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Oh! who to sober measurement
Time's happy swiftness brings,
When Birds of Paradise have lent
Their plumage for his wings!

EPITAPH ON THE YEAR 1806.-HON. R. W. Spencer.

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HUNTING SONG. WALTER SCOTT.

WAKEN lords and ladies gay,
On the mountain dawns the day,
All the jolly chace is here,

With hawk, and horse, and hunting spear;
Hounds are in their couples yelling,
Hawks are whistling, horns are knelling,
Merrily, merrily, mingle they,
"Waken lords and ladies gay.'

Waken lords and ladies gay,

The mist has left the mountain gray,
Springlets in the dawn are steaming,
Diamonds on the brake are gleaming;
And foresters have busy been,
To track the buck in thicket green;
Now we come to chaunt our lay,
"Waken lords and ladies gay."

Waken lords and ladies gay,
To the green wood haste away;
We can shew you where he lies,
Fleet of foot, and tall of size;
We can shew the marks he made,
When 'gainst the oak his antlers frayed;
You shall see him brought to bay,
"Waken lords and ladies gay."

Louder, louder chaunt the lay,
Waken lords and ladies gay!
Tell them youth, and mirth, and glee,
Run a course as well as we;

Time, stern huntsman! who can baulk,

Staunch as hound, and fleet as hawk;

Think of this, and rise with day,

Gentle lords and ladies gay.

BALLAD.-ORIGINAL.

BY SIR GILBERT ELLIOT OF MINTO,

The Father of Lord Minto, present Governor-General of India.

"O SHUT, O shut the castle gate!
O bar the chamber door!

No faithful turtle quits her mate;
I'll quit my love no more.

"What though yestreen the bloody fray

So gallantly he wan,

And bade the hungry raven prey

On many a stout young man;

"What chance the morrow may betide,
No mortal knows, I ween;

And of the mark he shoots but wide,
Who measures morn with e'en."

Soon as she spake, the larum bell
Rung rueful in her ear;

Struck at the dire and boding knell,
Her heart beat thick with fear.

Syne to her love's bed-side she hied,
Aghast, and sore afraid;

"Up! up! my gallant thane," she cried,

"Thy castle is betrayed.

"Thy friend, thy friend's his trust betray'd,
Thy false friend's done the deed;

Up! up! thy castle is betray'd;

A friend's a broken reed."

She spake-but no reply she heard,
When, Oh! her love she spies;
Her love all wan, and blood besmear'd,
And death was in his eyes.

"O woe betide the bloody night
That smote my gallant thane;
O, well-a-day! O, rueful sight!
My love, my true love's slain !"

"Farewell, farewell, my peerless love,"

Then said the dying thane;

"The thread of life with pain is wove,
The days of man arę vain.

"Yestreen I laid me down to rest,
My foes sad and forlorn;
A viper harbour'd in my breast,
Hath stung my life ere morn."

His clay-cold hand in hers she clung;

"Welcome," she said, "were death;"

While on his fading lips she hung,
And caught his parting breath.

THE BANKS OF ESK.-RICHARDSON.

THERE'S hardly motion in the air,
To waft the floating gossamer;
Along the placid azure sky,

The clouds in fleecy fragments lie,
Like the thin veil o'er beauty's face,
Conferring more endearing grace.
Again I gaze upon thy stream,
Loved scene of many a youthful dream,
Where rosy Hope, with

syren tongue,
Caroll'd her fond alluring song,
And led my raptur'd soul along.—
Why is thy murmur to my ear
So full of sorrow, yet so dear?
Why does the rustling of thy woods,
The roll of thy autumnal floods,
Re-echo'd by a hollow moan,
Sounds so peculiarly thine own,
Awake in strange alternate measure,

Thoughts of woe, and thoughts of pleasure!

'Tis, that, once more, thy scenes can give
Times that in memory hardly live,
And youth again, with angel smile,
A fleeting moment can beguile,
And bid, as in the wizard's glass,
His shadowy visions gleam, and pass,
Till quick returns the present doom,
Involving all in double gloom.

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