The hurricane's all-rending breath, In thin white flakes dispers'd o'er all the skies, The azure dome high swelling to the view, While Night's red-trembling fires illume th' unmeasur'd blue. When lo! where Jove the space adorns, Girt by his circumvolving fires, And the gay Pleiads' dancing choirs, Effusive billowing o'er the sky, O'erflowing all the tracts on high; The cumb'ring load of mortal clay, Of ev'ry age, from pole to pole, The first-born church,2 in one harmonious throng, These deck'd him with a wreath that burn'd like fire, Jews, Brahmins, Turks, and Christians, side And there, with Christ's elect, he tun'd his by side, In one great host ador'd the God of all, And Him who for the worst offenders died That moment, in my wond'ring view, (BEATTIE was once his earthly name;) Welcome, welcome, earthly guest! Bid adieu to trembling fears, Sin and death no more can pain! golden lyre! At once, th' august assembly sail'd along Through the great void, on clouds of radiance borne, Numbers, unnumber'd as the flow'ry throng, The stars of night, or glitt'ring dews of morn! Ethereal thrones! with one accord, He launch'd upon the voids of space 4"And chiefly, O thou Sp'rit, who dost prefer Before all temples th' upright heart and pure." -Milton. 5 These were almost the last words uttered by an 1 Genesis xii. 3-xv. 5; Rev. viii. 9, 10-xxi. 24-26; amiable pupil of the author's, who died in old Aber Acts x. 28-34, 35. 2 Heb. xii. 22-24. 3 Ps. xxxiv. 7. deen, May 6, 1810, after two days' illness. Eheu! quam tenui pendent mortalia filo! From age Ethereal thrones! adore the plan The glories of the cross resound, The triumph o'er the grave! When, answ'ring to the notes sublime We sung Immanuel's praise! In one devouring blaze! Then death, and sin, and hell shall die, With angel-hosts to rove: A new creation rise again, Hallelujah! hallelujah! hallelujah! As thus they chanted to their harps of gold, And all the splendid dream, dissolving, mix'd with night. THE MAVIS OF THE CLAN.1 wandering son I hail the lambs that on the floor of milky pastures run; I hail the mother flocks, that, wrapp'd in warm and sheltering fleece, Defy the landward tempest's roar, defy the seaward breeze. The streams they drink are waters of the evergushing well, Those streams, oh, how they wind around the swellings of the dell! The flowers they browse are mantles spread o'er pastures wide and far, As mantle o'er the firmament the stars, each flower a star! I will not name each sister beam, but clustering there I see Clan Lachlan's tuneful mavis, I sing on the The beauty of the purple-bell, the daisy of the lea. Of every hue I mark them, the many-spotted kine, The dun, the brindled, and the dark, and blends the white its shine; And 'mid the Highlands rude I see the frequent furrows swell, With the barley and the corn that Scotland loves so well. And now I close my clannish lay, with blessings | As the cloud's yellow wreath on the mountain's on the shade high brow, That bids the mavis sing her song, well-nurtured, The locks of my fair one redundantly flow; Her cheeks have the tint that the roses display, When they glitter with dews on the morning of May. undismay'd The shade where bloom and cresses, and the earhoney'd heather, Are smiling fair, and dwelling in their brotherhood together; For the sun is setting largely, and blinks my eye its ken; "Tis time to loose the strings, I ween, and close my wildwood strain. THE MELODY OF LOVE.1 Not the swan on the lake, or the foam on the shore, Can compare with the charms of the maid I adore; Not so white is the new milk that flows o'er the pail, Or the snow that is shower'd from the boughs of the vale. As the planet of Venus, that gleams o'er the grove, Her blue rolling eyes are the symbols of love; Her pearl-circled bosom diffuses bright rays, Like the moon when the stars are bedimm'd with her blaze. The mavis and lark, when they welcome the dawn, Make a chorus of joy to resound through the lawn; But the mavis is tuneless, the lark strives in vain, When my beautiful charmer renews her sweet strain. When summer bespangles the landscape with flowers, While the thrush and the cuckoo sing soft from the bowers, Through the wood-shaded windings with Bella I'll rove, And feast, unrestrained, on the smiles of my love. THOMAS M. CUNNINGHAM. BORN 1776- DIED 1834. THOMAS MOUNSEY CUNNINGHAM was born at Culfaud, Kirkcudbright, June 25, 1776. He received his education at the village school of Kellieston, not far from Dumfries, and subsequently at the Dumfries Academy. His father's circumstances being much reduced by unfortunate farming speculations, it became needful that Thomas should learn some trade, and he was accordingly apprenticed by his own desire to a mill-wright. It was during intervals of leisure, while acquiring a knowledge of his laborious occupation, that he first composed verses, which, being submitted to his father's notice, were highly praised. In 1797 he obtained employment at Rotherham, near Sheffield, and a few years later entered the establishment of Rennie, the celebrated London engineer. He afterwards became foreman to Mr. Dickson, also an engineer, and superin The first verse of this lyric was composed by a lady. The poet completed it in Gaelic, and then translated the whole into English.-ED. tendent of Fowler's chain-cable manufactory. In 1812 he returned to Rennie's establishment as a clerk, and was ultimately promoted to the position of chief clerk, with a liberal salary. He was much esteemed by his employer, being noted for his regularity and industry. On leaving his father's house to seek his fortune, Thomas Cunningham had been advised by friends to abjure his poetical proclivities, and he seems for a time to have followed their advice. For a period of nine years nothing appeared from his pen. At length, in 1806, he became a contributor to the Scots Magazine, the editor of which was enthusiastic in praising bis compositions. James Hogg, also a contributor, took pains to discover the author, and sent him an epistle expressive of his admiration. An intimacy ensued between the poets, which ever after continued, and when the Shepherd planned the Forest Minstrel he made application to his friend Cunningham for contributions. No less than twenty-five of the songs contained 538 THOMAS MOUNSEY CUNNINGHAM. in that collection were from the pen of Cunning- | Fell," on which he had bestowed great labour, ham. Just as his name was becoming known by his lyrics he took offence at a criticism in the Scots Magazine, and for a second time ceased writing for a period of nine years, until discovering one of his songs in a collection entitled the Nithsdale Minstrel, he was induced to resume his pen, and wrote a severe poetical castigation of the publishers of the Minstrel for their unauthorized appropriation. and which contained a humorous description of the scenes and characters familiar to his early days. Cunningham died of Asiatic cholera October 28th, 1834, in the fifty-eighth year of his age. Some of his productions, like those of other Scottish poets of distinction who published their lyrics anonymously, had the honour of being attributed to Robert Burns. No better evidence of their quality could be adHis first and last volume of poems, entitled Har'st Kirn, and other Poems and Songs, appeared in 1797. The principal piece, which furnishes the title to the book, was written during the year of its publication, and is descriptive of the fun and frolic of a harvesthome in a farm house of Scotland. On the origin of the Edinburgh Magazine, induced. 1817, he became a contributor, and under the title of the "Literary Legacy," wrote many curious sketches, as well as songs and ballads, for its pages. During his latter years, his brother Allan relates, he unfortunately committed to the flames a poem entitled "Braken FAREWELL, YE STREAMS. Farewell, ye streams, sae dear to me, Your siller waves nae mair I'll see. Yet though frae your green banks I'm driven An' sighs to be again wi' thee. Ye canty bards ayont the Tweed, Or blythely on your whistles blaw; Her faulds, her bughts, an' birken shaws, Whar love an' freedom sweeten a'. Sing o' her carles teuch an' auld, Her flocks an' herds sae fair to see. Sing o' her mountains bleak an' high; Her fords, whar neighrin' kelpies ply; Her glens, the haunts o' rural joy; Her lasses, lilting o'er the lea. To you the darling theme belangs, That frae my heart exulting spangs; Oh, mind, amang your bonnie sangs, The lads that bled for liberty. Think on our auld forbears o' yore, Wha dyed the muir wi' hostile gore; Wha slavery's bands indignant tore, Aye true unto your country be. Then let na ony spulzie crew Her dear-bought freedom wrest frae thee. THE BEGGAR. Wha's this, bedight in tatter'd claes, Wi' cloutit wallets fore and aft, And keen the wind blaws owre the hill; Ye downa up Borinairoch gang, The nippin' cauld your bluid will chill. Come in, an' share the kindly bleeze, To shield thee frae the bitter storm. Now, though the scone our Leezy beuk An' though our Crummy's aften roos'd, The milk nor scone he doughtna pree; But glowr'd, as gin the awsome hour Drew near to close his yirthly woe; Like some auld aik, before the storm Has laid its ancient honours low. Tell me, auld neiber, where ye wan Play'd on his looks serenely dour! THE HILLS O' GALLOWA'. Amang the birks, sae blythe an' gay, I met my Julia hameward gaun; The linties chantit on the spray, The lammies loupit on the lawn; On ilka swaird the hay was mawn, The braes wi' gowans buskit bra'; An' ev'ning's plaid o' gray was thrawn Out-owre the hills o' Gallowa'. Wi' music wild the woodlands rang, An' saftly slade the hours awa', It isna owsen, sheep, and kye, The warld's drumlie gloom to cheer; But gie to me my Julia dear, Ye powers wha row this yirthen ba', An' oh, sae blythe through life I'll steer Amang the hills o' Gallowa'. Whan gloamin' danders up the hill, An' our gudeman ca's hame the yowes, Wi' her I'll trace the mossy rill That through the muir meand'ring rowes; Or, tint amang the scroggie knowes, My birken pipe I'll sweetly blaw, An' sing the streams, the straths, and howes, The hills and dales o' Gallowa'. An' whan auld Scotland's heathy hills, Her rural nymphs an' jovial swains, Her flowery wilds an' wimpling rills, Awake nae mair my canty strains; Where friendship dwells an' freedom reigns, Where heather blooms an' muir-cocks craw, Oh, dig my grave, and lay my banes Amang the hills o' Gallowa'. MARY'S GRAVE. Ye briery bields, where roses blaw! And blushin' blooms, the zephyr flies, Nae mair your bonnie birken bowers, As up the glen I joyless stray: And when they reach'd their native skies, Left me, amid the world o' wae, To weet the grave whar Mary lies. It is na beauty's fairest bloom, It is na maiden charms consigned And hurried to an early tomb, That wrings my heart and clouds my mind; But sparkling wit, and sense refin'd, And spotless truth without disguise, Make me with sighs enrich the wind That fans the grave whar Mary lies. THE UNCO GRAVE. Bonnie Clouden, as ye wander Learn my sad, my dulefu' sang! Sair I pled, though fate, unfriendly, Stang'd my heart wi' waes and dules, That some faithfu' hand might kindly Lay't amang my native mools. Cronies dear, wha late an' early Aye to soothe my sorrows strave, |