"Na! na! now you carry the jest o'er far! "And saxty winters!

"Saxteen springs; Effie! dear, delightfu', smiling springs!"

"And Elspeth, the cobler's wife! oh! Andrew, Andrew, I never can forgie you for the cobler's wife !— and what say you now, Andrew! is there nae bogle on

the muir?"

66

My dear Effie! for your sake I'll believe in a' the bogles in Christendie ! ”

"That is," said Effie, at the conclusion of a long and vehement fit of risibility, "that is, in a' that wear threecornered Hats."

Ope the casement-open wide-
Let us drink the moonbeam's light;
Like a proudly-glitt'ring bride,

Rides she through the clouds of night.

"O't is sweet-the hour I love

The lovely hour of placid Even,—
Thus to let our spirits rove,

And mingle with the stars of Heav'n.

"Nature sleeps-and all around

A holy silence spreads her reign;
Save the sheep-bell, not a sound

Is heard along the tranquil plain.

"While the halcyon calm we view,
Anxious cares and troubles fly,
We the bliss that 's past renew-
Breathe to absent love a sigh.

"Hark! a lute-I heard its tone

Again the sound salutes my ear:
Who the Wand'rer laté and lone,
Thus that joys rude night to cheer?

"List thee, Anna; list, I pray--
Softly steals the melody-
Sweet the voice, and sweet the lay,
Floating o'er the silent sea :"-

"The dew-drop that shines on the violet's bed,
Or the stars that are glitt'ring in Heav'n above,
Or the diadem gracing a conqueror's head,
Are never so bright as the

eyes of my

Love.

"The odour exhaled from yon opening rose,
Or the breezes that play round Arabia's grove,
Or when labour is over, the peasant's repose,
Is never so sweet as the kiss of my Love.

66

Selina, thou fair one, O! list to my tale,

'Mid her heaven of purple rides blithely the Moon; O! waft me that kiss on the wings of the gale, Or waft me thyself-a far lovelier boon."

""Tis he, 't is he-I know the strain

His flatt'ring tongue was wont to sing-
That lute-which could my heart enchain,
When Lona touch'd the pliant string.

"Dear youth, I come-but no!-my soul,
While love entwines his flowery bands,
Forgets a father's stern control-
Forgets his oft-renew'd commands.

"But O! I love-shall bolts or bars,

Shall all restrictions out of number,

Impede the light of kindred stars?

Keep hearts that Love has join'd asunder?"

She said, and o'er her downy cheek
There stole a tinge of deeper dye,
And 'prison'd Love would try to speak
Its anger through her twinkling eye.

She flung away, in trembling haste,
The ringlets of her flowing hair;
And Zephyr left the billow's breast,
To frolic and to nestle there.

Then look'd on Anna--and a sigh
Unheeded from her bosom fled-
And then-in speechless apathy,

Gazed on the ocean's tranquil bed.

The minstrel youth, who, ling'ring nigh,
A lover's hopes and fears had proved,
Thought ev'ry breeze that murmur'd by
Brought news of bliss from her he loved.

But all was silent-all was still-
Again he waked the trembling lyre;
Again, obedient to his will,

It utter'd love and soft desire.

A voice arose, whose every word

Fell sweet as Hybla's honey tear,

And plaintive as that lonely bird

That tells her woes in Evening's ear.

"Can the river flow on in a unison stream,

If the fountains that feed it with waves are suppress'd? The sun-flower withers, if reft of the beam

Of the God that enlightens and nurtures her crest.

"Then pity the lover, who sighing implores

One smile to disperse his soul's lowering shade; If bereft of the light of those eyes he adores,

Like the flower when blighted, he'll sicken and fade.

"O can that fair bosom, Selina, O can it

Be deaf to the cries of the wretched? O no!

As the billow bends down to the breezes that fan it,
So woman's soft heart bends to accents of woe.

"Then bid me but hope, and my wandering lute
Again shall sound cheerly, again shall be gay,
But frown on me, loved one, but frown on my truth,
And then silent the Wand'rer, then hush'd is the Lay."

The maid had heard-her bosom heaved,
And passion sparkled in her eye;
E'en for a while of sense bereaved,
She stood entranced in ecstacy.

For music, with its magic pow'r,
Each fibre of the soul can move;
But doubly charms at lonely hour,
When warbled by the lips of love.

With gentle blandishment it woos,
And weaves a chain the heart around,
Till every pulse the strain pursues,
And beats responsive to the sound.

But short the bliss that wrapt her soul,
And short that visionary calm;
She spurn'd her Anna's soft control,
And flung away the lifted arm.

That image, which in Fancy's eye

She saw to touch the trembling lyre,
Raised in her breast Love's tempest high,
Usurp'd Affection's softer fire.

There was but one-one heart alone,
That moment all the world within,
That she would wish to call her own,
That she would care to lose or win.