STANZAS WRITTEN IN A HIGHLAND GLEN. BY JOHN WILSON, ESQ. To whom belongs this valley fair, Calm, as the infant at the breast,— The heavens appear to love this vale ; By that blue arch this beauteous earth O! that this lovely vale were mine! There would unto my soul be given, And thoughts would come of mystic mood, Eternity of time! And did I ask to whom belonged This vale ?-I feel that I have wronged Nature's most gracious soul! She spreads her glories o'er the earth, Yea! long as nature's humblest child Earth's fairest scenes are all his own, CELANO. A BLUE Italian sky,-yet scarce more blue On one side there are corn and green grass fields, Is a lone cavern, with its azure fount Shaded by roses and a laurel tree, Beneath whose shade might the young painter lean, Caught light and life and loveliness. Steep hills Are on the other side, upon whose heights Dark Hannibal once rested. Who could dream That this calm lake was crimson once with blood? That these green myrtles waved o'er the death-wounds How soon thy red fiends can lay desolate Literary Gazette. L. E. L. THE FLOWER OF MALHAMDALE. IF, on some bright and breezeless eve, A sigh that seems allied to grief, Nor shed the tear, nor pour the wail, Her form was like the fair sun-stream Would vanish from our glens so soon! The placid depth of that dark eye, The wild-rose tint of that fair cheek, To think, when gazing on that vale, I may not tell what dreams were mine, BALLAD BY MRS. CORNWELL BARON WILSON. YES! Once I own I loved thee, With purest flame, with purest flame; Let stoics blame, let stoics blame; When Hope's soft voice was singing, With bosoms light, from sorrow free, Could ever rise at thoughts of THEE! 'Twas in youth's summer season, When hearts were gay, when hearts were gay; Before the wand of reason Chased hope away, chased hope away; That first this bosom felt love's power, And worshipped at his fairy shrine; Nor ever thought that luckless hour Would be the source of griefs like mine! That sunny time passed over, And life grew dark, and life grew dark; And fate soon left thy lover, A stranded bark, a stranded bark; Of all his early glories reft, On life's rude ocean dark and dim, With not one friendly harbour left, Or welcome port to shelter him! Still in that hour of sorrow, When fortune frowned, when fortune frowned; His heart one hope could borrow, To look around, to look around; It was the blissful thought of thee, In life's first bright unclouded day, That lightened all the misery That tracked the wanderer's weary way! Yet this last hope was blighted, So fate decreed, so fate decreed; For THOU, like others, slighted The bruised reed, the bruised reed; Yes! once I own I loved thee, Alas! too well, alas! too well; A BYRONIAN GEM. BETWEEN two worlds life hovers like a star, "Twixt night and morn upon the horizon's verge, How little do we know that which we are! How less what we may be! The eternal surge Of time and tide rolls on, and bears afar Our bubbles; as the old burst, new emerge, Lashed from the foam of ages; while the graves Of empires heave but like some mightier waves! |