And hourly prove,
The joys that move

The pure heart with a sister's love.

THE OUTCAST.

And did you pity me, kind sir?

Say, did you pity me?

Then, oh how kind, and oh how warm,
Your generous heart must be!
For I have fasted all the day,

Ay, nearly fasted three,

And slept upon the cold, hard earth,
And none to pity me;

And none to pity me, kind sir,

And none to pity me.

My mother told me I was born
On a battlefield in Spain,
Where mighty men like lions fought,

Where blood ran down like rain!
And how she wept, with bursting heart,
My father's corse to see!

When I lay cradled 'mong the dead,
And none to pity me;

And none to pity me, kind sir,

And none to pity me.

At length there came a dreadful day,
My mother too lay dead,-
And I was sent to England's shore

To beg my daily bread,

To beg my bread; but cruel men

Said, Boy, this may not be,

So they locked me in a cold, cold cell,
And none to pity me;

And none to pity me, kind sir,
And none to pity me.

They whipped me,-sent me hungry ferth;
I saw a lovely field

Of fragrant beans; I plucked, I ate;
To hunger all must yield.
The farmer came,-a cold, a stern,
A cruel man was he;
He sent me as a thief to jail,

And none to pity me;
And none to pity me, kind sir,
And none to pity me.

It was a blessed place for me,
For I had better fare;

It was a blessed place for me,—
Sweet was the evening prayer.
At length they drew my prison bolts,
And I again was free,——

Poor, weak, and naked in the street,
And none to pity me;
And none to pity me, kind sir,
And none to pity me.

I saw sweet children in the fields,
And fair ones in the street,

And some were eating tempting fruit,
And some got kisses sweet;
And some were in their father's arms,
Some on their mother's knee;

I thought my orphan heart would break,
For none did pity me;

For none did pity me, kind sir,

For none did pity me.

Then do you pity me, kind sir?

Then do you pity me?

Then, oh how kind, and oh how warm,
Your generous heart must be!
For I have fasted all the day,

Ay, fasted nearly three,

And slept upon the cold, hard ground,
And none to pity me;

And none to pity me, kind sir,
And none to pity me.

LOVE'S EVENING SONG.

Night's finger hath prest down the eyelids of day,
And over his breast thrown a mantle of gray,-
I'll out to the fields, and my lonely way
Shall be lighted by fancy's burning ray;
And, oh! might I hear my own love say,-

Sing on, sing on, I'll bless thy strain,"-
My heart would re-echo most willingly,
"Amen, sweet spirit, amen!"

I seek the green bank where the streamlet flows,
The home of the bluebell and wild primrose;
Where the glittering spray from the fountain
springs,

And twines round the branches like silver strings,
Or falls again through the yellow moon's rays,
Like rich drops of gold-a thousand ways.
I come in thy presence, thou bright new moon!
To spend nature's night, but true love's noon;
To stretch me out on the flowery earth,

And to christen with tears the young buds' birth.

Oh! surely, ye heavens! some being of light
Is descending to earth in this calm, calm night,
Bearing balm and bliss from a holy sphere,
To cheer the hearts that are sorrowing here,
Gently alighting upon each breast

It knew on earth and loved the best;
That its strength be renewed, its sleep be rest,
Its thoughts be pure, and its dreams be blest.

Spirit of brightness on me alight,

For the thirst of my soul would gladly sip The dew that is shed from thy downy wing;

Then breathe, sweet spirit, oh! breathe on my

lip,

And teach me the thoughts of my soul to sing, For my words must be warmed at a holy flame Ere I venture to breathe my true-love's name! I speak it not to the worldly throng,

I sing it not in the festive song;

But when clasped in the arms of the solcmn

wood,

In the calm of morn and the stillness of even, I tell to the ear of solitude

The name that goes up with my prayers to heaven.

Come, Echo! come, Echo! but not from the caves Where gloom ever broods and the wild wind raves, Come not in the gusts that sweep over the graves, In the roar of the storm or the dash of the waves; But softly, gently, rise from the earth,

As full as the heave of a maiden's breast, When the first sigh of love is starting to birth, And sweetly disturbing her bosom's rest; Softly, gently, rise from the bed

Where the young May gowan hath laid its head,
Hath laid its head, and slept all night,

With a dewy heart-
t-so pure and bright;
Come with its breath, and the tinge of its blush,
Come with its smile when the skies grow flush:
Come, and I'll tell thee the secret way
Thou must go to my love with my lowly lay;-
Onward, on, through the silent grove,
Where the tangled branches are interwove;
Onward, on, where the moon's gold beam
Is painting heaven upon the stream;
Through flowery paths still onward, on,
Till you meet my love as you meet the sun-
A being too bright to look proud upon!
But her gentle feet will as softly pass
As the shade of a cloud on the sleeping grass;
And the soul-fed blue of her lovely eye
Is as dark as the depths of the cloudless sky,
And as full of magic mystery!

And, more than all, her breath is sweet
As the blended odours you love to meet,
When you stir at morn the blooming bowers,
And awake the air that sleeps round the flowers.
Then tell her, Echo, my whisper'd vow,

I cannot breathe it so well as thou,
Oh! tell her all I am feeling now!

THE AULD MEAL MILL.

The auld meal mill-oh, the auld meal mill,
Like a dream o' my schule-days it haunts me still;
Like the sun's summer blink on the face o' a hill,
Stands the love o' my boyhood, the auld meal mill.

A' ye that love auld Scotland's game,
A glorious sicht to see, boys-
Up, brothers, up, drive care awa';
Up, brothers, up, ne'er think o' thaw;
Up, brothers, up, and sing hurrah—
The roarin' rink for me, boys.

Strike out, my friend, wi' manly strokesAye keep your head aboon the water!

AYE KEEP YOUR HEAD ABOON THE WATER.

When breastin' up against life's tide,

Richt in the teeth o' wind and weather

To dash the giant waves aside,

"DINNA YE HEAR IT?"

'Mid the thunder of battle, the groans of the dying,

The wail of weak women, the shouts of brave

men,

A poor Highland maiden sat sobbing and sighing,

As she longed for the peace of her dear native glen.

To face misfortune's wildest shocks,

Although it prove nae easy matter, Strike out, my friend, wi' manly strokesAye keep your head aboon the water!

Chorus.

Aye keep your head aboon the water,
Aye keep your head aboon the water;
Strike out, my friend, wi' manly strokes-
Aye keep your head aboon the water!

When coward guile would lay ye low,

When envy watches for your stum'lin', Turn boldly round upon the foe

There's little help in useless grum'lin'! When malice hides her sunken rocks, Your tiny bark o' hope to shatter, Strike out, my friend, wi' manly strokesAye keep your head aboon the water!

When poortith drives ye to the wa',
To poison ilka carthly pleasure,
Reck not how fortune kicks the ba',

Count honest fame your greatest treasure.
When slander's tongue your ire provokes,
That would a vestal robe bespatter,
Strike out, my friend, wi' manly strokes-
Aye keep your head aboon the water!

When fickle friendship proves untrue, There's nae sweet balm in fits o' sadness; When love forgets her warmest vow,

To sigh and pine is dounricht madness. There's other eyes, and lips, and locks,

And truer hearts love's hopes to flatter; Strike out, my friend, wi' manly strokesAye keep your head aboon the water!

The world will aften do its best

To fricht you wi' its hollow thunder, To plant its foot upon your breast, To crush you doon, and keep you under. To guard against its hardest knocks,

Its threat'nin's to the wind to scatter,

heart,

The foes of auld Scotland for ever will fear it, "We are saved!-we are saved!" cried the brave Highland maid,

"Tis the Highlanders' slogan! O dinna ye hear it?"