Here's to Thee, my Scottish Lassie. 303 Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie! I shall think of thee at even, When I see its first and fairest star come smiling up through heaven; I shall hear thy sweet and touching voice in every wind that grieves, As it whirls from the abandon'd oak its wither'd autumn leaves; In the gloom of the wild forest, in the stillness of the sea, I shall think, my Scottish lassie! I shall often think of thee. Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie !-in my sad and lonely hours, The thought of thee comes o'er me, like the breath of distant flowers ; Like the music that enchants mine ear, the sights that bless mine eye, Like the verdure of the meadow, like the azure of the sky; Like the rainbow in the evening, like the blossoms on the tree, Is the thought, my Scottish lassie! is the lonely thought of thee. Here's to thee, my Scottish lassie !-though my muse must soon be dumb, (For graver thoughts and duties, with my graver years, are come,) Though my soul must burst the bonds of earth, and learn to soar on high, And to look on this world's follies with a calm and sober eye; Though the merry wine must seldom Aow, the revel cease for me, Still to thee, my Scottish lassie! stil I'll drink a health to thee. Here's a health, my Scottish lassie! here's a parting health to thee; May thine be still a cloudless lot, though it be far from me! May still thy laughing eye be bright, and open still thy brow, Thy thoughts as pure, thy speech as free, thy heart as light as now! And, whatsoe'er my after fate, my dearest toast shall be,-Still a health, my Scottish lassie! still a hearty health to thee! WE Weep not for her. By D. M. MOIR, (DELTA.) EEP not for her! Her span was like the sky, Like flowers that know not what it is to die, Like long-link'd shadeless months of polar light, Like music floating o'er a waveless lake, While echo answers from the flowery brake, Weep not for her! She died in early youth, Ere hope had lost its rich romantic hues, And earth still gleam'd with beauty's radiant dews. Weep not for her! Weep not for Her. Weep not for her! By fleet or slow decay Her prospects wither, and her hopes grow dark. 305 She pass'd, as 'twere on smiles, from earth to heaven: Weep not for her! Weep not for her! It was not hers to feel The miseries that corrode amassing years, As whirl the wither'd leaves from friendship's tree, Weep not for her! She is an angel now, And treads the sapphire floors of Paradise, Weep not for her! Her memory is the shrine Of pleasant thoughts, soft as the scent of flowers, Calm as on windless eve the sun's decline, Sweet as the song of birds among the bowers, Weep not for her! There is no cause of woe, Unshrinking o'er the thorny path below, And from earth's low defilements keep thee back, U So, when a few fleet swerving years have flown, She'll meet thee at heaven's gate- and lead thee on: Weep not for her! Better Moments. MY BY N. P. WILLIS. Y mother's voice! how oft doth creep Her gentle tone comes stealing by, The book of nature, and the print Of what I have been taught to be. With all my mother's lessons writ. Better Moments. I have been out at eventide Beneath a moonlight sky of spring, With wilder fleetness, throng'd the night ;— With friends on whom my love is flung Gazed up where evening's lamp is hung. I've pour'd her low and fervent prayer, To rise in heaven like stars at night, I have been on the dewy hills When night was stealing from the dawn, And mist was on the waking rills, And tints were delicately drawn In the gray east-when birds were waking Upon the whisper of the breeze, And when the sun sprang gloriously 307 |