Woman-pearl of priceless worth!
Nature's purest, fairest birth!
Woman-to whose grace is given

To make Earth almost a Heaven!
Only for her smiles, I wis,

Earth her sweetest songs would miss ;
And even this poor lay I sing

Were poorer still, but that it has

The inspiration following

The wish to win fair Jennie's praise.

Never in this book be penned
Aught that virtue may offend;
Let the knave in friendship's guise
Elsewhere vent his flatteries.

Dullards. pray keep distance wide;
Hands off, all ye slaves of pride!
Wits whose pens are dipt in gall,
Misanthropes and sceptics all,

Aught that ye might have to spare her,
Least of all would Jennie care for.

Type of infancy ere yet

Thought has its impression set

On the brow that may be found

Yet with the proud laurel crowned,

Joyful as a mother may

Watch the dawn of reason's ray

Growing into perfect day,

Thus may thy fair mistress see
All that she may wish in thee
Growing, till thy glowing pages
Prove thee all her heart presages.

VERSES

ADDRESSED TO A FAIR FRIEND ON HER BIRTHDAY.

SOME love the Springtime's promise bright, Some Summer's fuller joys;

Some most in Autumn's charms delight,

But winter most I prize:

For thou in winter had thy birth

Thou whose fair hand to own

I'd count a gift of rarer worth
Than any kingly crown.

'Tis true, no scent of flowers nor hymn

Of forest songsters free,

Nor aught of beauty marks the time

Of thy nativity,—

Yet, in thy presence dear, to me

'Tis summer all the while;

Yea, more than all its charms I see

In thy love-lighted smile,

Scarce did'st thou reach thy teens, sweet one,

When it was plain to see

That Beauty meant her chosen throne
Thy loving face to be.

And now that thou'rt a woman grown,
He'd be of sumphs the rarest
Who would not with me freely own
Thee of earth's fair the fairest !

All honour then to that blest day
That on this earth first found thee!

May ever thus its advent gay

Find loving friends around thee.

May all thy life, beloved one, be
A life of perfect bliss;

And my reward for this brief lay
Be now-a birth-day kiss!

23rd Nov., 1845.

THE MINSTREL TO HIS HARP.

I'VE learned to look on fame as
A breath of passing air;
Thy favours, fickle fortune,
Were never much my care;

The crown poetic never
May on my brow be set,
But, O my rustic wild harp,
I love thee, love thee yet!

To beauty's smile is given

My worship now no more;
From and kindred driven,

Sad thoughts are all my store;
Yet sweeter than the blossoms
Of summer to the bee,
Than fountain to the desert,
Is my wild harp to me.

TRANSLATIONS.

LOCH-DUICH.

(From the Author's "Clàrsach Nam Beann.")

LOCH-DUICH, hail! O thou scene resplendent !
Were the grand harp of old Ossian mine,
Then, then in strains as my theme transcendent
Thy charms unmatched would forever shine.

While storms are often o'er ocean sweeping,
Unbroken here is thy slumber deep,-
Like childhood blest in the bosom sleeping
Of some sad mother who wakes to weep.

Well may the skiff of the fisher daring,
When storm-toss'd out on a sea more wide,
Be often seen towards thee glad steering,
Assured of safety on thy calm tide.

Ye hills that soar in stern beauty yonder,
Proud watchers over Loch-duich's rest,
Well may ye glory to see your grandeur
Thus mirror'd daily in Duich's breast!

How grand the sight when, with night advancing,
The stars seem touching your summits bold!
Nor less the joy when, your charms enhancing,
The morning crowns you with wreaths of gold.
Hark! 'tis yon urchins among the heather,-
They see green woods in the lake below,
And fondly question each other whether

Brown nuts and berries may 'mong them grow!

The herd boy near them, with no less wonder
Sees kine within the lake's bosom clear,
And thankful seems, as he looketh on there,
The herd he tendeth himself still near !

DUN-DONNAN !* tow'ring there grim and hoary—
Thou ghost of greatness long pass'd away,
Outliving scenes once thy grace and glory,
Good cause thou hast to look sad and gray.

Thou seem'st like Ossian, alone, lamenting
His vanish'd prowess-his kindred dead;
Time, thy stern foeman, knows no relenting;
Soon, soon shall all but thy fame be fled.

* More properly Caisteal Donnain, once the residence of the "Stern son of Lord Kenneth, high Chief of Kintail!"