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A human shape I feel thou art,

I feel it at my beating heart,

Those tremors both of soul and sense
Awoke by infant innocence!

Though dear the forms by fancy wove,
We love them with a transient love;
Thoughts from the living world intrude
Even on her deepest solitude:
But, lovely child! thy magic stole

At once into my inmost soul,
With feelings as thy beauty fair,
And left no other vision there.

To me thy parents are unknown;
Glad would they be their child to own!
And well they must have loved before,
If since thy birth they loved not more.
Thou art a branch of noble stem,
And seeing thee I figure them.

What many a childless one would give,
If thou in their still home wouldst live!
Though in thy face no family-line
Might sweetly say, "This babe is mine!"
In time thou wouldst become the same
As their own child,-all but the name!

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WILLIAM EDMONDSTONE AYTOUN.

PROF. AYTOUN, editor of "Blackwood's Magazine," and author of "Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers," is a member of the Edinburgh bar, but has never, we believe, devoted himself to any extent to the severer duties of his profession. Some five or six years ago he succeeded Mr. Moir as professor of literature and belles-lettres in the University of Edinburgh, where his lectures-full of pith, energy, and distinguished by fine literary taste-are in great vogue. Professor Aytoun has been for some years one of the chief contributors to "Blackwood's Magazine," and few numbers appear from which his hand is absent. At the time of the railway mania, he flung off a series of papers-the first entitled, "How we got up the Glen Mutchkin Railway," descriptive of the doings in the Capel Court of Edinburgh and Glasgow-papers which, for broad, vigorous humor, and felicitous setting forth of genuine Scottish character, are almost unrivalled. Under the nom de guerre of Augustus Dunshunner, then first adopted—the professor frequently contributes pieces of off-hand criticism on books and men to "Blackwood," taking especial delight in showing up what he conceives to be the weak points of the Manchester school; and humorous though the general tone of the papers be, hesitates not to dash headlong at piles of statistics intended to prop up the fallen causes of protection. Mr. Aytoun's politics, as may be inferred from his sole work, published in "independent form, the "Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers," are high tory, or rather they amount to a sort of poetic and theoretical Jacobitism.

EDINBURGH AFTER FLODDEN.

THE great battle of Flodden was fought upon the 9th of September, 1513. The defeat of the Scottish army, resulting mainly from the fantastic ideas of chivalry entertained by James IV., and his refusal to avail himself of the natural advantages of his position, was by far the most disastrous of any recounted in the history of the northern wars. The whole strength of the kingdom, both Lowland and Highland, was assembled, and the contest was one of the sternest and most desperate upon record.

For several hours the issue seemed doubtful. On the left the Scots obtained a decided advantage; on the right wing they were broken and overthrown; and at last the whole weight of the battle was brought into the centre, where King James and the Earl of Surrey commanded in person. The determined valor of James, imprudent as it was, had the effect of rousing to a pitch of desperation the courage of the meanest soldiers; and the ground becoming soft and slippery from blood, they pulled off their boots and shoes, and secured a firmer footing by fighting in their hose.

The combat was maintained with desperate fury until nightfall. At the close, according to Mr. Tytler, "Surrey was uncertain of the result of the battle: the remains of the enemy's centre still held the field; Home, with his Borderers, still hovered on the left; and the commander wisely allowed neither pursuit nor plunder, but drew off his men, and kept a strict watch during the night. When the morning broke, the Scottish artillery were seen standing descrted on the side of the hill: their defenders had disappeared; and the Earl ordered thanks to be given for a victory which was no longer doubtful. Yet, even after all this, a body of the Scots appeared unbroken upon a hill, and were about to charge the Lord Admiral, when they were compelled to leave their position by a discharge of the English ordnance.

The loss of the Sets in this fatal battle amounted to about ten thousand men.

Of these,

a great proportion were of high rank; the remainder being composed of the gentry, the farmers and landed yeomanry, who disdained to fly when their sovereign and his nobles lay stretched in heaps around them."

The loss to Edinburgh on this occasion was peculiarly great. All the magistrates and ablebodied citizens had followed their King to Flodden, whence very few of them returned.

It is impossible to describe the consternation which pervaded the whole of Scotland when the intelligence of the defeat became known. In Edinburgh it was excessive. Mr. Arnot, in the history of that city, says,

"The news of their overthrow in the field of Flodden reached Edinburgh on the day after the battle, and overwhelmed the inhabitants with grief and confusion. The streets were crowded with women seeking intelligence about their friends, clamoring and weeping. Those who officiated in absence of the magistrates proved themselves worthy of the trust. They issued a proclamation, ordering all the inhabitants to assemble in military array for defence of the city on the tolling of the bell; and commanding, that all women, and especially strangers, do sepair to their work, and not be seen upon the street clamorand and cryand; and that women of the better sort do repair to the church and offer up prayers, at the stated hours, for our Sover eign Lord and his army, and the townsmen who are with the army."

E DI U BURGH AFTER FLOD DEV.

I.

NEWS of battle!-news of battle!
Hark! 'tis ringing down the street;
And the archways and the pavement
Bear the clang of hurrying feet.
News of battle! who hath brought it?
News of triumph? Who should bring
Tidings from our noble army,

Greetings from our gallant King?
All last night we watched the beacons
Blazing on the hills afar,

Each one bearing, as it kindled,
Message of the opened war.

All night long the northern streamers
Shot across the trembling sky:
Fearful lights that never beckon

Save when kings or heroes die.

II.

News of battle! Who hath brought it?

All are thronging to the gate;

"Warder—warder! open quickly!

Man-is this a time to wait ?"

And the heavy gates are opened :
Then a murmur long and loud,
And a cry of fear and wonder

Bursts from out the bending crowd.
For they see in battered harness
Only one hard-stricken man;
And his weary steed is wounded,

And his cheek is pale and wan:
Spearless hangs a bloody banner
In his weak and drooping hand-
God! can that be Randolph Murray,
Captain of the city band?

III.

Round him crush the people, crying,
"Tell us all-oh, tell us true!
Where are they who went to battle,
Randolph Murray, sworn to you?

Where are they, our brothers-children?
Have they met the English foe?
Why art thou alone, unfollowed ?

Is it weal or is it woe ?"
Like a corpse the grisly warrior

Looks from out his helm of steel;
But no word he speaks in answer-

Only with his armèd heel

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