Till nature and sunshine disclos'd the sweet way

To the house of my fathers, that welcom'd me back. I flew to the pleasant fields, travell❜d so oft

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,

And well knew the strain that the corn-reapers sung.

Then pledg'd we the wine cup, and fondly I swore

From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er,

And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heartStay, stay with us, rest-thou art weary and worn! And fain was the war-broken soldier to stay; But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

THE DOWNFAL OF DALZELL.

ALLAN CUNNINGHAM.

The wind is cold, the snow falls fast,

The night is dark and late,
As I lift aloud my voice and cry

By the oppressor's gate.
There is a voice in every hill,

A tongue in every stone;

The greenwood sings a song of joy,
Since thou art dead and gone;

A poet's voice is in each mouth,

And songs of triumph swell,

Glad songs, that tell the gladsome earth
The downfal of Dalzell.

As I raised up my voice to sing
I heard the green earth say,
Sweet am I now to beast and bird,
Since thou art past away;

I hear no more the battle shout,

The martyrs' dying moans; My cottages and cities sing

From their foundation stones;

The carbine and the culverin's mute

The death-shot and the yell Are turn'd into a hymn of joy, For thy downfal, Dalzell.

I've trod thy banner in the dust,
And caused the raven call
From thy bride-chamber, to the owl
Hatch'd on thy castle wall;

I've made thy minstrels' music dumb,

And silent now to fame

Art thou, save when the orphan casts

His curses on thy name.

Now thou may'st say to good men's prayers A long and last farewell:

There's hope for

every sin save thine—

Adieu, adieu, Dalzell!

The grim pit opes for thee her gates,
Where punish'd spirits wail,

And ghastly death throws wide her door,
And hails thee with All hail!

Deep from the grave there comes a voice, A voice with hollow tones,

Such as a spirit's tongue would have

That spoke through hollow bones:—

Arise, ye martyr'd men, and shout
From earth to howling hell;
He comes, the persecutor comes!
All hail to thee, Dalzell!

O'er an old battle-field there rush'd
A wind, and with a moan
The sever'd limbs all rustling rose,

Even fellow-bone to bone.

Lo! there he goes, I heard them cry,
Like babe in swathing band,

Who shook the temples of the Lord,
And pass'd them 'neath his brand!
Curs'd be the spot where he was born,
There let the adders dwell,

And from his father's hearth-stone hiss :

All hail to thee, Dalzell!

I saw thee growing like a tree—

Thy green head touch'd the sky

But birds far from thy branches built,
The wild deer pass'd thee by ;
No golden dew dropt on thy bough,
Glad summer scorned to grace

Thee with her flowers, nor shepherds wooed
Beside thy dwelling place:

The axe has come and hewn thee down,

Nor left one shoot to tell

Where all thy stately glory grew:
Adieu, adieu, Dalzell!

An ancient man stands by thy gate,
His head like thine is gray;
Gray with the woes of many years,
Years fourscore and a day.
Five brave and stately sons were his;
Two daughters, sweet and rare;

An old dame, dearer than them all,
And lands both broad and fair :-

Two broke their hearts when two were slain,
And three in battle fell-

An old man's curse shall cling to thee:
Adieu, adieu, Dalzell!

And yet I sigh to think of thee,
A warrior tried and true

As ever spurr'd a steed, when thick
The splintering lances flew.

I saw thee in thy stirrups stand,

And hew thy foes down fast,

When Grierson fled, and Maxwell fail'd,

And Gordon stood aghast,

And Graeme, saved by thy sword, raged fierce As one redeem'd from hell.

I came to curse thee-and I weep:

So go

in peace,

Dalzell.

THE EMIGRANT'S FAREWELL.

THOMAS PRINGLE, ESQ.

Our native land, our native vale,
A long and last adieu !
Farewell to bonnie Teviotdale,

And Cheviot mountains blue!

Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds,
And streams renown'd in song!
Farewell, ye braes and blossom'd meads,
Our hearts have lov'd so long!

Farewell, the blithesome broomy knowes,
Where thyme and harebells grow!
Farewell, the hoary, haunted, howes,
O'erhung with birk and sloe!

The mossy cave and mouldering tower
That skirt our native dell-