Many its flowers perfuming,

And studding like gems the grass: There the Foxglove purpled the hollow,

And the Iris flaunted its gold,

And the flower that waits for the swallow,

Its dainty bloom to unfold,

With the Hyacinth blue and the Primrose, laught in the breezy wold.

In Eta of sunny weather

'Neath our happy home-porch hid,
On venison sweet from the heather
And flesh of the mountain kid,
On game from the forest cover
And fish from the crystal stream,

We feasted till eve was over,

And the moon with her silver gleam

Soared o'er the dusky pine-woods out from the realm of dream.

O land of the East! O Giver

Of freedom from sore distress!
O land where no cloud came ever
To darken our happiness!
O home of pleasure and promise

And peace unto mine and me,

When I see thy shores fade from us,

I sigh in my misery,

And send my voice o'er the waters crying farewell to

thee!

From the Gaelic. Tr. Anon.

SCOTLAND.

Abbotsford.

A FAREWELL TO ABBOTSFORD.

THESE lines were given to Sir Walter Scott at the gate of Abbotsford, in the summer of 1829. He was then apparently in the vigor of an existence whose energies promised long continuance; and the glance of his quick, smiling eye, and the very sound of his kindly voice, seemed to kindle the gladness of his own sunny and benignant spirit in all who had the happiness of approaching him.

JOME of the gifted! fare thee well,

HOME

And a blessing on thee rest!

While the heather waves its purple bell
O'er moor and mountain crest;

While stream to stream around thee calls,

And braes with broom are dressed,
Glad be the harping in thy halls, --
-A blessing on thee rest!

While the high voice from thee sent forth
Bids rock and cairn reply,

Wakening the spirits of the North,

Like a chieftain's gathering cry;

While its deep master-tones hold sway
As a king's o'er every breast,
Home of the legend and the lay!
A blessing on thee rest!

Joy to the hearth and board and bower!
Long honors to thy line!

And hearts of proof, and hands of power,
And bright names worthy thine!
By the merry step of childhood, still
May thy free sward be pressed!

While one proud pulse in the land can thrill,
A blessing on thee rest!

Felicia Hemans.

ABBOTSFORD.

NOT only for the Bard of highest worth,

But best of men,

Do I invoke ye, Powers of Heaven and Earth!
O, where and when

Shall we again behold his counterpart, -
Such kindred excellence of head and heart?

So good and great,

benevolent as wise,

On his high throne

How meekly hath he borne his faculties!
How finely shown

A model to the irritable race,

Of generous kindness, courtesy, and grace!

Horace Smith.

THE

Aberdeen.

KATE OF ABERDEEN.

HE silver moon's enamored beam Steals softly through the night, To wanton with the winding stream, And kiss reflected light.

To beds of state go, balmy sleep

('T is where you've seldom been), May's vigil while the shepherds keep With Kate of Aberdeen.

Upon the green the virgins wait,
In rosy chaplets gay,

Till morn unbars her golden gate,
And gives the promised May.
Methinks I hear the maids declare,
The promised May, when seen,
Not half so fragrant, half so fair,
As Kate of Aberdeen.

Strike up the tabor's boldest notes,
We'll rouse the nodding grove;
The nested birds shall raise their throats,
And hail the maid I love.

And see,

the matin lark mistakes,

He quits the tufted green:

Fond bird! 't is not the morning breaks,

"T is Kate of Aberdeen.

Now lightsome o'er the level mead,
Where midnight fairies rove,

Like them the jocund dance we'll lead,
Or tune the reed to love :

For see, the rosy May draws nigh;
She claims a virgin queen;

And hark! the happy shepherds cry,

"T is Kate of Aberdeen.

John Cunningham.

JEAN OF ABERDEEN.

E've seen the blooming rosy brier,

YE

On stately Dee's wild woody knowes; Ye've seen the op'ning lily fair,

In streamy Don's gay broomy howes;
An' ilka bonnie flower that grows

Amang their banks and braes sae green,
These borrow a' their finest hues
Frae lovely Jean of Aberdeen.

Ye've seen the dew-eyed bloomy haw,
When morning gilds the welkin high;
Ye've heard the breeze o' summer blaw,
When e'ening steals alang the sky.
But brighter far is Jeanie's eye

When we're amang the braes alane,

An' softer is the bosom-sigh

Of lovely Jean of Aberdeen.

Though I had a' the valleys gay

Around the airy Bennochie,