor did he ever write anything superior to it."- ED. 1 In 1857 Dr. Mackay visited the United States, delivering lectures there upon a theme which few have so well illustrated by their own genius-Songs National, Historical, and Popular. On his return to England he published L'fe and Liberty in America, one of his most popular works. In 1860 he issued another poetical volume entitled A Man's Heart. His Studies from the Antique, universally recognized as his noblest poetical work, appeared in 1863 during his absence in America. Dr. Mackay resided in New York from 1862 to 1865. In 1869 his poem The Souls of the Children, which originally appeared in 1856, and was distributed gratuitously all over the country in aid of the cause of popular education, was reproduced to stimulate the efforts of Mr. Gladstone's administration. In . 1871 he published Under the Blue Sky, a collection of his contributions to All the Year Round and other periodicals. “The Lost Beauties of the English Language: an Appeal to Authors, Poets, Clergymen, and Public Speakers," appeared in 1874. Dr. Mackay, who enjoys a pension on the civil list, has edited various works, including The Book of English Songs, The Songs of Scotland, The Home Affections Portrayed by the Poets, and Allun Ramsay and the Scottish Poets before Burns. A critic awards high praise to Charles Mackay as a poet, and remarks: 'His verse is exceedingly sweet, flowing, and melodious; and his skill in the musical art has given him a command over the resources of rhythm which few English song-writers possess. In his happiest effusions he has combined the force of Burns with the elegance and polish of Moore." We may add that in all of Dr. Mackay's poetical writings is discernible the same high estimate of his calling and the objects to which he has dedicated his talent. The purification of literature and the advancement of mankind are both marked objects of his life. He has successfully achieved the dignified and proud position of the poet of the people, and is richly entitled to the compliment it is proposed to pay to him as such by the presentation of a substantial testimonial, to which his countrymen in all quarters of the globe where his songs and poems are known will be proud to contribute. There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: And a poor man's family In the good time coming. To make his right arm stronger; The happier he the more he has;— Wait a little longer. There's a good time coming, boys, Little children shall not toil In the good time coming; Till limbs and mind grow stronger; And every one shall read and write;Wait a little longer. There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming: The people shall be temperate, In the good time coming. And make all virtue stronger. The reformation has begun;— Waft a little longer. There's a good time coming, boys, A good time coming; Let us aid it all we can, The good time coming. Smallest helps, if rightly given, I remember the time, ye suns and stars, And has it then vanish'd, that happy time? Ah, no! ah, no! amid sorrow and pain, I feel a deep and a pure delight In the luxuries of sound and sight In the opening day, in the closing night. The voices of youth go with me still, Through the field and the wood, o'er the plain and the hill, In the roar of the sea, in the laugh of the rill. Every flower is a lover of mine, To give me joy the oceans roll, Man cannot harm me if he would, I have such friends for my every mood Fate cannot touch me: nothing can stir Sing to me, flowers! preach to me, skies! Sigh to me, wind! ye forests, nod! The rainbow cannot shine if the rain refuse to fall, And the eyes that cannot weep are the saddest eyes of all. O ye tears! O ye tears! till I felt you on my cheek, I was selfish in my sorrow, I was stubborn, I was weak, Ye have given me strength to conquer, and I stand erect and free, And know that I am human by the light of sympathy. O ye tears! O ye tears! ye relieve me of my pain; The barren rock of pride has been stricken once again; Like the rock that Moses smote, amid Horeb's burning sand, It yields the flowing water to make gladness in the land. There is a light upon my path, there is sunshine in my heart, And the leaf and fruit of life shall not utterly depart. Ye restore to me the freshness and the bloom of long ago O ye tears! happy tears! I am thankful that ye flow. UNDER THE HOLLY BOUGH. Ye who have scorned each other, Let sinned against, and sinning, Ye who have loved each other, And let your hearts grow fonder, As memory shall ponder Each past unbroken vow. Are sweet in the renewing, Ye who have nourished sadness, Let not the useless sorrow WHAT MIGHT BE DONE. What might be done if men were wise- In love and right, Oppression's heart might be imbued With kindling drops of loving-kindness; From shore to shore, All slavery, warfare, lies, and wrongs, All vice and crime, might die together; And wine and corn, To each man born, Be free as warmth in summer weather. The meanest wretch that ever trod, In self-respect, And share the teeming world to-morrow. What might be done? This might be done, And more than this, my suffering brotherMore than the tongue E'er said or sung, If men were wise and loved each other. A CANDID WOOING. I cannot give thee all my heart, Lady, lady, My faith and country claim a part, My sweet lady; |