CCLXXII. THE FISH-HAWK, OR OSPREY.* Soon as the sun, great ruler of the year! * This is another poetical extract from Wilson's Ornithology, illustrative of the Fish-hawk or Osprey, whose regular arrival at the vernal equinox-the busy season when fishing commences procures it many a benediction from the fishermen. "The Italians are said to compare its descent upon the water to a piece of lead falling upon that element, and distinguish it by the name of Aquila Plumbing, or the Leaden Eagle." The long-housed fisherman beholds with joy, THE FISHERMAN'S HYMN. The Osprey sails above the sound; The geese are gone—the gulls are flying; Raise high the song, and cheerly wish her, "God bless the Fish-Hawk and the Fisher !" She brings us fish-she brings us spring, Ply every oar, and cheerly wish her, Still as the bending net we sweep, "God bless the Fish-Hawk, and the Fisher!" She rears her young on yonder tree, She leaves her faithful mate to mind 'em ; Like us, for fish, she sails to sea, And, plunging, shews us where to find 'em. Yo ho, my hearts! let's seek the deep, 'God bless the Fish-Hawk, and the Fisher!" CCLXXIII. THE LASS O' ARRANTEENIE. Far lone, amang the Highland hills, Are nought to me, when gaun to thee, Yon mossy rose-bud down the howe, The flower o' Arranteenie. Now, from the mountain's lofty brow, There Av'rice guides the bounding prow, Let Fortune pour her golden store, Her laurel'd favours many, Give me but this, my soul's first wish, The lass o' Arranteenie. CCLXXIV. GO ROUND, MY WHEEL, GO ROUND.* Go round, my wheel, go round And spin a thread as long and fine, * This is the composition of Gottfr. Aug. Burder, a German poet of consi derable talent, much and deservedly esteemed in his own country, and from what we have seen of his compositions we hesitate not to say that they need only to be faithfully translated to be generally read. In the Edinburgh Magazine for 1818 will be found several translations of this eminent poet, and from which we extract the present Spinning Song, not from the idea that it is the best, but the most suitable for our publication. In the same volume, Go round, my wheel, go round And spin a 'kerchief fine and rare, To deck my bosom at the fair, Where soon the bright-hair'd youth I'll see, Go round, my wheel, go round Like the veil thou spinn'st to me, the translator has the following critical comparison between Burder and our favourite Bard, Robert Burns. "Burder has, in many respects, a manifest resemblance to our own Burns, although the most superficial reader will perceive that these two popular poets have many sufficiently distinct points of dissimilitude, and that perhaps two better instances could not be selected than those offered by these kindred spirits of the discriminating traits of Scotch and German genius. Yet Burder, like Burns, delighted to sing of love as it is known to those whose feelings have not been corrupted either by vicious indulgence or by much commerce with the world-of that pure, and ardent, and entrancing love which glows in the breasts of healthy peasants, and which, to those who are under its influence, give a character and interest to everything in life, of which cooler minds have not the slightest idea. Burder, too, like Burns, could well depict those feelings, somewhat akin to love, by which the breasts of youthful and enthusiastic men are agitated, when they give full play in some hour of conviviality and joy, to all the social propensities of their nature. There is another point of resemblance between these celebrated poets, and that is the unfeigned rapture with which both of them can depict an act of generosity, and the power which they possess over those moral sensibilities of our nature, from whose operation all high active virtue must proceed. Burns, indeed, has not painted anything of this kind in a regular tale; but all those who are acquainted with his works are aware by what powerful touches of indigna |