Hers the slim waist graceful,

And the neck whose hue
Matches well the sea-gull's
Out on Gairloch blue.

Chorus.-Hey my &c.

What a wealth of tresses

Mary dear can show!

Crown of lustre rarer

Ne'er graced maiden brow.
"Tis but little dressing

Need those tresses rare,

Falling fondly, proudly

O'er her shoulders fair.

Chorus.-Hey, my &c.

Hers are teeth whose whiteness

Snow alone can peer;

Hers the breath all fragrance,

Voice of loving cheer,—

Cheeks of cherry ripeness,

Eyelids drooping down

Neath a forehead never
Shadowed by a frown.

Chorus.-Hey, my &c.

Out on royal splendours!

Love best makes his bed

'Mong the leaves and grasses
Of the Sylvan shade,

Where the blissful breezes
Tell of bloom and balm,
And health-giving streamlets
Sing their ceaseless psalm.

Chorus.-Hey, my &c.

No mere music art-born
There our pleasures crowned ;-
Music far more cheering
Nature for us found.-
Larks in air, and thrushes
On each flow'ring thorn,
And the Cuckoo hailing
Summer's gay return!

Chorus.-Hey, m &c.

THE CHILD OF PROMISE.

(A translation from the author's Gaelic, by the late Rev. Dr. Buchannan, Methven, Scotland.)

SHE died-as die the roses

On the ruddy clouds of dawn,
When the envious sun discloses

His flame, and morning's gone.
She died-like snow glad-gracing
Some sea-marge fair, when lo!
Rude waves, each other chasing,

Quick hide it 'neath their flow.

She died-like waves of sun-glow
By fleeting shadows chased;
She died-like heaven's rainbow
By gushing showers effaced.

She died as dies the glory
Of music's sweetest swell :

She died-as dies the story
When the best is still to tell!

She died-as dies moon-beaming
When scowls the rayless wave;
She died-like sweetest dreaming
That hastens to its grave.

She died and died she early;
Heaven wearied for its own.

As the dipping sun, my Mary.
Thy morning ray went down !

ANOTHER VERSION OF THE SAME POEM.

دو

(Contributed to the "Teachdaire Gaidhealach, by the late Lachlaan MacLean, of Glasgow.)

THY life was like a morning cloud
Of rosy hue, at break of day;
The envious sun appears, and soon
The rival glory melts away.

Thy life was like May's sunny beams

By shadows brushed o'er field and flower; Or like the bow of heaven that sheds Its glory in a fleeting shower.

Thy life was like new-fallen snow,

Gracing some sea-beach lately bared;
The tide returns with heedless flow-
The sky-born guest hath disappeared.

Thy life was like some tuneful harp
Abruptly stopped when sweetest strung,
Or like "the tale of other years
To expectation half unsung.

Thy life was like a passing gleam

Of moonlight on a troubled main,
Or like some blissful dream which he
Who dreams, may never dream again.

O child of promise bright! although
'Twere wrong to grudge to heaven its own,
Our tears, withal, will often flow

To think thy sun so soon gone down.