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Good lack! I hope thou'rt not dead, currant bush, nie Dundee." As we are desirous that our readers should For a doleful thing 'twould be,
not exist a month longer without unravelling the wanTo have no red currants when August comos,
derings of this princely stream, we are glad to present And no red jelly at tea!
them with the following graphic sketch of its beauties by
one who knows them well. 'Twas pleasant to pluck the luxuriant strings of the ruby beads that hung
THE BEAUTIES OF THE TAY, AND ITS TRIBUTARIES. In tempting clusters, ruddy and ripe,
Where's the coward that would not dare Thy fresh green boughs among.
To fight for such a land !--Marmion.
Is there a Briton who has visited the Alpine scenery 0! never glanced gems upon beauty's neck
of Switzerland, the Italian lakes, or the banks of the With a richer glow of light,
Rhine, and who yet remains ignorant of the beauties of Than the coral fruit upon thee, currant bush,
the first of British rivers ? Let him take the earliest opWhen autumn's skies were bright.
portunity of correcting his omission, and of making him.
self acquainted with the loveliness of the Tay, and its triAnd I mind me well, six months ago,
butary streams. How gladsome it was to see
If he follows my advice, he will convey himself, on The busy group of sisters small,
foot, should he really wish to enjoy his tour, to the comWho prattled and danced round thee,
fortable inn at Tyndrum, which I would recommend as And surely thou wert right pleased, currant bush,
the starting-post. Here he may watch the infant Tay To be rifled by such sweet fingers ;
struggling through the wild and romantic solitudes of And of them, perchance, 'midst thy withering boughs, the guardianship of the saint, whose memory is still pre
Strathfillan, and coming into existence, as it were, under Some faint remembrance lingers.
served in the recesses of Breadalbane. Poor bush! I pity thee much ;-and more
Proceeding eastward from Strath fillan, the traveller That thy fate has a touch of my own;
gradually finds himself in Glendochart. In the upper The April sun now shines on us both,
part of this glen, there is much variety in the scenery; But not as it once has shone !
the woods of Innerardoran, Lochdochart, with its island
and rnined castle, and the stupendous masses of Benmore, In the whole range of creation, there is nothing more by which the valley is bounded on the right, combining truly beautiful than a noble river ; and what country to produce a very diversified landscape. The lower part more rich in rivers than Scotland ? There is the Forth, of Glendochart is more monotonous in its character, but which takes its rise from a small clear pool at the foot of the eye is at length relieved by the striking, yet simple, Benlomond, and, after winding, for miles, like a silver grandeur of Macnab's burying-ground, with its dark grove thread through the wild and beautiful scenery of Stir- of pine-trees standing in the midst of the foaming torlingshire, expands below Alloa into a broad and majestic rent. After passing the bridge of Killin, the rude but sheet of water, rolling on slowly and silently to the Ger- sublime scenery of Glendochart is almost instantly exman ocean. There is the Clyde, glittering in silver cas- changed for one of the most lovely landscapes which can cades through Lanarkshire, sweeping past Glasgow, gi- be seen in Scotland. In front are the beautiful grounds ving beauty to Dunglass and Erskine House, laving the of Kinnell, and beyond them Loch Tay, winding to the deep foundations of Dunbarton rock, supplying water to eastward, round the base of the lofty Benlawers. On a hundred lochs, and at length mingling with the mighty the right, the eye is arrested by gently-swelling banks, Atlantic below the Cambray Isles between the peaks of clothed with rich plantations, among wbich, and looking Ailsa and of Jura. There is the Tweed, the very Avon to the lake, is the delightful residence of Auchmore. On of our land, with its classic tributaries, the Gala Water the left, the Lochay slowly winds its way to join the and the Teviot, whose“ wild and willowed shore” lives lake through the gorge of a valley, almost unequalled in in immortal song. There is the Esk, or rather the Esks beauty, overhung by the magnificent woods which crown -the north and the south-tracing their origin up to the heights of Finlarig, with the frowning ridge of Ben the Grampian Hills, and, after finding their way, by Cailliach in the back-ground. The Lochay is the first different channels, through their native shire of Angus, tributary of any consequence received by the Tay; and meeting for the first and last time, just as they are pass in the lower part of its course, it forms a remarkable coning into their common grave in the neighbourhood of trast to the fierce impetuosity which characterises the deMontrose. There are the Don and the Dee, the noblest scent of the Dochart. of our Highland streams, whose course lies among rocks, Perhaps it is owing to the extreme richness and variety and moors, and glens, and heathy hills, softening the of the scenery at the west end of Loch Tay, that the midstern aspect of the mountains of Mar Forest, and giving dle part of this fine sheet of water does not possess such a softer beauty to the vale of Braemar. There are the attractions as might be expected ; but, as if to compensate Nith and the Annan, rolling on in placid quiet to the for this temporary and comparative deficiency, (for it is boisterous Solway—the streams which Allan Cunning- only comparative,) the eastern extremity appears to vie ham loves, and which we love too for his sake. There with the west in beauty, although the character of each is the Devron, a river which hath for us a thousand is essentially different; that of the former being, perhappy associations, awaking at every turn the romance haps, more artificial, but not the less pleasing on that acof youth, the chief ornament of Banffshire, making lux-count, while that of the latter is altogether more wild and uriant the sweet valley of Forglen, sweeping round the natural. foot of the green hill on whose brow stands the cottage Following the course of the Tay as it issues, now a of Eden, winding among the woods of Mount Coffre, noble stream, from the lake, we pass the princely sleeping in liquid crystal under the bridge of Alva, and grounds of Taymouth, and find ourselves in the finely finally meandering on through the noble parks of Duff wooded valley of Strath Tay, studded on every side with House, as if loth to leave them for the rude billows of various ancient castles and modern country seats. Here, the Murray Frith. And last, though not least, there is on the right, the Lyon joins the Tay. Glenlyon, a very the Tay, taking its source in the distant mountains of long and narrow valley, running from the most western Breadalbane, and, after gliding under the nine-arched part of Breadalbane, nearly parallel to Glendochart and bridge of Perth, enriching the Carse of Gowrie, and flow- Loch Tay, contains, within itself, some fine specimens of ing through a Caledonian Arcadia, until it swells into a Highland scenery; and the banks of the Lyon at Fortinfrith, and ceases to exist “betwixt St Johnston and bon- | gal, where the vale widens, previous to the junction of the
TO THE RAINBOW
Lyon and the Tay, may, for romantic beauty, challenge a ted from that town. Even with the full recollection of comparison with any similar scene in the island.' Fur- Campbell's magnificent address to the Rainbow, we fear ther down the strath, on the right, the Tay receives the not to present our readers with the following lines by Mr waters which have hurried to join it over the rocks and John Nevay on the same subject. They came to us with among “ the birks” of Aberfeldy. At length we reach the letter which we subjoin : Logierait, at the junction of the Tay and the Tummel.
Forfar, March 17th, 1830. The situation of this ancient residence of the Earls of
Sir,-If you condescend to look at these verses, I deAtholl is magnificent beyond description-just what we should expect in the castle of a Highland baron of old, voutly pray the Muses that it may be in that merry, but
sacred hour, when the tragi-comic drama of poets and guarded by two broad and rapid rivers, and at the same time watching, with jealous care, two of the principal en
rhymesters is performed, wherein some, for their intrutrances to the Highlands. The course of the Tummel is, whilst others, for their fair and honourable wooing, are
sion “ behind the scenes,” receive a mortal drubbing, comparatively speaking, so little known, that it merits a
wedded each to the Muse he loves, by the power of your more particular description.
immortal Slippers. I am, sir, your very humble serThe traveller who has journeyed from Dalmally or
J, Nevar, Tyndrum to the King's-house, on his way to Glencoe, will recollect, between King's-house and Inveroran, a black, dismal-looking moor, with several small lakes scat
Ethereal child of dark and bright, tered through it, stretching far to the east, and bounded
Clasping the heaven as in delight, on the south and north by lofty mountains. That desolate
While in thy soft and balmy arms moor is the moor of Rannoch, and from these lakes a river
Glad Nature smiles with fresher charms, proceeds, to lose itself at last in Loch Rannoch, which
And man and beast, and tree and flower, receives also, near the same place, the waters that flow
Feast on thy shining and thy shower; from Loch Ericht. Loch Rannoch is the least known,
Thou coronal of summer's sky, but not the least beautiful, of the Perthshire lakes ;—the
What art thou to poetic eye? view to the south, when travelling along the northern
An arch tri-coloured, rich and rare, bank of the lake, is particularly fine; for, besides that the southern shores are clothed with a great variety of
Whence hallow'd saints and seraphs fair, beautiful wood, there is to be seen on the rising grounds
In joyous bands, may view delighted behind, the remains of one of the ancient pine forests of
The genial earth with heaven united ;Scotland, while, at a greater distance, Schiehallion rears
The grand harp of the Deity
With music in its chords for me, his beautifully conical peak to complete the landscape. Issuing from Loch Rannoch, at the village of Kinloch,
Still pouring from its golden strings
An anthem to the King of kings; the river proceeds through the district of Bunrannoch to
While earth sends up her breath of balm Loch Tummel, exhibiting, in its course, all the beauties which are usually found in Highland rivers. Soon after
To mingle with the holy psalm ;leaving this lake, and foaming down Strath Tummel in
The matchless banner-flag of Him
Who quell’d the rebel seraphim, a number of cascades, it is joined at Faskally, by the
And in its stream of glowing hues, united waters of the Garry and the Tilt, after they have
Inwoven the verse of the holy Muse : escaped from the romantic Pass of Killiecrankie, and a
“ Love, and peace, and felicity, little further down it meets the Tay at Logierait. From this latter place the majestic river rolls along,
Follow ye Christ, and these will be,
When sun and stars have pass'd away, through a succession of splendid landscapes, to Dunkeld,
Your portion in eternal day." where it is joined by the Brand. The scenery here is too well known to require description.
Rainbow! thou art like the rapt bard's thought, It will be sufficient to mention the names of the re
Sublime 'midst the light and cloud of his lot,
The radiant Iris that spans his soul, maining rivers which join the Tay before it reaches the These are, on the left, the Isla and the Ardle, and,
In a heaven of fancy from pole to pole; on the right, the Amond and the Earn. Were I to at
A thing all beauty, and softness, and fire, tempt to describe the scenery on each of these branches,
Where hangs in glory his own loved lyre. it would savour of repetition, as all Highland straths and We are inclined to think that the living poets of the glens bave a certain resemblance to one another, although, “ west countrie” have been brought into notice principally doubtless, each has its own peculiar beauties. I shall, through the medium of the Literary Journal. A few of therefore, content myself with drawing the attention of them write occasionally elsewhere, but never so well as the stranger to the situation of Perth, as seen from the when they write for us. Their efforts seem to be paraheights to the south ward of that town. When gazing on lysed unless destined to come into contact with the gethis scene of match less beauty, containing all the various nial light which emanates from the Editor IN HIS SLIPfeatures that a painter could desire, from the rich culti
From the many compositions which have reached vation in the neighbourhood of the town, to the blue
us of late from the western shores, we proceed to select a Grampians in the distance, with the Scottish Tiber roll- few with which we think the public will be pleased. ing at my feet, I found myself involuntarily spouting We have already introduced Mr William Mayne to our the stirring lines which I have placed at the head of this readers. We think the following one of his most sucpaper ; and I would now, in the words of the same poet, cessful efforts, poetical as they all are : ask him who has surveyed, as I have done, the beauties of the Tay and its Tributaries, commencing with the rugged fastness of Breadalbane and the desolate bleakness of the moor of Rannoch, and ending with Perth and
By William Mayne. the Carse of Gowrie,
Oh, how the fancy loves to brood "Where shall be find in foreign land”
Upon those islands of the sea,
Where nature dwells in solitude, scenery to surpass that to which I have thus feebly at
Amid her own fair imagery; tempted to introduce him ?
Where the sweet earth for ever blooms
THE OVERWHELMED ISLE,
That on the soft grass they may lean,
Save some sweet insect's hum at even,
Or the most tender sighs of heaven;
To one of those delightful isles,
Which round man's dwelling darkly coils; Where sorrow's wail, so wild and drear, Would never thrill upon the ear ; Where we would never know again The world's neglect-the world's disdain.
Then, after journeying a time
Along a fair and flowery shore,
And brightly wander evermore.
Which God first planted on the earth, Whose days as sweetly journey'd by
As though they own'd a heavenly birth.
Alas! alas! who could have thought
That island's breast, which seem'd so fair, Was with the earth-curse deeply fraught,
That death in secret revell'd there?
One of those islands was my own, Placed in a mild and friendly zone; In it I found that mellow peace, And joy, and sacred fruitfulness, Which I had thought was never given To any but the loved of Heaven. Nor was I all alone,-forsaken Of those dear beings who awaken Those fond affections in the soul, Which bend it under their control, And make the loveliest places lie More dearly beauteous on the eye! For from the far-off shore I brought A gentle maid of kindred thought, Who was content to tread with me Unto the world's extremity, In search of some secluded spot, Where peace would bless our earthly lot. One of those islands was our own, And there we nestled all alone; Nor was the world so far away From where our lovely island lay, But that we could perceive, when on The heaven day's clearest radiance shone, Beyond the dark and potent tide, Which spread around us calm and wide, Its outline on the sky defined, Soft as a shadow of the mind. And often, at the close of even, When sleep's soft shades embraced the heaven, Would we forsake our cheerful toil, And from some fair spot of our isle Look with a long and ardent view Upon its dim and distant hue, Until we had forgot that hoar And helpless misery roam'd it o'er, And that it ever drove us forth As sickly creatures, nothing worth.
'Twas evening, and sleep's gentle wing
My wife my arm was fondly thrown.com The next I heard the ocean's roar,
And its dread billows sweeping on, And felt the waters round me chill, And strangling me in their fierce will, And spurning me their wrath before,
Like him who spurns a worthless foe, And growling out a jocund roar,
As up I bounded from their flow. Yet, in that black tempestuous sea, My soul was wound to agony, At thought of them, the loved, the fair, Now rudely driven-I knew not where! And round my arms I wildly tlung The heavy-swelling waves among, In hope they might be strongly bound My wife or helpless children round. But there were none save I amid Those mighty waters wild and dread! I dash'd my head above the waves, Which o'er me hung like moving graves, And look'd a moment through the night,
To where I fancied was the isle; But, ah! its fair peculiar light
No longer shed its blessed smile! Nothing I saw, around, around, But waves in everlasting bound.
Three children grew our steps around,
As fair as aught which blooms below, And from their guileless hearts we found
Still sweeter streams of gladness flow : They grew around their mother's breast,
And clung there, like the smiles of morn, Which on the rose's soft leaves rest,
And even its loveliness adorn. How oft I fancied they would spring 'Neath Nature's tender cherishing, And other feelings never know, Than those she kindly might bestow ; And though our bosoms were their source,
Be like those streams so calm and clear, Which first begin their quiet course
From a dark lake, unblest and drear,
I know no more, for frenzy cast
Its friendly darkness o'er my mind, And hid the billow and the blast
The ocean had in store behind. 'Twas not the lashing wave o'ercame The ruling spirit of my frame, No, 'twas the agonizing thought Which there, even there, with madness smote, That those, my joy, iny life, my light! Would bloom no more before my sight,
Which made my wild regardless soul
From another Glasgow bard, whose sonnets in general Back from my heart's embraces roll.
find acceptation in our eyes, we have been favoured with
the following communication : The beams of the succeeding morn
Sir, -Slippers have long been appropriated to the feet, Upon me threw their calm disdain,
and for you it has been reserved, to show of how great And show'd me cast a thing of scorn
benefit they may be in the more dignified service of the Upon the world's cold coast again;
head. In your Slippers, you have found room for both The ocean safely roll'd above
brains and feet,--a rhymester and a punster may be parThat solitary isle of love,
doned for making the remark. I have heard they are And hid it in its secret breast With all the wealth that made me blest!
all sole ; and no one can doubt there is the principle
of life in them who judges from the last, and indeed Oh ! often I have sail'd alone
from all. Perhaps, when you next resign the editorial O'er where that isle was wont to be, Once smiling like a flowery throne,
pen to your SLIPPERS, you will be kind enough to re
commend the prefixed Sonnet to their notice and indulWhere peace might sit and rule the sea ;
gence. I am, sir, &c. And I have fancied out the spot
NEIL Cross. Where rose our flower-encircled cot,
Here is the sonnet alluded to:
SONNET TO MY NATIVE STREAM.
By Neil Cross.
Strange fancies oftimes take the poet's brain,
Which some, whose sympathies are less refined,
As even in days gone past, to-day again
I've listen'd to thy music, gentle stream !
Until mine ear bath caught, or, in a dream, Within a dark unbreaking sleep.
My own wild fancy, and the love of thee,
And this dear spot together, so have wrought Since then I've wander'd lone and long
On my young heart, that what, in sooth, can be The places of the world among,
But a delusion, is made real to me; An object of its careless scorn,
And I have innocently, without thought, A thing for any foot to spurn:
Believed my finer ear distinctly caught The hope is dead within my breast,
The airs of those sweet songs which here, in joy,
Oft to myself I've whistled when a boy!
“ T. B.J." is another Glasgow poet; but he has written Would cheer me with her friendly smile,
this time in prose, and poets often write very sensibly in And seek with me that happy isle!
prose. We are not quite sure that we agree with the Glasgow.
opinions contained in the following paper ; but as it is
fair that all sides of a question should be stated, and as Mr Thomas Brydson is a poet full of soft and gentle the motto on our title-page shall never be lost sight of by feeling. He has sent us the following lines from Oban, us,—“ Here's freedom to him that would write,"—We where he now resides :
are well pleased to give a place to this temperate and calldid communication :
DUNOLLY CASTLE-BAY OF OBAN.
A DEFENCE OF SACRED POETRY.
By Thomas Brydson. The breezes of this vernal day
Come whispering through thine empty ball, And stir, instead of tapestry,
The weed upon its wall,
And bring from out the murm'ring sea,
And bring from out the vocal wood, The sound of Nature's joy to thee,
Mocking thy solitude,
Yet, proudly 'mid the tide of years
Thou lift'st on high thine airy form, Scene of primeval hopes and fears !
Slow yielding to the storm.
Poetry's highest achievements were made long ago by the inspired writers. They breathed and burned from the lips of Job and of the Prophets, and were hallowed by the lyre of David. In after times, they were also revealed in the gloom and glory of the apocalyptic visions. From the admirable adaptation of such subjects to poetry, in imitation of the inspired authors, many writers of sqblime genius have taken their plan, and characters, and scenery, from Holy Writ. Against such, however, there has been, and now exists, a loud outcry; and to show the injustice of the censures heaped upon writers of sacred poetry, is the object of the following remarks.
It is alleged by wise and good men, that works of imagination, founded upon Scripture, tend to hurt the mind of the reader by mingling in his memory Truth with Fic. tion, To this objection it may be answered, that the poet should never bring forward any thing contradictory to divine truth, his embellishments should all coiocide with, and flow naturally from, those passages on which his plan is founded. If, however, a bold fancy shoul overcharge the history with improbability, such, from it very nature, must be easily apparent, and have no power tu hurt the cause of virtue. Thus, Milton's description o the devil's manner of tempting our first parents,-althoug not precisely according to the text of Scripture,—if i should assume in the mind of any the place of revelation is not calculated to produce any evil tendency.
Another and more frequent objection to poetry founder upon sacred subjects is, that it is sinful and dangerous ti touch upon, or attempt to embellish, the Word of God
From thy grey portal, oft at morn,
The ladies and the squires would go; While swell’d the hunter's bugle-horn
In the green glen below.
And minstrel harp, at starry night,
Woke the high strain of battle here; When with a wild and stern delight,
The warrior stoop'd to hear.
All fled for ever! leaving nought
Save lonely walls in ruin green,
To moments that have been.
A HIGHLAND GLEN.
To this we think it a sufficient answer, that the histo- disappearing ; and that language, and ideas, and subjects rical portions of Holy Writ being merely a sketch work of of loftier character, will take their place. Moral beauwhat took place, nothing can be more natural than for ty is the greatest and only true source of the sublime. the imagination to fill it up; and this can be easily done, And what can give finer scope for moving the deepest feelwithout failing to keep in view, at the same time, the ings than when the poet shall treat of religious hope and grand outlines of the picture. The poet should, however, fear, the mysterious and the infinite, death and im. be very guarded in his expression and invention. He mortality, the greatness of Truth, and the beauty of Virshould imitate the Word, as he would copy the works, of tue? Let the writer of Sacred Poetry, then, continue with the Author of all things, by keeping truth ever before courage, and whatever the cant of criticism may say, let him.
He should not only be exceedingly careful of going him be assured he will meet with a hearing from the against what is written, but he should not imagine any religious and tasteful public. Let him take the advice thing which is beneath the dignity of his subject. In of the blind master of English song, and seek a fitness touching upon themes connected with the vitals of Chris- for his studies " by devout prayer to the Eternal Spi. tianity, he should feel as if treading on hallowed ground, rit that can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and and walk in the footsteps of the inspired writers with the send out his seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar, most high and holy reverence.
to touch and purify the lips of whom he pleases.” Instead of being prejudicial to the interests of religion, Glasgow.
T. B. J. we believe sacred poetry, on the contrary, to produce the Returning now to the vicinity of Edinburgh, the subvery opposite effect. Being arrayed in the garb of Fancy, joined poem, which we think fanciful and amusing, has the lessons of Revelation may be, and are, made to re
come to us from a mysterious place near Dalkeith : commend themselves to the hearts of the beedless and unthinking. Medicine is administered to perverse child- A SONG OF WITCHES HEARD BY A BENIGHTED TRAVELLER IN ren by being mingled with something more palatable; so, also, may be administered the medicine of the mind. In Huzza for our Prince !--for no Prince is so great, hours, too, of melancholy musing, and even upon still and Ten thousand hobgoblins his mandates await! solitary Sabbaths, have not the best men and Christians They dive into ocean, they mount into air, found a languor steal over them in monotonously poring The tail of the comet they seize by the hair. upon the Bible? In such seasons, who has not found a pleasing relief in turning to the Paradise Lost of Milton, An earthquake's commotion they catch by the mane, --the Messiah of Klopstock,—Gessner's Death of Abel, They say, We have raised thee, we'll bind thee again ; – Pollok's Course of Time, -or John Bunyan’s Pilgrim's If tempest and darkness in fury should lour, Progress ?
At a word they command forth the sun by their power. No rule in Aristotle's Art of Poetry is accounted more excellent than that in which he states that a fine poem Bring joints from the finger, the thumb, and the toe ;
They ransack every cave of the regions below, should be founded upon the probable and the marvellous. If this be true, the subjects of Scripture have these pecu, where mermaids are rinsing their garments of snow.
Or plunge 'neath the waters, and fearlessly go liar requisites ;--the mind having faith in their facts, and wonder at their miracles and events. There is a style of If any one harm them, they swear in their ire, poetry which may be called the intellectual,--it describes Their bodies shall waste as the wax in the fire ; men and manners, the power and the pathos of the feels | Tornadoes, as giants, they send forth to battle, ings. There is another, and at present more favoured And murrain that seizes the herds and the cattle. style, which dwells chiefly among the simple and sublime beauties of nature. But the highest style of poetry, in No rowan-tree can scare them, 'tis popular error our opinion, is not that which discloses pictures of real They burst through the charm, and they strike men withi life or of nature. Reality is not the realm in which the terror; fancy loves best to expatiate ; she loves to wander amid Into hare, cat, or greyhound, themselves they transform--the unmeasured fields of possibility ; to create beings and One instant a mountain, next moment a worm. landscapes beyond the sun and the sphere of day;
Some dance on a rope ; in a twinkling they whirl “ Above the stir and smoke of this dim spot A thousand times round it, like freaks of a squirrel ; Which men call Earth.”
Now a jackal, a lion, an ape, a baboon, It is the duty of imaginative writers to be always giving Now on earth, now away on the rim of the moon. the mind a view of something brighter and better than The tombs are laid open, and, lo ! there are seen what is here; to bring forth speculations on the past or Ten thousand clay mansions where spirits have been ; the future, and, by their spell, to etherealize them into a
The bodies stand grinning in fearful array, lim and shadowy effect. It is as if it were kindly al. But the souls have fled far from the regions of day. lowed to man, when driven from the paradise of earth by the sky-tempered sword of the Archangel, to awake, by It is done ! it is done ! let us up through the air, the power of his fancy, a mental Eden of bliss and beauty. Some a cat, some a toad, some a greyhound or hare ;
The all-engrossing interest which religious subjects We vault with a bound from the mountain's far summit, have, fits them admirably for the attention of the poet. We seize on a moonbeam, we dance on a comet. Homer seems to have known this when he interwove his Huzza for our Prince ! for no Prince is so great, nobly-invented Iliad with the mythology of his time. If Ten thousand hobgoblins his mandates await! this was the effect in the heathen writer, how much more must it be so with the more lofty revelations of Christi- first, Mr D. MacAskill, a name we have seen before,
Six Edinburgh poets remain upon our list. Come thou anity! It has been said by the judicious Addison, that to though we have never seen its owner.
Thomas Haynes be great in its subject and its character are the first essen- Bayly, popular as he is, might have written the followials of a fine poem. Where can there be found such
tore of great subject and character as in the writings of ing verses with credit to himself:
By D. MacAskill.
LINES TO HER WHO BEST CAN UNDERSTAND THEM.