Anticipation in their eyes Looks forward to a distant day, Sweet innocent, fair title-page, While playing on the grassy sod, It is a tyrant, touch it not, No tyrant breathes in Britain's isle, It is a tyrant, touch it not, Tho' it be Scotia's emblem dear, Here gather softest sweetest flowers, I'll lead thee where the browing bee Enjoy, enjoy thy passing hour, For lo! he comes with eyes severeHe comes who checks the truant's course, Who wantons free as summer's air. Ah! oft he'll beat thy tender palm, Condemn'd to sit by yonder wall, Enjoy, enjoy thy passing hour, For soon thy merry wandering eye, Nor shalt thou view her airy flights, Before thou taste the lip of love, Or warm when beauty treads the green, Full many a toil thou hast to prove, Full many an aching heart I ween. A MONODY, IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH. Now Spring returns; but not to me returns And all the joys of life with health are flown. BRUCE. MUTE in the dust, by Scotia's muse deplor'd, To brighter worlds his gentle spirit soar'd, When sinks the manly form into the tomb, What can the strength restore, the eye relume? The shades, the spectres of their better years, Med'cine their pain may sooth, and faith their fears, Her pensive son, the pride of Leven's plains, And will, lamented youth! with Leven's swains, 'Twas Heav'n's high will the blessing to recall, Now high in bliss above this darkling ball, Again to animate thy mouldering clay, Would'st thou again the debt of nature pay, No; but no more by mortal ills oppress'd, In realms of light and love, God's promis'd rest, Thrice has returning Spring, with zephyrs bland, Yet pine I under His paternal hand, Who chastens whom He loves. His genial warmth the smiling cun may shed; Her mantle green may Spring o'er Nature spread, Fann'd by the zephyrs' breath; But ah! can they reanimate the dead, Or stay the hand of death? "A young man of genius, in a deep consumption, at the age of 21, feeling himself every moment going faster to decline, is an object sufficiently interesting; but how much must every fecling on the occasion be heightened, when we know, that this person possessed so much dignity and composure of mind, as not only to contemplate his approaching fate, but even to write a poem on the subject."-Mirror, No. 36. Ye kindred souls, who, with the human frame, This tribute to misfortune, to his shame, Yet earthly friends, though faithful and sincere, Into my heart, my parting soul to cheer, Not burning seraphim around thy throne, And shall polluted dust, to evil prone, In human strength hath mortal ever stood? Wash'd in the fountain of atoning blood, Grant me from pain a refuge in the tomb, But O, receive me, Lord! at death and doom, ITALIAN SUNSET. THE dark red sun was sinking down, Now o'er the sun a crescent crown, B. A TRIP TO CARLISLE THE NORTH- MR EDITOR, "LIFE," says Dr Johnson," has few things better than to be rapidly whirled about in a post chaise." This, for ought 1 know, may be very correct, and very descriptive of a peculiar and undefinable feeling: but I am quite sure that, had the Doctor lived to be" rapidly whirled" on the top of a stage coach, contending for the palm of victory with a newly established rival on the road, his well known regard for his neck, and the valuable head which it supported withal, would have considerably cooled his enthusiasm in favour of" rapid whirling," which I take to be one of the queerest things imaginable, particularly where one has left at home a wife and some half dozen tinction of broken bones, or acquiring I chose this, in preference to the more direct road to Carlisle, that I might have it in my power to visit the classic farm of Ellisland, and muse, for a moment, beside the mausoleum of the inimitable and unfortunate Burns. To the sentimental voyager, who feels within himself a spark of the divine soul of poetry, and kindles, with generous but indignant enthusiasm, at the recollection of HIM, whose genius will be the delight and the boast of his ungrateful native land, to the remotest ages, Ellisland possesses attractions far more powerful, and indestructible, than what arise from the scenery alone, consisting of the beautiful and well wooded banks of the deep-flowing Nith, in the foreground, and an amphitheatre of distant hills, in the back, giving amplitude and even sublimity to the scene. Nature is only powerful over the human heart, by the witchery of association and remembrance. What, for example, would be the fine scenery of Marathon, without the glories of Mil tiades?-or who would stop to gaze on Thermopyla, bleak, barren, and sterile as it is, but for the well-remembered self-devotion of Leonidas and his invincible Spartans? This is the great master-charm that elicits our emotions, as we survey individual spots of earth hallowed by the recollection of great actions, and associated with those events in human history, which make their way to all hearts, and exert a certain influence on the understandings of all. What can be finer-grander-more romantic, than the pass of Killikrankie, (or Runruaro, as the Highlanders call it,) yet, it is not saying too much to aver, that the arrantest view-hunter who ever sallied forth, with knapsack on back, and well-greased shoon on feet, never trode that wild and romantic solitude without heaving a reluctant sigh to the memory of the brave Viscount Dundee. What then would Ellisland be without Burns? To me, I confess, the very ground seemed holy. I was now treading the identical spots had trode so often before me, and I of earth which that immortal bard felt disposed to claim acquaintance with every stone and every tree on which his eye had rested in his soli tary musings. I thought of his undying fame, and of his productions already identified with the habits, feelings, joys, sorrows, national prejudices and distinctions of our dear native land; and, above all, I thought have cheered the hearts of his countryof those noble lyric compositions, which men in all regions, and in all climates, from the Ohio and Orinooco to the from Spitzbergen to the Equator,Indus and the Ganges, from "THE RIVER to the ends of the earth." I hope I shall be forgiven this enthu siasm. I am not conversant with that half-nothing slang, which is now-ahalf-metaphysical, half-sentimental, days yclept" fine writing,” and which has been brought into some repute by hair-brained Lakists and expelled Oxonians; but I cannot refuse my passing tribute to that mighty spirit whose numbers, as they were my earliest delight, so will probably be among my latest recollections. After a pleasant evening spent in Dumfries with a congenial spirit, who Mr J. M'Diarmid, Author of the "Life of Cowper," &c. and Editor of the Dumfries Courier, by far the best provincial newspaper published in Scotland. 66 is at once the ornament and delight of the circle in which he moves, and who is no less distinguished for the amiable qualities of his heart than for richness and delicacy of fancy, conjoined with a sound, vigorous, and independent judgment, I set out for Carlisle on the following morning, and met with no adventure worth mentioning, till we reached Gretna Green, of buckling celebrity." Here, however, a little incident occurred which must always form a sort of era in my monotonous existence. We had passed this notorious scene of renegade matrimony about a mile and a half, when we were met by a chaise and four, the horses all in a foam, the postillions whipping and spurring like the very devil, and a gentleman of very interesting and manly appear ance on the box cheering them on to still greater exertions, and more unmerciful flagellations. They had cleared the winning post, (by which I mean the little river Sark, the boundary of the two kingdoms, and only at a little distance from Gretna,) and it was now neck or nothing, for the pursuit had been conducted with such animation and perseverance, that the gallant had not started a minute and a half from the Bush Inn at Carlisle, when the father of the fair fugitive drove up to the door. Horses were shifted in less than three minutes, so that the advantage of time in favour of the fugitives might be estimated at less than five minutes. When we met the first chaise the race had reached the very acmé of interest. It was impossible to remain passive. Something must be done, and that instantly, the pursuers were already in sight. In this extremity, and prompted by a spirit of sympathy, which I hope you have too much gallantry to condemn, I seized the reins from the hands of the coachman, and, with the aid of a spruce young blood, who entered into the joke toto corde, we instantly descended, turned the horses and coach right across the road, and commenced fumbling among the traces, as if something had been broken and required immediate repair. I should mention that we chose our ground with considerable judgment, for, at the place where we set the coach across the road, it was so narrow, that to pass us with any reasonable degree of safety was an utter VOL. IX. impossibility. In a trice the pursuers were at us, and a scene ensued which beggars all attempts at description,-roaring-imprecating curses blows -- confusion-blasphemy-entreaty-all commingled in strange wise, and all for a little to no purpose; for Old Crusty was in such a towering passion, and the postillions were in such a pother, that they did nothing but run about knocking their dunderheads against one another. During the melée, however, I thought I noticed that the postillions were by no means so hearty in the cause of the father as I had seen those who were in that of his daughter;—they made a world of noise,-swore dreadfully unprofitable oaths,-ran about yelling like drunken demons,-but did nothing. At length, after delaying them for about eight minutes, we got our ponderous vehicle turned once more in the line of march, and off we set, accompanied by a volley of oaths, which, "could curses kill," would be no joke, I assure. Our interference, however, had done the gallant good service, for before the father and his myrmidons arrived at "Johnson's Tavern," (the Temple of Hymen at Gretna,) the priest, always on the alert, and the law of Scotland ever kind to lovers in haste, had rendered all further efforts on the part of the father to recover his fugitive child perfectly fruitless ;-she had become a wife! On the evening of the same day the young married couple returned to the Bush, Carlisle, where, just as they were descending from their chaise, now no longer alarmed by the dread of being overtaken, the coachman who had so properly and prudently suffered himself to be disposted by myself and the other gentleman, and had thereby done them so seasonable service, approached the gallant, and begged his honour's pleasure in consideration of his signal merit in delaying the pursuit for these all-important eight minutes; explaining, at the same time, with the accustomed veracity of his trade, that he had done the deed of his own proper motion, and at his own personal risk. A couple of sovereigns rewarded his application. I happened to pass at the same instant on my way to the White Hart, one of the best houses of entertainment in England. I do not know what process had been ela Hh |