transient nature of all temporal hopes and prospects, I went and seated myself beside another passenger, a creditable-looking woman; but as to her and what she told me, I must pause for the present to remark, that the voyage from the Broomielaw to Erskine Ferry is a most pleasant sail in fair weather, and that there is an agreeable diversity of prospects and gentlemen's seats on the banks of the river. But of late years the salmon-fishery is not what it was in old times, when vessels sailed from Renfrew to the city of Naples and Genoa in Italia with cargos of kipper and salted salmon, which was a great trade, as I have heard said, in the matter of which I will by and by relate a surprising story. It is supposed that the fish in the Glasgow arms was emblematic of the lucrative abundance of that traffic; but however this may be, it is not my intention to meddle with matters of controversy and antiquity, but in an easy methodical way to tell seriatim, as it is said in the Latin tongue, the different things worthy of being placed on record with which I was diverted and enlivened in my various aqueous undertakings for the benefit of my health in the manner already preluded in my prefatory intimations.

STANZAS,

Suggested by the departure of a Friend from Scotland.

VOL. VIII.

THE trav❜ller who hath wander'd where,
'Mid sunny slopes and blooming vales,
The mingling sweets make faint the air,
And clog th' intoxicated gales,
Still loth to quit th' unnerving spot,
Oft looks behind, and lingers long,
E'en thus must I-since 'tis my lot,
And I must leave thee, Land of Song.

Oh! let not those, whose happier eyes
Still view what mine so fainly would,
Thy echoing glens and moody skies,
"Land of the mountain and the flood,"
E'er
envy me; though where I hie
The flowers still sleep in moveless calm ;
And Zephyr, as he whispers by,

Half fears to steal th' Arabian balm.

What are unsetting suns, that pry

'Mid groves which fragrant amber weep,
And flash on the awakening eye,

Scarce shadow'd in luxurious sleep,
To thee-adown whose every glade

The gale that breathes, or breeze that dies,
Seems to the raptured listener made

Of warriors' breath, or lovers' sighs?

Scotland, thy songs are in my heart-
The lover's not more firmly set;
Nor, from thy hills though I must part,
Is mine more likely to forget:
Let but those sounds, so dearly known,
By voice, or lute, or string be spoken,
And it shall vibrate to the tone,
Though by the ecstacy 'twere broken.

3 U

Of other lands, that we may leave,
Though mingled tints and graphic skill
May, to the eye, some charms retrieve,

Yet all is lifeless-voiceless still;
Dumb semblance, to the heart, is weak ;
But, Scotia, to the inmost core
It beats-if once thy music speak→
With every throb it felt before;

Its blood still rushes to the cheek,
The bosom fills with struggling sighs,
As erst it spoke-the tongue would speak-
Wild with the glance of witching eyes;
And all the joys that we have known,
Come trooping in a living throng;
And all thy shaws, and glens, so lone-
So lov'd are with us, Land of Song.

GENIUS immortal, industry untired,
The power and the capacity of thought
Sublime, to mighty aspirations wrought,
Are thine, by thirst of grea tachievement fired.
I need not tell thee, Haydo, thou hast felt
The fears, the ecstasies of daring art,

The heavings, and the sinkings of the heart,

At obstacles that oft like vapou smelt,
And oft like rocks oppose us. It is thine,
After a warfare silent, but most deep,

OT

To triumph and o'ercome: thy name shall shine
In fame's unfading record, like a river,
That having toil'd o'er rocks, is left to sleep
'Mid everlasting hills, and gleam for ever!

T. D.

Δ

GAZE round thee, Stranger, 'tis a hallow'd spot,
To Love and Beauty hallow'd; the old woods
A sacred gloom breathe forth; and, like the ribs
Of cloistral roof, the beechen boughs above
Their glossy leaves commingle, the gay sun
Of summer keeping out, and through the noon
Yielding a cool retreat, and shadowy haunt.
Hearken, the river o'er its granite bed,
Rushing with wave of foam, and its deep sound
Speaking aloud tranquillity and peace!

The natural flowers around thee, bugloss blue,
Foxglove, and lychnis, blossom splendidly;
The broad fern, with its fingery leaf expands,
And the sloe-thorn is sprinkled with white flakes,
Like morning dews by magic frosted o'er.

Stranger! to these a simple tale pertains,
A simple tale, but sad.-A village maid
Here parted with her soldier, to the wars
Repairing; mournful was the parting scene,
Full of unspoken anguish, and deep sighs,
Heart-heaviness, and agonizing woe!
The past in all its beauty, on their souls
Rush'd bright-the many times that they had met,
The many times that they had wander'd here,
Beneath the evening star, or conscious moon;
The many times that they had felt, and told
How only for each other they could live.
The future-like a threatening angel stood,
Between their hearts, and happiness-long years
Of absence from each other-to the one
Danger, and to the other grief,

The grief of heartlessness and hope deferr'd,
Than danger worse to suffer and abide.

'Twas even so.-The soldier sail'd away O'er the broad ocean, to far foreign climes, Where the orange blossoms: valiantly He fought, the gallant youth; and valiantly He fell; and, dying, left his latest charge To him, the friend, who weeping o'er him hung, That he would tell the maiden of his love,Mary, the innocent, the beautiful girl,That sleeping he had dreamt of her; awake, Had thought upon her through the livelong day; That he died faithful to her, and implored The God of love to cheer, and comfort her When he was gone.

As, on summer morn,

Blue arrowy lightning darting from the cloud
On the young flower, so on young Mary's heart
Struck the intelligence of grief.-Cut off
At once, by one immitigable blow,
From earthly hope and happiness, at first
Loud was her grief, and violently strong,
As if it was beyond her to subdue
The fever of her spirit, or to stem

The gushing woe that overpower'd her heart.
She call'd upon him-who could not return!
She call'd upon him from his gory tomb,-
She call'd upon him through the livelong day,-
She call'd upon him, when the night winds sang
Around the casement, and the ivy leaves
Rustled with dull and melancholy sound.
She turn'd from solace as an empty word,-
From hope, as from a mockery,—she saw
Nought but despair in morning, noon, and night;
Nought but despair, in all she look'd upon !-
She loath'd her life,-and coveted the tomb;
She only sought the grave, the quiet grave,-
Forgetfulness, and a green resting-place.
But, by degrees, like stormy winds that sink
Softer and lower, of her voice the grief
Sank; and with still and melancholy eye,
That only lov'd the ground, silent she sate,
Through the unvarying day. Within her soul
Brooded a calm, a nullity of thought,

A passionless void, a gloomy reverie,
The unbroken stillness of a cloudy day,

3

That knows nor breeze, nor sunshine. A faint streak
Of light at length broke in, and gradually,
And steadily it strengthen'd, and it strove
With the surrounding darkness, and it shone
From heaven, and there for comfort did she look!

No sigh was utter'd now-no word she spoke,
She grew resign'd-but hope no more return'd,
Nor joy-she loved the paths of solitude,
The paths which are around thee, stranger;
She roam'd at noon, what time from flowers like these
The wild bee gathered honey, and the birds

here

Sang forth, with swelling hearts, from the green bough.
By yonder lake, beneath the chesnut tree,
Gazing she stood on the still waters, while
Unmark'd the trout leapt after the small fly,
Until the image of the flowers disturb'd,
And broken by the wrinkles, marr'd her gaze,
Then would she turn.

Whether the moon shone bright, 201
Or twinkling stars, on interlunar eves,
Spangled the cope of heaven; or boisterous winds
Sang through the forests, or the beating rains
Fell heavy on the house-top; by the hearth,
Whose blaze did flicker on her pale, wan cheek,
Ever and anon as if it bcded death,

The Bible was her sole companion now;
And, through the guiltless blood of Him who died
On Calvary, she form'd her hope of Heaven.

Who can quench

The gushing sorrows of a breaking heart,
Or lull despair to sleep?-One gloomy eve,
When gusty winds moan'd through the moonless sky,
And the leaves rustled, and the thunders roll'd
Nearer and nearer, muttering dismally;
And ocean, like a giant girt with chains,
Strove to o'erleap its barriers, roaring loud;
And nature seem'd prophetic-She awoke,
Smiling and fair, as from a gentle sleep,
And told the friends that hung around her couch,
That she had seen a vision, that the youth,
Who loved her, and had perish'd far away,
Leaning upon an angel's arm, had come
To tell her that an amaranthine bower
In Heaven was blooming for them.

With a smile,

That spake a farewell to her sorrowing friends,
And bade them be of comfort-she departed.

Δ.

ANOTHER TETE-A-TETE WITH THE PUBLIC.

The following was in types for our December Number, but having such a press of other matter from our kind and numerous Correspondents, we have been obliged to delay it till now.

C. N.

seen,

to that department. Meantime, con-
tributors, as well as letters of congra-
tulation, offer themselves by dozens;
and, from the specimens we have
it is evident our hams will suffer. No
matter. Our good friend Mr Oman has
contracted for us with a warehouse in
London; and we engage, that those
who make the public laugh, shall have
wherewithal to make themselves fat.

OUR Tête-a-tête has made what is our October Number have thrown incalled a sensation. We expected as much. Letters of congratulation have poured in upon us by shoals. Nothing but an excess of modesty has prevented us from filling a whole Number with them; but we have determined to confine ourselves to a small selection. Looking, as we ever do, with delight on those little official documents which quarterly announce the increase of our country's revenue, we shall gaze with peculiar pleasure on the next returns of the Post-office, conscious that a good 5000%. at least may be set down to the extra sums which the consequences of

AXIOм.-If any literary man-cormorant in Edinburgh, or within sixty miles of that metropolis, have an ancient and fish-like smell about him, set him down for a contributor to the