BALLAD.

BY THOMAS PRINGLE.

OUR native land our native vale,—
A long-a last adieu !

Farewell to bonny Teviot-dale
And Cheviot's mountains blue!

Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds,
And streams renowned in song!
Farewell ye blithesome braes and meads,
Our hearts have loved so long!

Farewell ye broomy elfin knowes,
Where thyme and harebells grow!
Farewell ye hoary haunted howes,
O'erhung with birk and sloe!

The battle mound-the Border tower,
That Scotia's annals tell;

The martyr's grave-the lover's bower,
To each to all-farewell !

Home of our hearts! Our fathers' home

Land of the brave and free!

The sail is flapping on the foam,
That bears us far from thee.

We seek a wild romantic shore,
Beyond the' Atlantic main;
We leave thee to return no more,
Or view thy cliffs again.

But may dishonour blight our fame,
And quench our household fires,
When we, or ours, forget thy name,
Green island of our sires.

Our native vale-our native vale

A long, a last adieu !—
Farewell to bonny Teviot-dale,

And Scotland's mountains blue!

The Inverness Courier.

LINES

WRITTEN UNDER THE HEBE OF CANOVA.

DIVINITY in stone! Yet glowing
Supremely warm, and rich, and fair;
Around a sense of sweetness throwing,
As if her roses wantoned there!
Upon that brow, so pure and soft,
Immortal Love hath set his seal;
And left, in kinder mood than oft,
A sign we cannot see-but feel!

Those eyes-those full and fixed eyes,
They cannot beam, nor glow with fire;
Or herald as the wishes rise,

The thoughts the spirit would respire;
But, passionless themselves, they wake
In us that feeling's tender strife,
Of which the sister Graces make
A busy, brilliant, span of life!

Then oh! those lips!-Those eloquent lips!
So full of love, and peace, and all,
That suffered such a dark eclipse

When erring woman doomed our fall!
Yet knowing this, whoe'er could look
Upon that marble, nor prefer,

That man the fatal apple took,

And left his heaven to live with her.

New European Magazine.

B. B. W.

THE PAST.

BY JOHN WILSON, ESQ.

How wild and dim this life appears!

One long, deep, heavy sigh,

When o'er our eyes, half closed in tears,

The images of former years

Are faintly glimmering by!

And still forgotten while they go,

As on the sea-beach, wave on wave,
Dissolves at once in snow.

The amber clouds one moment lie,
Then like a dream are gone!—
Though beautiful the moonbeams play
On the lake's bosom, bright as they,
And the soul intensely loves their stay,
Soon as the radiance melts away,
We scarce believe it shone !

Heaven-airs amid the harp-strings dwell;
And we wish they ne'er may fade-

They cease, and the soul is a silent cell,

Where music never played!

Dream follows dream through the long night hours,

Each lovelier than the last;

-

But ere the breath of morning flowers,

That gorgeous world flies past;

And many a sweet angelic cheek,

Whose smiles of love and kindness speak,

Glides by us on this earth;

While in a day we cannot tell

Where shone the face we loved so well,

In sadness, or in mind'

Blackwood's Magazine.