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And she, whose tresses of raven-hair
That nuptial morn were braided,
Like a drooping lily faded.
Are cold in the pale moon's beaming, Where the raven rests from its weary flight,
In dolorous dirges screaming.
“TELLE EST LA VIE'." SEEST thou yon bark? It left our bay This morn on its adventurous way,
All glad and gaily bright;
Nigh bore it out of sight.
And treacherous was the deep;
Telle est la vie! That flower, that fairest flower that grew, Aye cherished by the evening dew,
And cheered by opening day; That flower which I had spared to cull, Because it was so beautiful,
And shone so fresh and gay;
The germ of future sorrow;
Telle est la vie!
The world far, far below:
The tempest and the bow;
And now the storm was raging; .Methought I read in that frail light And storm a warfare raging.
Telle est la vie! 1 • Such is life.”
A CLERGYMAN of the Established Church, has written but little; that little,
however, displays great tenderness of feeling, and sweetness of expression.
THE WIDOW OF NAIN.
She saw him-Death's untimely prey,
Struck with the blight of slow decline;
His ardent spirit droop and pine.
A tint of fading loveliness,
The pale moon, cold and comfortless.
When that false flush forsook his cheek,
And spoke the pang he would not speak,
And moss entwines the arches gray,
That lends a lustre to decay.
Thus, while existence wanes away,
And beauty's brightest beams will play,
Whate’er his inward pangs might be,
He told not-mute, and meekly still,
He bowed him to Jehovah's will,
Sill watched with fond maternal care,
For her he breathed the pious prayer-
And turn his pallid face away,
Lest some unguarded look betray
THE FEMALE CONVICT TO HER INFANT.
OH! sleep not my babe, for the morn of to-morrow
Shall soothe me to slumber more tranquil than thine; The dark grave shall shield me from shame and from sorrow,
Though the deeds and the gloom of the guilty are mine. Not long shall the arm of affection enfold thee;
Not long shalt thou hang on thy mother's fond breast; And who with the eye of delight shall behold thee,
And watch thee, and guard thee, when I am at rest? And yet it doth grieve me to wake thee, my dearest,
The pangs of thy desolate mother to see; Thou wilt weep when the clank of my cold chain thou hearest,
And none but the guilty should mourn over me.
And yet I must wake thee—for while thou art weeping,
To calm thee, I stifle my tears for a while;
And oh! how it wounds me to gaze on thy smile!
To the bosom, that now throbs with terror and shame,
And hailed thee the heir of thy father's high name!
Forsaken and friendless as soon thou wilt be,
Avenging the guilt of thy mother on thee.
The deep blush of shame on thy innocent cheek!
A home and a father in vain thou shalt seek;
With falsehood like that which thy mother beguiled;
O God of the fatherless! pity my child!
From The WIDOW OF Nain.
We will not weep for thee;
It is that thou art free.
The tears of love restrain;
Could wish thee here again?
The hope of glory shone,
To think the fight was won.
Sustained by grace divine:
And make my end like thine!
Was born at a village in Ayrshire, A.D. 1799. The habits of reflection and study which he acquired in very early youth saved him from all dissipation and frivolity, but, unfortunately, strengthened his hereditary predisposition to consumptive disease. He was educated at the University of Glasgow; and in the year 1827, was admitted a licentiate to the Scottish Secession Church. In the same year he published his great work The Course of Time, but soon after its appearance, the fatal symptoms of rapid decline began to be developed, and he died September 15, 1827.
The Course of Time possesses passages that rank among the very best poetry of our language, but, as a whole, it is unequal; and some of the author's speculations on religious subjects are more rash and daring than the limited faculties of mortals should venture to indulge.
THE COURSE OF TIME.
But there was one in folly further gone;