If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentered all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.

O Caledonia! stern and wild,
Meet nurse for a poetic child!

Land of brown heath and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood,
Land of my sires! what mortal hand
Can e'er unite the filial band,

That knits me to thy rugged strand!
Still, as I view each well-known scene,
Think what is now, and what hath been,

Seems as, to me, of all bereft,

Sole friends thy woods and streams were left; And thus I love them better still,

Even in extremity of ill.

By Yarrow's stream still let me stray,
Though none should guide my feeble way;
Still feel the breeze down Ettricke break,
Although it chill my withered cheek;
Still lay my head by Teviot stone,
Though there, forgotten and alone,
The Bard may draw his parting groan.

THE ORPHAN BOY.

STAY, Lady, stay, for mercy's sake,
And hear a helpless orphan's tale!
Ah! sure my looks must pity wake!
'Tis want that makes my cheek so pale.

Yet I was once a mother's pride,
And my brave father's hope and joy;
But in the Nile's proud fight he died,
And I am now an Orphan Boy.

Poor foolish child! how pleased was I,
When news of Nelson's victory came,
Along the crowded streets to fly,

And see the lighted windows flame!
To force me home my mother sought;
She could not bear to see my joy ;
For with my father's life 'twas bought,
And made me a poor Orphan Boy.

The people's shouts were long and loud;
My mother, shuddering, closed her ears;
Rejoice! rejoice!" still cried the crowd;
My mother answered with her tears.
"Why are you crying thus," said I,
"While others laugh and shout with joy?"
She kiss'd me,—and, with such a sigh!
She call'd me her poor Orphan Boy.

"What is an Orphan Boy ?" I cried,

As in her face I looked and smiled; My mother through her tears replied, "You'll know too soon, ill fated child!" And now they've toll'd my mother's knell, And I'm no more a parent's joy :

O lady! I have known too well

What 'tis to be an Orphan Boy.

THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE.

IN days of yore, when time was young,
When birds convers'd as well as sung,
When use of speech was not confin'd
Merely to brutes of human kind,
A forward Hare, of swiftness vain,
The genius of the neighbouring plain,

Would oft deride the drudging crowd:
For geniusses are ever proud.

He'd boast his flight 'twere vain to follow,
For dog and horse, he'd beat them hollow:
Nay, if he put forth all his strength,
Outstrip his brethren half a length.

A Tortoise heard his vain oration, And vented thus his indignation: "O puss! it bodes thee dire disgrace, "When I defy thee to the race.

Come, 'tis a match; nay, no denial; "I'll lay my shell upon the trial."

'Twas done, and done-all fair-a bet— Judges prepar'd-and distance set. The scampering Hare outstript the wind, The creeping Tortoise lagg'd behind, And scarce had pass'd a single pole, When puss had almost reach'd the goal. "Friend Tortoise," quoth the jeering Hare, "Your burden's more than you can bear; "To help your speed, it were as well "That I should ease you

of your shell:
"Jog on a little faster, 'pr'y thee;
"I'll take a nap, and then be with thee."
So said, so done; and safely sure,
For say, what conquest more secure?
Whene'er he wak'd (that's all that's in it,)
He could o'ertake him in a minute.
The Tortoise heard his taunting jeer,
But still resolv'd to persevere :

Still drawl'd along, as who should say,
"I'll win, like Fabius, by delay :"
On to the goal securely crept,
While puss, unknowing, soundly slept.
The bets were won, the Hare awoke,
When thus the victor Tortoise spoke :

Puss, though I own thy quicker parts, "Things are not always done by starts; "You may deride my awkward pace, "But slow and steady wins the race."

WE ARE SEVEN.

-A simple Child,

That lightly draws his breath,
And feels its life in every limb,
What should it know of death?

I met a little cottage Girl :
She was eight years old, she said;
Her hair was thick with many a curl
That clustered round her head.

She had a rustic, woodland air,
And she was wildly clad :

Her eyes were fair, and very fair;
-Her beauty made be glad.

"Sisters and brothers, little Maid,

How many may you be?"

"How many? Seven in all," she said, And wondering looked at me.

"And where are they? I pray you tell."

She answered, "Seven are we;
And two of us at Conway dwell,

And two are gone to sea.

Two of us in the church-yard lie,
My sister and my brother,

I

And, in the church-yard cottage,
Dwell near them with my mother."

"You say that two at Conway dwell,
And two are gone to sea,

Yet ye are seven !—I pray you tell,
Sweet Maid, how this may be."

Then did the little Maid reply,
"Seven boys and girls are we;
Two of us in the church-yard lie,
Beneath the church-yard tree."

"Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little Maid replied,

"Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side.

My stockings there I often knit,
My kerchief there I hem ;

And there upon the ground I sit-
I sit and sing to them.

And often after sun-set, Sir,
When it is light and fair,
I take my little porringer,
And eat my supper there.

The first that died was little Jane ;
In bed she moaning lay,

Till God released her of her pain;

Aud then she went away.

So in the church-yard she was laid;
And when the grass was dry,

Together round her grave we played,
My brother John and I.

And when the ground was white with snow,

And I could run and slide,

My brother John was forced to go,

And he lies by her side."

"How many are you then," said I,

"If they two are in heaven ?"
The little Maiden did reply,
"O Master we are seven.'