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Yet calmly flows its silver tide,
A hostile realm is known;
King Francis from his throne!
Many a day, in dark Madrid,
Hath he borne the captive's thrall,
Beneath a funeral pall;
In glorious hues expand !
The monarch leaps to land !
Glad shouts arise! and warrior vows
Vows for a king to share;
And knees are bending there;-
“Revenge! and hate to Spain !" But joy alone is in the glance Of him who treads the turf of France
A king--a king again!
And now he mounts his gallant steed,
His plume waves on the wind-
While his train sweeps fast behind !
Far o'er the landscape ring !
“A king-yet, yet a king !"
“HERE'S TO THEE, MY SCOTTISH LASSIE.'
BY JOHN MOULTRIE, ESQ.
Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie ! here 's a hearty health to thee, For thine eye so bright, thy form so light, and thy step so firm
and free; For all thine artless elegance, and all thy native grace, For the music of thy mirthful voice, and the sunshine of thy face; For thy guileless look and speech sincere, yet sweet as speech
can be, Here's a health, my Scottish lassie! here 's a hearty health to thee!
Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie!--though my glow of youth
is o'er; And I, as once I felt and dreamed, must feel and dream no more ; Though the world, with all its frosts and storms, has chilled my
soul at last, And genius, with the foodful looks of youthful friendship past; Though my path is dark and lonely, now, o'er this world's dreary
sea, Here's a health, my Scottish lassie! here's a hearty health to thee!
Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie!- though I know that not for
Is thine eye so bright, thy form so light, and thy step so firm
and free; Though thou, with cold and careless looks, wilt often pass me by, Unconscious of my swelling heart, and of my wistful eye; Though thou wilt wed some Highland love, nor waste one thought
on me, Here's a health, my Scottish lassie! here's a hearty health to thee!
Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie! when I meet thee in the throng
And I, perhaps, shall touch thy hand, and share thy looks of glee, And for once, my Scottish lassie! dance a giddy dance with thee.
Here 's to thee, my Scottish lassie!-I shall think of thee at even, When I see its first and fairest star come smiling up through
Heaven; I shall hear thy sweet and touching voice, in every wind that
grieves, As it whirls from the abandoned oak, its withered autumn leaves; In the gloom of the wild forest, in the stillness of the sea, I shall think, my Scottish lassie ! I shall often think of thee.
Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie !-in my sad and lonely hours, The thought of thee comes o'er me, like the breath of distant
flowers ;Like the music that enchants mine ear, the sights that bless mine
eye, Like the verdure of the meadow, like the azure of the sky, Like the rainbow in the evening, like the blossoms on the tree, Is the thought, my Scottish lassie! is the lonely thought of thee.
Here 's to thee, my Scottish lassie!—though my muse must soon
be dumb, (For graver thoughts and duties, with my graver years, are come), Though my soul must burst the bonds of earth, and learn to soar
on high, And to look on this world's follies with a calm and sober eye; Though the merry wine must seldom flow, the revel cease for me,– Still to thee, my Scottish lassie! still I'll drink a health to thee.
Here's a health, my Scottish lassie! here's a parting health to thee;
BY JOHN MALCOLM, ESQ.
In silence more sublime
It metes us hour by hour,
Doles out our little span,
Felt and confessed by man;
Wov'n by a hand unseen,
Upon that stone survey
The mantle of decay, —
Day is the time for toil;
Night balms the weary breast; Stars have their vigils, seas awhile
Will sink to peaceful rest : But round and round the shadow creeps Of that which slumbers not—nor sleeps!
Effacing all that's fair,
Hushing the voice of mirth Into the silence of despair
Around the lonesome hearth, And training ivy garlands green O'er the once gay and social scene,
In beauty fading fast,
Its silent trace appears, -
Dim in the mists of years,
Before the ceaseless shade,
That round the world doth sail —
The pyramids look pale :
Coeval with the sun
Its silent course began-
Till worlds with age grow wan;
And one vast shadow circle all.
BY THE REV. C. HOYLE.
Launch, and row northward to yon gulf profound