Saturday Night 3051

wi' serious face,

orm a circle wide; atriarchal grace, his father's pride; is laid aside,

g thin and bare;

ce did sweet in Zion glide,
judicious care;

1!" he says, with solemn air.

ss notes in simple guise;
rts, by far the noblest aim:
wild-warbling measures rise,
tyrs," worthy of the name,
beets the heavenward flame,
Scotia's holy lays:

these, Italian trills are tame;
heartfelt raptures raise;
with our Creator's praise.

ther reads the sacred page,as the friend of God on high; eternal warfare wage

s ungracious progeny; yal bard did groaning lie roke of Heaven's avenging ire; hetic plaint, and wailing cry; 's wild, seraphic fire; ers that tune the sacred lyre. vib pony diw almond oi Christian volume is the theme,— less blood for guilty man was shed; ho bore in heaven the second name, on earth whereon to lay his head: first followers and servants sped ots sage they wrote to many a land; ,who lone in Patmos banished,

e sun a mighty angel stand,

great Babylon's doom pronounced by Heaven's and.eqñor easybodia ni lod 1

Then kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal King,
The saint, the father, and the husband prays:
Hope "springs exulting on triumphant wing,"
That thus they all shall meet in future days:
There ever bask in uncreated rays,

No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear,

Together hymning their Creator's praise, In such society, yet still more dear;

While circling Time moves round in an eternal sphere.

Compared with this, how poor Religion's pride,

In all the pomp of method and of art,
When men display to congregations wide,
Devotion's every grace, except the heart!
The Power, incensed, the pageant will desert,
The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole;
But, haply, in some cottage far apart,

May hear, well pleased, the language of the soul;
And in His Book of Life the inmates poor enroll.

Then homeward all take off their several way;
The youngling cottagers retire to rest:

The parent-pair their secret homage pay,

And proffer up to Heaven the warm request,
That He, who stills the raven's clamorous nest,

And decks the lily fair in flowery pride,

Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little ones provide;

But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside.

From scenes like these old Scotia's grandeur springs,
That makes her loved at home, revered abroad;
Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,
"An honest man's the noblest work of God";

And certes, in fair Virtue's heavenly road,

The cottage leaves the palace far behind:
What is a lordling's pomp?—a cumbrous load,
Disguising oft the wretch of human kind,
Studied in arts of hell, in wickedness refined!

r's Picture

3953

ative soil!

st wish to Heaven is sent,
ns of rustic toil

and peace, and sweet content!

n their simple lives prevent
on, weak and vile!

ns and coronets be rent,

may rise the while,

around their much-loved isle.

wvoj-alstilon

the patriotic tide,

rough Wallace's undaunted heart;

ystem tyrannic pride,
second glorious part,
od peculiarly thou art,
r, guardian, and reward!)
Scotia's realm desert;
iot, and the patriot bard,

her ornament and guard!

Robert Burns [1759-1796]

PT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE

NORFOLK

FT OF MY COUSIN, ANN BODHAM

lips had language! Life has passed
troughly since I heard thee last.
re thine,-thy own sweet smile I see,
hat oft in childhood solaced me;
fails, else how distinct they say,
ot, my child; chase all thy fears away!"
intelligence of those dear eyes

the art that can immortalize,
hat baffles Time's tyrannic claim
ch it!) here shines on me still the same.
ful remembrancer of one so dear!
me guest, though unexpected here!
d'st me honor with an artless song,
onate, a mother lost so long,

I will obey, not willingly alone,

But gladly, as the precept were her own:
And, while that face renews my filial grief,
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief,
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,

A momentary dream that thou art she.

My mother! when I learned that thou wast dead, Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed? Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun? Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss: Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss— Ah, that maternal smile! It answers-Yes. I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day; I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away; And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! But was it such? It was.-Where thou art gone Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, The parting word shall pass my lips no more. Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern, Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. What ardently I wished I long believed, And, disappointed still, was still deceived. By expectation every day beguiled, Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent,

I learned at last submission to my lot;

But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot.

Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more; Children not thine have trod my nursery floor;

And where the gardener Robin, day by day,
Drew me to school along the public way,
Delighted with my bawble coach, and wrapped
In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capped,
'Tis now become a history little known

That once we called the pastoral house our own.

's Picture

the record fair,

hy kindness there,

that has effaced

less deeply traced.
hamber made,

me safe and warmly laid;

e I left my home,

hery plum;

my cheek bestowed

resh they shone and glowed;

earing still than all,

ove, that knew no fall,

hose cataracts and brakes

d too often makes;

memory's page,

my latest age,

akes me glad to pay
as my numbers may;
norial, but sincere,

ven, though little noticed here.
flight reversed, restore the hours,

th thy vesture's tissued flowers,
nk, the jessamine,

to paper with a pin

happier than myself the while,

3055

speak, and stroke my head and smile),

pleasant days again appear,

bring them, would I wish them here?
ust my heart, the dear delight
e desired, perhaps I might,-
t here we call our life is such,

e loved, and thou so much,
d ill requite thee to constrain

nd spirit into bonds again.

a gallant bark, from Albion's coast

s all weathered and the ocean crossed), port at some well-havened isle,

ces breathe, and brighter seasons smile; quiescent on the floods, that show teous form reflected clear below,