And as the Mariner, whom storms assail,
When his frail bark is staggering in the gale,
Yields to the yawning wave full many a prize
Of toil-won gold and costly merchandize,
Till his o'erlabour'd vessel springs at length,
Lightly and free, rejoicing in her strength,
Skims the wild surge and shuns the adverse shore,
Where on her lee the foaming billows roar,

Shoots through the boiling strait and, danger past,

In the smooth harbour safe is moored at last,

And furls her weary wings like sea-bird from the blast— As he, rejoicing o'er his rescued life,

Whose guiding ray had reached him from afar,
Pours forth his grateful soul before the Power
Whose mercy sav'd him in that dreadful hour:
So I, no more repining for the gay

And golden visions of my earlier day,
With cheerful gratitude the graver hue
Of manhood's calm realities review—
But gladly, now escaped each youthful snare,
View all my dreams dispersed in empty air;
And build, on humbler hopes, a better plan,
To prosecute the nobler aims of Man.

SONG.

IN PRAISE OF THE RIVER TWEED.

I.

O many a noble river runs
Beneath the Scottish hills,
And many a lovely English stream
Glides through her verdant dells;
But take the land, from sea to sea,
By mountain, glen, and mead,
Ye ne'er can match the sunny braes,
And silver streams of Tweed.

II.

All sparklingly the Coquet springs
Leap down in leafy June,
And pastoral Teviot sweetly sings
A wild old border tune;

And Yarrow rushes from her lakes

With swift and starry speed—

But sweeter, softer, fairer still,

Sweeps down the stately Tweed.

III.

Above her floods are waving woods,

And ancient castles gray,

And holy abbies darkly stand

In ruinous array;

In many a battle on her banks

Did Scottish nobles bleed,

Whose stately towers are shadowed still In the deep pools of Tweed.

IV.

The fisher seeks her waters clear,
The children pull her flowers,
And, oh! to pensive lovers, dear
Are Tweed's enchanting bowers;
For through retired and warbling groves
Her winding path-ways lead,

And sacred to a thousand loves

SONG.

AIR-" Of a' the airts the wind can blaw.”

I.

How sweetly in the dewy morn
Awakes the world in Spring!

What blossoms with their fragrance feed

The Summer evening!

And lovely gleams the Autumn moon,

Above the golden grain;

But cheerless Winter hath a charm

With me shall aye remain.

II.

The naked nests of every bird,
That loved the leafy Spring,

I joy to see them round the branch
Of every hawthorn cling;
They tell a tale of fruitful love,

All undisturbed and free,

Which God did fence with innocence

Beneath the greenwood tree.

III.

I love to see upon the hills

The sleepy snow-clouds lie;
I love to feel upon my cheek
The snow-blast sweeping by;
I love the scarlet berries all

That hang on the naked tree,
For sacred now for evermore
Are wint❜ry scenes to me.

IV.

For, oh! December's winds were chill,

And dark December's sky,

That first beheld my blushing love

Upon my bosom lie:

Can all the sweets the Seasons shower

An equal pleasure bring?

The rapture of that one brief hour,

Changed Winter into Spring!