The frost wind soon shall sweep away 'The swan,' she said, the lake's clear breast The Awe's fierce stream may backward turn; Still in the water-lilies shade, Her wonted nest the wild swan made; Still downward foams the Awe's fierce river; No Highland brogue has turn'd the heel; She's wedded to the Erlie's son.. Two or three of Mr. Hogg's contributions are highly poetical; and the following Air is particularly marked with the simplicity and pathos which characterize the effusions of the Scottish Muse. WHY should I sit and sigh, When the greenwood blooms sae bonny? Lavrocks sing, flow'rets spring, A' but me are cheery. Ochon, o ri! there's something wanting; Ochon, o ri! I'm weary; Nae young, blythe, and bonny lad, Comes o'er the knowe to cheer me. Ochon, o ri! there's something wanting, &c. When the day wears away, Sair I look adown the valley, Ilka sound, wi' a stound, Sets my heart a thrilling: Is coming to my sheeling. Ochon, o ri! there's something wanting, &c. Come away, come away, Herd, or hind, or boatman laddie; I hae cow, kid, and ewe, Gowd and gear to gain thee. My wee cot is bless'd and happy; O'tis neat and cleanly! Sweet the brier that blooms beside it, Kind the heart that's lanely. Ochon, o ri! there's something wanting, &c. There is one air, composed by Mrs. Grant, which has great smoothness and harmony. O, my love, leave me not, Could you but stay a while, Night with her darkest shroud, Till the sad hour we part, The three following stanzas are anonymous; but we think no person need be ashamed to own them. O HUSH thee, my baby, thy sire was a knight; Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright; The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see, O fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows, It calls but the wardens that guard thy repose; Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red, O hush thee, my baby, the time soon will come, THERE's nothing so fatal as woman, To hurry a man to his grave; He may pine like a saint, But still she will hold him her slave. But a bottle, although 'tis quite common, It will drive from your head The delights of a bride: He that is drunk is too happy to woo! But Mr. Campbell thinks no such thing. It is all scandal; and, in order to let his fair readers see that he dissents totally and altogether from his author, he takes up the pen and gives yent to his gallant mind in the following manner: THERE's naught so delightful as woman, And possess'd of a mind, She's, by Heavens! no trifling toy! Of a truth ('tis disputed by no man), With delicate case, She fails not to please, When she sways man with gentlest control. O woman! bewitching, sweet woman! Thou idol, whom all must adore! Let virtue inspire, Each hallowed desire, Then, rule thou the world evermore! There is, finally, no inconsiderable merit in this musical volume, Mr. Campbell is evidently a person of thorough-going industry; and though there is something quixotic in the solemnity with which he speaks of comparatively insignificant things, the general execution of the work does him as much honour as can well be attached to such an undertaking. Our fair readers have no occasion to regret that the music is not accessible; for if they will put any trust in our judgment on the subject, we can assure them that a Scotch Air is pounded all to pieces in a pianoforte. ART. VII.-Intelligence in Science, Literature, and the Arts. 1. Inaugural Address, delivered in the Chapel of the University at Cambridge, December 11th, 1816. By John Gorham, M. D., Erving Professor of Chymistry in Harvard University, Boston. Wells & Lilly. 1817. 8vo. pp. 23. 2. Inaugural Address, delivered in the same place and on the same day. By Jacob Bigelow, M. D., Rumford Professor in Harvard University. 1817. 8vo. pp. 24. WE have been not a little gratified with the perusal of both these pamphlets; though the one which stands first has pleased us a great deal the most. A Professorship of Chymistry and Matéria Medica was established in Harvard College in 1783; and about eight years afterwards William Erving, Esq. bequeathed a thousand pounds, lawful money, for the support of that department. Dr. Gorham's Address was delivered on the occasion of his being installed in the chair. It is written in perspicuous and classical language; and contains the best sketch of the origin, revolutions, and present state of chymistry which we have recently had occasion to peruse. To the general reader such a brief and comprehensive tract is better than a half of a dozen volumes. We now take up Dr. Bigelow's Address. teuil, near Paris, on the 21st of August 1814. Count Rumford died at Au- miniscitur Argos-he remembered New England;* for in his wills of September and October, 1812, and of October, 1813, he has bequeathed,besides other legacies,-one thousand dollars annually, together with the reversion of other sums to the University of Cambridge, in the state of Massachusetts, in North America, for the purpose of founding under the direction and management of the corporation, overseers, and government of that university, a new institution and professorship, in order to teach, by regular courses of academical and public lectures, accompanied with proper experiments, the utility of the physical and mathematical sciences, for the improvement of the useful arts, and for the extension of the industry, prosperity, happiness, and well being of society.' Dr. Bigelow was elected in October last the first Rumford professor; and his Address was delivered at the inauguration in December. We shall not give any detail of its contents; as they are little more than a repetition of what we have often heard before,—an account of what the inhabitants of New England have done and what they are going to do for the sciences. We are sorry that Dr. Bigelow could not get along without so much repetition of we and among us; by which our readers must understand, he constantly means New England. "We have had little of the parade of operation, yet we have sometimes seen the fruits of silent efficiency and perseverance. We have had few learned men, but many useful ones. We have not often seen individuals among us, like the laborious Germans, spending their lives in endless acquisitions, while perhaps themselves add little to the general stock of knowledge; yet we have had men of original talents, who have been fortunate enough to discover some province in which they were qualified to be serviceable to their country and mankind. We have had ingenious mechanicians, skilful projectors, profound mathematicians, and men well versed in the useful learning of their time. The progress of our internal improvements, and the high state of the mechanic arts among us, as well as in our sister states, has entitled us to the character of a nation of inventors. The individuals who have originated and promoted such improvements, have often been men unambitious of fame, whose lives have past in obscurity; yet there have sometimes been those among us, whose labours have attracted the honourable notice of foreigners, and reflected lustre upon the country of their birth. It has even been our fortune to impose obligations on others, and there are services of our citizens which are now better known than their names. There are some things which, if gathered from the ashes of obscurity, might serve to shed a gleam upon our literary reputation, and to make known at least the light they have kindled for others. It is a fact perhaps not generally realized, that the American Philosophical Society at Philadelphia, the Royal Society of Great Britain, and the Royal Institution of London, all of them are in a measure indebted for their birth and first foundation to natives or inhabitants of New England.' Poems. By Lord Byron. New York. 1817. 18mo. pp. 143. THE longest poem in this collection is a Third Canto of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. It opens with the Pilgrim's second departure from England; • Whither he knew not; but the hour's gone by When Albion's lessening shores could grieve or glad his eye.' • We have not adhered precisely to the doctor's translation; for we question whether all the classical fraternity of Cambridge can make 'dulces' mean 'rocky.' He goes to Waterloo; writes some vigorous stanzas upon the subject; passes down the Rhine; describes its banks, as he describes every thing else, with force and faithfulness; visits Lausane; describes its lake, and there leaves us. It is impossible that lord Byron should ever write tamely; but we do not'think this Third Canto is so good as the two others. The author's own sufferings and feelings engrossed so much of his thoughts that he had very little time for attention to any thing else. The most exquisite passage is his description of Leman. 'Clear, placid Leman, thy contrasted lake, There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more. 'He is an evening reveller, who makes At intervals, some bird from out the brakes, • All heaven and earth are still,-though not in sleep, Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost, Of that which is of all Creator and defence.' As a contrast we should have extracted the stanza which describes a storm upon the lake,—were it not concluded in the following lame and impotent line:-The mountains shake their sides 'As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.' Of the other poems in this volume, The Prisoners of Chillon, a fable, is by far the best. Besides this there are a Sonnet to Chillon, an Apostro |