"Tis I am Peter, and this is Paul,

And that ane sae fair to see

But a twelmonth sin* syne to Paradise came,
To join with our companie.

O, I will hae the sna white boy,
The bonniest o' the three.

'And gin I were there and in thy propine +, O, what wad ze do wi me?'

'Tis I wad cleed thee in silk and gowd ‡,
And nourice thee on my knee!
"O mither, mither, when I was thine,
Sic kindness I could nae see.

Beneath the sod where now I stand,
The fause nurse buried me,

And thy cruel penknife is still in my heart,
And I come not back to thee.'

ANONYMOUS.

BALLAD.

'SEE, Warder, yonder banner wave Along the frosty air;

"Tis the white cross of Edric brave, Heaven grants him to my prayer!

'Down with the bridge!'-To meet her knight She flew in joyous mood;

Nor mark'd the child, who follow'd light,
And linger'd in the wood.

'My Adela! three tedious years

I've sigh'd for this bless'd hour!

Still blooms our boy?'-'Like rain my tears
Have nursed that lovely flower.'

* Ago.

↑ Gift or management.

Gold. § Such.

'Bar well the gate, for foes are nigh:

And bring my child.'- "Tis late,
And waken'd now he'd sob and cry;
Till morn, dear Edric, wait.'

The livelong night the Warder thought
He heard an infant's wail;

The livelong day the mother sought
Her boy o'er hill and dale.

At length she found him by the wall,
Tears frozen on his face ;-

She found him-and she shared his pall-
His dirge-his resting place.

MISS MITFORD.

THE OTAHEITAN MOURNER.

[Peggy Stewart was the daughter of an Otaheitan chief, and married to one of the mutineers of the Bounty. On Stewart's being seized and carried away in the Pandora Frigate, Peggy fell into a rapid decay, and in two months died of a broken heart, leaving an infant daughter, who is still living.]

FROM the isle of the distant ocean

My white love came to me;

I led the weary stranger

Beneath the spreading tree.
With white and yellow blossoms

I strew'd his pillow there,
And watch'd his bosom's heaving,
So gentle and so fair.

Before I knew his language,

Or he could talk in mine,
We vow'd to love each other,
And never to resign.

O, then 'twas lovely watching
The sparkling of his eyes,

And learn the white man's greeting,
And answer all his sighs.

I taught my constant white love
To play upon the wave,
To turn the storm to pleasure,
And the curling surge to brave.
How pleasant was our sporting,
Like dolphins on the tide;
To dive beneath the billow,
Or the rolling surf to ride.

To summer groves I led him,
Where fruit hangs in the sun;
We linger'd by the fountains
That murmur as they run.
By the verdant islands sailing,

Where the crested seabirds go, We heard the dash of the distant spray, And saw through the deeps the sunbeams play, In the coral bowers below.

And when my lover, weary,

To our woodland couch would creep,
I sang the song that pleased him,
And crown'd his lids with sleep.
My kindred much would wonder,
The white man's love to see;
And Otaheitan maidens

Would often envy me.

Yet when my white love's forehead
Would sadden with despair,

I knew not why the cold drops

Should start and quiver there.

I knew not why in slumber
His heart should tremble so;
Or lock'd in love's embraces,

How doubt and fear could grow.

Till o'er the bounding billow
The angry chieftains came;
They seized my wretched lover,
They mock'd my anguish'd claim;
In iron bands then bound him,
I flew his fate to share ;
They tore him from my clasping,
And threw me to despair.

Are white men unrelenting,
So far to cross the sea;
Their chieftain's wrongs revenging,
To tear my love from me?
Are Otaheitan bosoms

No refuge for the brave;
Can exile nor repentance
A wretched lover save?

No more the Heiva's dancing
My mournful steps will suit;
As when to the torchlight glancing,
And beating to the flute.
No more my braided tresses

With smiling flowers shall bloom;

Nor blossom rich in beauty

Shall lend its sweet perfume.

All by the sounding ocean

I sit me down and mourn,

In hopes his chiefs may pardon him, And speed my love's return.

Can he forget his Peggy,

That soothed his cares to rest? Can he forget the baby

That smiles upon her breast? I wish the fearful warning

Would bind my woes in sleep! And I were a little bird to chase My lover o'er the deep!

Or if my wounded spirit

In the death canoe would rove, I'd bribe the wind and pitying wave To speed me to my love!

P. M. JAMES.

WALCHEREN EXPEDITION;

OR,

AN ENGLISHMAN'S LAMENT FOR THE LOSS OF HIS COUNTRYMEN.

YE brave enduring Englishmen,
Who dash through fire and flood,
And spend with equal thoughtlessness
Your money and your blood,

I sing of that black season

Which all true hearts deplore,

When ye lay,

Night and day,

Upon Walcheren's swampy shore.

"Twas in the summer's sunshine

Your gallant host set sail
With valour in each longing heart,
And vigour in the gale: