Gone is our friend, so fair, so sleek, so round,
And the whole system totters to the ground;
A vacant night-cap and a vacant chair,
Are all that tell a living man sat there."

MORAL.

Beware Sedition! Malcontents-beware!
Nor mind what selfish B-t or C- -n swear;
On you they speculate on you they trade,

And cast you from them when their fortune's made-
Like an old shoe thro' mud and mire retained,
But idly flung aside when home is gained.
Then barter not your liberty-your ease,
For fawning quacks-designing rooks like these;
Lend not to them your sorely-aching backs,
That they may mount to storm some petty tax.
Thro' you, poor dupes! 'tis their accurst design
Our long-prized Monarchy to undermine.
They cry it down as some luxurious Paunch,
With taxes fed, and you the henchmen staunch-
The Hands who carry, and the Feet who bear,
While he sits snugly in an easy chair-

A throne by name, nor cares, the selfish knave!
For the poor members, tho' they toil and slave.
Believe them not! Truth lends them ne'er a word;
Nor spurn the warning Fable you have heard.
Even as the stars, that yonder flash and roll,
Are but the sparkling fragments of a whole-
The brilliant satellites who blaze and run,

And drink new light from their great king, the sun :
So you, my friends! for different walks designed,
Are yet a social whole, by laws combined.
Then have a care-your health in concord lies,
And you are dead when the great centre dies-
The sun of life that pours its light and heat
From eye to lip-from finger down to feet.

Detested rebels! in themselves how mean!
Yet born to blight full many a prosperous scene.
Accursed weeds! that twine, and twist, and crawl
O'er the fair fabric of some palace wall-
The broken chink, the crannied jointing find,
And lay it bare to deluge, frost, and wind;
Till the vast giant, by a pigmy slain,
Nods to his fall, and cumbers all the plain.
What poison lurks in one seditious soul,
And darkly runs thro' the infected whole!

What wide-spread crime and ghastly misery flow From one fell fount to myriad life below! See yon mechanic, garrulous and thin, Worthy of high suspension by the chin, Worn in his visage, in his garments meanFar other days yon squalid wretch hath seen. Once shone his hardy countenance with mirthOnce happy children gamboled round his hearth;

But venomed politics must claim his thought,
And he must govern-he must speak and vote!
Scarce groans like him a Minister of State-
That baited thing most miserably great.
For him some C- -n and his country cries-
He lives a patriot, and a scoundrel dies!

Thus hundreds curse the ills they need not feel,
To a sad grave in want and misery steal;
'Mid plenty cry, "Of famine's gripe beware!"
And fret and murmur till the fiend is there.
No Sabbath brings to them its sacred rest,
Strangers to shame, by foreign cares distrest;
Flung to the winds, their helpless children roam,
No friend to guide them, and to screen no home;
To wrong compelled, till, aliens from their clime,
They perish meanly for a parent's crime.

See yonder rustic whistling o'er the lea!
Perhaps he's ignorant, yet blest is he;
Ne'er in a mob, for reformation's cause,
He d- -ns the taxes and defies the laws.
Rude son of health! what cares he for the news-
He has no vote to sell, no right to lose ;
His is the morning sun, the dewy air,
A simple heart-the antidote of care—

The running brook, the glade, the grassy fields,
And all that Nature to her children yields.
Oh! happy peasant! in thy meads apart,
No fancied ill breeds venom in thy heart;
No blustering orators, with honied lies,
To misery lure thee, and pronounce it wise.
Bright as a golden cloud in thee, fair west!
His Sabbath comes, a long-respected guest;
Round his old age his children's children rise-
He lives contented, and in peace he dies.

Oh! for a strong, resistless hand, to reach
The men who poison, yet pretend to teach!
By law indulged their country to infest,
And plant a dagger in the nation's breast;
Whose fluent tongues corroding mildew drip,
The opening buds of industry to nip;
Who sow rebellion in the public street,
And sin for sixpence thro' a folio sheet!

Oh! for a hand to pluck them from their place,

And tear the mask from all that's bad and base

To brand the lip with factious venom curl'd,

And scourge the skulking scoundrels thro' the world! But should this Fable ineffectual fall,

Hasten to speak to them, unhappy Gaul!

Point to the gory wounds that gash thy breast-
Then let the Moral with reflection rest.

P. LELY.

TO GENEVA.

Shaped like the crescent moon,

And bluer far than sleeping summer skies,
'Mid her dark Alps that mitigate hot noon-
Lake Leman lies.

Man faints and fails-kingdoms and nations bow
'Neath the tyrannic will of change and time,
But glorious still and beautiful art thou,
Blue in thy waters, in thy hills sublime,
As when the haughty mail-clad Roman band*

Found other spells than witched their own bright land.

But not alone thy waves of deepest dye

Thy peaks untrodden, winter's ancient throne

Thy sunny villages, that scattered lie

O'er vine-clad slope, or by the rushing Rhone,
Inspire the thought, the wandering feet enchain,
Live in the heart, and feed the busy brain.

Queen of fair Lakes! there breathes a lasting spell
From every copse, grey crag, and castled steep:-
Here with Corinne,t the memory loves to dwell,-
There, stately Kemble at thy tomb to weep;
Or yonder marks the light accacia spread,

That waved and bloomed o'er Gibbon's classic head.

Perchance the truant fancy lifts once more
The hapless Shelley's long-remembered sail,
And sees th' enthusiastic coast, the woody shore,
Where Diodati meets the mountain gale,
Rushing in free-born joy from yon tall peak,
To fan the poet's brow, and kiss his fevered cheek.

And now we leave the genial light of morn,
Chillon, to tread thy dungeon drear and deep,
With thy grey columns and thy pavement worn
By the famed captive's long-imprisoned feet;
And dream of him whose wild immortal strain
Breathes half in ecstacy, and half in pain.

Unhappy bard! Methinks this glorious scene,
Here bleak with winter-there with summer bright---
As childhood's sleeping brow, one hour serene,
And one convulsed beneath the tempest's might,
Strange likeness bears to that great soul of thine,
Where peace and passion, good and guilt combine.

Nor shall the sage of Ferney! be forgot,
Master of all that captivates the mind,—
Whether from history's far-off regions brought,
Or won from wit by classic grace refined-

* Called by them Lacus Lemanus. + Madame de Staël lived at Coppet.
Buried at Lausanne ;-where Gibbon wrote his "Decline and Fall.”
I Voltaire.

Gifted alike the poet's lyre to sound,

Or lead bright talk upon its varied round.

And oft another form shall fancy scan,
Rousseau, the victim of his own wild will,
Sadly suspicious of his fellow-man,
And weeping aye o'er visionary ill :-
Alas! poor sceptic, whither shalt thou roam,
Since earth no shelter yields, and heaven no home?

Methinks that quiet lake of calmest blue-
Those hills unshaken by a thousand years-
Might win thy soul and thy compatriot's too,
One to discard his doubts, and one its fears:
The noblest lesson life nor nature gave,
To seek in hope the inevitable grave.

Not thus the wise Genevan lived and died,
Calvin! commissioned by the Holy Three,
The bread of life uprightly to divide,

And penetrate, blest Faith! along with thee,
Into the doctrines of that ancient cross,

Compared with whose pure blood this world is "loss.”

Who would extract from life's extremest ill,
Sweets by the faithless tasted not nor known,
Must seek the secrets of that righteous will,
Sent forth to call us to that blessed throne,
Where pleasure's stateliest flowers for ever spring,

And souls released from earth their song of ransom sing.

There lovelier lakes shall stretch their placid length-
There nobler hills shall lift their heads on high-

There weary hearts shall bound with new-born strength-
Eyes dread no tear, and bosoms heave no sigh ;

Eden again shall bloom and bask and smile,

Free from the rebel's guilt-the tempter's wile.-P. LELY.

ECCLESIASTICAL INTELLIGENCE.

Presentation to Monikie.-The Queen has been pleased to present the Rev. John Reid, Assistant to Dr. Adie, to the Church and Parish of Monikie, in the Presbytery of Dundee, vacant by the translation of the Rev. Thomas M'Kie to the Church and Parish of Erskine.

Presentation to Lift and Benvie.— Lord Gray has presented the Rev. L. Maclean, Minister of Kinfauns, to the united Parishes of Liff and Benvie, va

cant by the death of the late Rev. Dr. Addison.

Scotch Church, Tweedsmouth.—The Rev. Peter M'Laren, Assistant to the Rev. Mr. Stevenson, Dalry, Ayrshire, has been unanimously elected to the National Scotch Church, Tweedsmouth.

Died, at Kilmichael Glassry Manse, on the 14th inst., the Rev. Dugald Campbell, of Auchnellan, Minister of the Parish of Glassry.

"The Holy City,' once so fair,
Jehovah's dwelling-place and care,
With hill and bulwark fenced around,
And filled with Music's swelling sound,
Is desolate. And Zion steep

Is one dark waste-one scattered heap.
No more the thronging tribes appear
To tread its courts in reverent fear;
No incense now, no praises rise,
No victim on the altar dies;
No silver trumpet's mellow tone
Proclaims High Feast, or Sacred Moon;
No minstrels now, to golden string,
The sacred Psalms of Judah sing.
Ceased has Judea's regal state,
Her halls, her hearths are desolate;
Her children, wasted, crushed and torn,

The Gentile's hate, the Gentile's scorn,

Far o'er the earth's wide countries roam,

Without a land, without a home."-NEWMAN.

In addition to the Psalms of David, of Asaph, of Moses, and of some other unknown authors-of all of which we have given specimens in our previous articles-there still remain, as parts of the entire collection of Psalms, those to which the name of SACRED IDYLLIA has been giventhose also-which have been termed the ASCENSION PSALMS-that is, the short hymns sung by the Israelites while going up to their great annual solemnities-and lastly, those sublime invitations to all nature to join in celebrating the PRAISES of the universal Sovereign-which most magnificent hymns very appropriately wind up the entire collec