Few compliments between us pass;
I ca' him my dear highland laddie,
And he ca's me his lawland lass,
Syne rows me in beneath his plaidy.
O, my honnie, &c.

Na greater joy I'll e'er pretend,

Than that his love prove true and steady, Like mine to him, which ne'er shall end, While heav'n preserves my highland laddie. O, my bonnie, &c.

STAR SPANGLED BANNER.-By F. S. Key, Esq. O! say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,

What so proudly we hail'd at the twilight's last gleaming,

Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,

O'er the ramparts we watch'd were so gallantly streaming?

And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there'; O! say, does that Star-spangled Banner yet wave O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave? On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses? Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected now shines on the stream:

'Tis the Star-spangled Banner. O! long may it wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
And where is that band, who so vauntingly swore
That the havock of war and the battle's confusion,
A home and a country, should leave us no more?
Their blood has wash'd out their foul footsteps' pol-
Jution,

No refuge could save the hireling and slave,
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave,
And the Star-spangled Banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

O! thus be it ever when freemen shall stand,

Between their lov'd home and the war's desolation, Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the Heaven-rescu'd land,

Praise the Power that hath made and preserv'd us a nation!

Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto-" In God is our trust;"

And the Star-spangled Banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

GO WHERE GLORY WAITS THEE.

Go where glory waits thee,
But while fame elates thee,
Oh! still remember me.
When the praise thou meetest,
To thine ear is sweetest,

Oh! then remember me.
Other arms may press thee,
Dearer friends caress thee,
All the joys that bless thee
Sweeter far may be;

But when friends are nearest,
And when joys are dearest,
Oh! then remember me.

When, at eve, thou rovest,
By the star thou lovest,

Oh! then remember me.
Think, when home returning,
Bright we've seen it burning,
Oh! thus remember me.

Oft as summer closes,

When thine eye reposes,

On its lingering roses,

Once so lov'd by thee,

Think of her who wove them,
Her who made thee love them;
Oh! then remember me.

When, around thee dying,
Autumn leaves are lying,

Oh! then remember me;
And, at night, when gazing
On the gay hearth blazing,
Oh! still remember me.
Then, should music, stealing
All the soul of feeling,
To thy heart appealing,

Draw one tear from thee:
Then let memory bring thee
Strains I used to sing thee-
Oh! then remember me.

HERE'S THE BOWER.

HERE'S the bower she lov'd so much,
And the tree she planted;
Here's the harp she used to touch,—
Oh! how that touch enchanted!
Roses now unheeded sigh,

Where's the hand to wreath them?

Songs around neglected lie,

Where's the lip to breathe them? Here's the bower she lov'd so much, And the tree she planted;

Here's the harp she used to touchOh! how that touch enchanted!

Spring may bloom, but she we lov'd, Ne'er shall feel its sweetness!

Time, that once so fleetly mov'd,
Now hath lost its fleetness.

Years were days, when here she stray'd,
Days were moments near her;
Heav'n ne'er form'd a brighter maid,
Nor pity wept a dearer!

Here's the bower she lov'd so much,
And the tree she planted;

Here's the harp she used to touch-
Oh! how that touch enchanted!

TO MARY IN HEAVEN.

THOU lingering star, with less'ning ray,
That lov'st to greet the early morn,
Again thou usher'st in the day

My Mary from my soul was torn.

O Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget,

Can I forget the hallow'd grove,

Where by the winding Ayr we met,
To live one day of parting love?

Eternity will not efface

Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace!

Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!

Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning green; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,

Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene.

The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on every spray,
Till too, too soon the glowing west
Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.
Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care;
Time but the impression deeper makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
My Mary, dear departed shade!

Where is thy blissful place of rest?
See'st thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?

THE EXILE OF ERIN.-By Thomas Campbell. There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,

The dew on his thin robe hung heavy and chill;
For his country he sigh'd when at twilight repairing,
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill :
But the day-star attracted his eyes' sad devotion,
For it rose on his own native Isle of the Ocean,
Where once in the glow of his youthful emotion,
He sung the bold anthem of Erin go bragh!

O, sad is my fate! said the heart-broken stranger,
The wild deer and wolt to a covert can flee;
But I have no refuge from famine or danger,

[hours,

A home and a country remain not for me. Ah! never again in the green sunny bowers, Where my forefathers liv'd shall I spend the sweet Or cover my harp with the wild woven flowers, And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh!

O, where is my cottage that stood by the wild wood?
Sisters and sires, did ye weep for its fall?

O, where is the mother that watch'd o'er my childhood,
And where is the bosom friend dearer than all?
Ah! my sad soul, long abandon'd by pleasure,
O, why did it doat on a fast fading treasure-

Tears, like the rain-drops, may fall without measure,
But rapture and beauty they cannot recall!