And the clear ripple curls to break,

Soft as a tress on Beauty's cheek,Or whether the roused billows roll

Before the blast their foam and spray,

And seem to course into the bay, Following, like racers to the goal ;

There, be it sun-shine, be it storm,

When the wild waters have receded,

Unknown, unheeding, and unheeded, Is seen to glide a slender form;

And you may trace her fragile hand,

And little foot-print on the sand ;
And there she hath some viewless shrine,

And scatters many a flow'ry token,

And seems to shed, like one heart-broken, Tears, salter than the ocean-brine.

She brings each earliest bud, that hastes,

Blushing to hail the spring's return;
She brings the latest rose that wastes

Above the year's funereal urn;
And when the storm the ocean treads,
And the pale stars have hid their heads,
Trembling to hear the waters sweep,

And the hoar winter hath crawl'd forth
Slowly, from out his dreary north,
She wanders there,-though but to weep.
Where most the bruising foot hath trod,

There is the slender daisy seen,

And still a ring of deeper green
Marks where the lightning shakes the sod:

Love, shrinking as thou seem'st to be,
What others fear emboldens thee,

And thy impress is seen alone,
(As flowers, entomb'd by earthquake shock,

Will leave faint limnings in the rock,) On hearts that fate hath chill'd to stone.

“They scoop'd his grave the ocean-brim,

There, on the green-flood's very verge,

That, every sun, the restless surge
Might sweep away all trace of him.

But yet, methinks, he'll better rest

Even in the changeful ocean's breast,
Than in yon field's sepulchral bed,

Where every day some armed heel,

That help'd to thrust down England's weal, May stalk above his lowly head. “ Yes-even the hireling priests are gone

To hymn the scornful Conqueror,

And leave their loyal love to her,
The worm-they would have trod upon.
Though they have left me here alone,
And kneel before the Norman's throne,
I still can weep, and ask the waters

To see his tomband wait their leave
There's no one to revenge these slaughters,

But there's a heart still left to grieve.
“ It was an hour of agony-

E'en now I feel that mortal sick’ning,
Those fainting pangs of soul to see
The corses gash'd, and life-blood thick’ning,

And still to be compell’d to trace

The lines of each distorted face-
But oh! when I had fix'd mine eye

On his pale brow and raven hair,
And when they let me kiss them there,
What bliss it would have been to die!

“ They say, the day--the hour he perish'd,
The peacock that his hand caress’d
Did droop and hide; nor those that cherish'd
Could tempt him to his wonted nest.

He would not grace the victor's gate,

Nor help to swell his insolent state ;-
But when the autumn leaves were strewn,

And the bare boughs the blasts were shaking,

He died-contented and forsaken;
So hard it is to pine-alone.
“ But summer leaves are still the greenest,

And turn them where the beam falls strongest;
Even so, the men whose souls are meanest,

Where fortune's kindest, smile the longest.
Yet there's a charm in a true grief

For one beloved a wild relief
In constant, though in hopeless sorrow;

And if to-night the envious wave

Shall snatch these chaplets from his grave,
I've sweeter flowers and tears to-morrow.

a

“ The laurel I'll bring, with the bitter rue

The rose, and the violet's breath of gladness,
And that shade-loving lily, of tender bue,

In its dark broad leaf-like love in sadness;
And the stately flower of the chesnut tree,
In sign of his nobility; Marine

AN

Vol. X

“ And when they had sung a hymn, they went out into the Mount of Olives."

MATT. xxvi. 30.

ܪ

S

That none may feel, and none can know ! And claps his wings in joy to hear

Thy God is made a mock and scorn ; The groan that tells him death is near; Weep for the misery

that cometh on thee, Then shalë thou darkness dread_but more Yea, more dreadful will it be,

the coming light! Than when the fierce Assyrian won thee,

8. And thy proud streets flow'd with a bloody

Semi-chorus. sea!

Oh, who shall pray to God ! Oh woe ! 6.

Who shall avert the destined blow ?
Chorus.

What be the holy sacrifice ?
Now, Sion, art thou cast away!

When altars smoke and perfumes rise,
Thy name is sunk for ever!

Go, Israel, go!
Gone is thy pride and gone thy stay,

And
weep

and pray-Oh no! Oh no! Yea, thou art cast away!

Thy end is near.
Thy vine shall blossom never ;-

Thou shalt not tempt thy God again ; Thou art overthrown in other lands,

Now be thy portion wail, and fear,
No friend shall weep over thee;

Contempt and pain !
Cruel and hostile hands

As thou received thy Lord-so be thy fate
Wait to uncover thee !

with men. Thy glory is darken'd, and turn'd into

9. shame;

Chorus. Oh where are thy ancient deeds, where is thy

What glorious vision meets our eyes, fame?

A new Jerusalem in the skies !
How shall the Gentile glory now,

For earth and sea have passed away,
That she the Empress lieth low;

And hark ! eternal spirits sayRejected of her Lord, and spoil'd her for.

“Now hath Godfix'd his throne with men, mer name!

They shall his people be.-
7.

No weeping shall be heard again,
Messias.

And death thou shalt not see,
Yea from the fix'd foundation-stone, For all that were have passed away."
Yon Temple's towers must fall!

No temple riseth there-
The shrine where God had fix'd his God is himself their holy shrine,
throne

The Lamb their temple fair !
The seat the Father call'd his own- They have no sun, no day, no night,
Shall vanish all !

But God is their eternal light !
And dark and long the night shall be, And thousand saints in glory there,
Where desolation hovers o'er

Raise high their golden harps in air,
Thy sons and thee !

And echo back the strain,
Then shall be signs ne'er seen before, “ Worthy the Lamb who died to save,
Yea signsin heaven and signs on earth; Who broke the bondage of the grave;
Then shall the dreadful word go forth! Who died and lives again!
Thou art my chosen race no more; His be the conqueror's meed, for Death
While the proud eagle wings his flight, himself was slain !”
Amid the darkness of the night,

THE STEAM-BOAT;
Or, The Voyages and Travels of Thomas Duffle, Cloth-merchant in the

Saltmarket of Glasgow.

No, VIII. When I had abundantly satisfied my curiosity with the curious things of London, I was admonished by my purse, which had suffered a sore bowel complaint from the time of my arrival, that it behoved me to think of taking it to grass and replenishment in the Salt-market. Accordingly after settling counts with Mrs Damask, I got a hackney to carry my portmanty to the wharf, where I embarked on board the Mountaineer steam-boat, bound, God willing, to the Port of Leith.

I had not been long on board when, lo! and behold who should I see, flourishing his cane, but that nice, good-tempered, fat man, whose genius and talents in the abstruse art of song writing make such a figure in Blackwood's Magazine.

-- Hey, Doctor!" quo I at length; “ Hegh, sirs, but a sight of you here is gude for sair een-whar d’ye come frae?”

The Doctor, who is a pawkie loon,as is well kent, said nothing at first, but looking as it were down at me with an inquisitive and jealousing ee, cried out, in his funny way, “ Whar did that creature speak frae? Lord sake, Tammy Duffle, how came ye here? What's ta’en you a gallanting out o' the Salt- Market? I thought the Gallowgate would hae been the farthest o' your tramps. But ye hae nae doubt been up wi' a cargo of your loyalty to the ca ronation. Lord sake, man, but I'm glad to see you: I have nae had the visibility o' a Christian face since the Heavens kens when, Tammy.”.

In this way the Odontist for a space o' time continued his mirthful devices till the vessel was put under way by the steam being set on, when we had soine solid conversation thegether--in the first place anent the news from Glasgow, of which the Doctor was in great want, by reason of his long absence; and in the second, concerning the Doctor's experience, and observes on the kingdom of France, and the city of Paris, appertaining thereto. But as it is his full intention to give the world some narration of his travels

, it would be a breach of confidence to rehearse herein what he told to me.

While we were thus holding a jocose conversation, a gentleman that had the look of a divine joined in with us, and he being taken with the Doctor's funny sayings, began to ettle at something of the sort himself; and upon his suggestion the Doctor, and him, and me, retired to a corner by ourselves

, where the Odontist called on the steward to bring us a bottle of the port out of his basket of sea-stores; for the Doctor, being a man of a jolly as well as a jocose humour, had laid in a plentiful extra supply of divers sorts of good wines

This stranger turned out to be no other than the Rev. Mr Birkwhistle, the Minister of Dintonknow. He is an elderly man, of a composed appearance, with something, however, of a peeryweery twinkling about the een, which betrayed that he knew more than he let on. He had been at London on some gospel affair anent the call of a minister ; but whether he had been on the leet

, and wasna successful, or merely as a visitant--ablins to spy the nakedness of the land, I'll no take it upon me to say ; but he had a fouth of queer stories

, which it was a curiosity to hear of, in the manner that he discoursed of the same. Among others, he told us of a very surprising thing that befell himself

.

а

THE WIG AND THE BLACK CAT.

a

TALB, No. XIII. “Byan agreement with the session," the bounds and jurisdictions of the said Mr Birkwhistle, “ I was invited to parish ; so that I could make no bete preach the action sermon at Kilmartin, ter o't than to borrow the dredge-bor and my new wig coming home from out of the kitchen, and dress the wig Glasgow by the Šaltcoats carrier on the with my own hands. Thursday afore, I took it unopened on

Although Mr Keckle had been bule the Saturday evening in the box to ried but the week before, the mistress

, the Manse, where I was to bide during as a' minister's wives of the right gosa the preachings with the widow. It pel and evangelical kind should be happened, however, that in going in was in a wholesome state of composicions the stage-fly from my own parish to ty, and seeing what I was ettling at

, Kilmartin, a dreadful shower came on, said to me, the minister had a block. and the box with my new wig there- head whereon he was wont to dress intil, being on the outside tap of the and fribble his wig, and that although coach, the wind flew and the rain fell, it was a sair heart to her to see any and by the help and colleagury of the twa, the seams of the box were welcome to use my freedoms thereo

other man's wig upon the same, I was invaded, and the wig, when I took it with. Accordingly,

the blockhead, on out on the Saturday night, was just a the end of a stick,' like the shank of o clash o'weet.

carpet-besom, was
« At that time o' night, there wasná
a barber to be had for love or money

room; and the same being stuck into
the finger-hole of a buffet-stool

, 1 set within three miles o' the Manse; in myself to dress and fribble with me deed I dinna think, for that matter, new wig, and Mrs Keckle the while there was a creature o' the sort within sat beside me, and we had some very

brought intil the