VI.

Each mist-veiled mountain towering to the sky
In purple hues and native majesty-

Each stream that rushes o'er its gravelly bed-
Each springy heathbell bent beneath my tread--
Each trilling note from mavis loud and clear-
Scotia's wild songs which swell upon my ear
From snooded lassies toiling blithly nigh-

The low whins e'en that greet my wandering eye;-
All-all as friends, speak to my yearning heart,
And cause each throb of recollection start!

VII.

And She! Oh! say, did not her infant eyes
First widely ope on Scotia's shadowy skies?——
Her fervid heart--here it was formed and nursed,
Here, in her soul, the flame of genius burst;
Here, 'midst wild scenes of this her country, she
In fancied brightness oft appears to me;

And thus, where'er my saddened steps I bend,
I meet the shade of some long absent friend;
And, in these highland haunts, there shines for me
The ray that faintly gilds my destiny.

VIII.

Albyn! 'Tis yours this page-though feebly fraught
With the deep fervours on thy mountains caught,
When thine own Muse to my rapt ear oft sung,
From the fierce blast that swooped thy hills among,
O'er the glad wonder of my infant brow;
And made life's source, within, enraptured bow
To viewless moving sympathies that there,
With low unearthly tones, sighed high in air :
Yes!-now to thee the simple scroll I cast,
That faintly pictures scenes much loved-though past.

IX.

Whate'er of Nature these dimmed pages show
From Memory's store, to thee, dear Land! I owe;
Whate'er of fancy glads my weary way,

Was it not nourished by each thrilling lay

Of thine own Bards ?-Upon their tomes I'd pore,
And drink enchantment from the stirring lore ;-
My soul would spring in fond bewilderment,
Amid the visioned dyes their magic blent—
And still the voices sweet, that speak to me,
In lonely mood-oh! they belong to thee!

THE OCEAN'S OWN.

I.

OCEAN! once more we hail thee as our own;
Once more the land a lessening speck we find;
Once more our bark, like sea-bird wild and lone,
Spreads her white sails towards the freshening wind,
And leaves our rock-home earth far—far behind!
Once more, our homage thus to thee is sent-

Th' electric throb, which still we ever find

Roused by thy voice, and with a rapture blent,

That thrills with curbless force of thine own element !

II.

The restless waves beneath-the sky above!
The cares and stains of life seem now as fled;
And, on the wide expanse, some hand of love
A holy calm around appears to shed—

A spell, which sways the soul that knows no dread, Though viewing thee even in thy reckless hour, When from thy depths the flash of scorn is spedWhen o'er thy swell the frowns of Tempest lower, And thou dost rouse thee in the fury of thy power!

III.

Yet here we lose not the deep sympathy
Kind Nature planted in the human breast-

'Mid the grand loneliness how dim the eye!
How Feeling's stream wells forth, all unrepressed
In the wild heart, through silence round it pressed!
For there is one with us, upon the wave-

A Stranger!-to his eyes there comes small rest— Consumption's own!-Oh! that this tear could save The Boy for his own land, or close his opening grave!