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But in this fond enthusiast heart

Has found a place forever?

Nay, hast thou but a glen or shaw,
To shelter farm or sheiling,
That is not fondly garnered up
Within its depths of feeling?

Adown thy hills run countless rills,
With noisy, ceaseless motion;
Their waters join the rivers broad,
Those rivers join the ocean:
And many a sunny, flowery brae,
Where childhood plays and ponders,
Is freshened by the lightsome flood,
As wimpling on it wanders.

Within thy long-descending vales,
And on the lonely mountain,
How many wild spontaneous flowers
Hang o'er each flood and fountain!
The glowing furze, the "bonny broom."
The thistle, and the heather;

The blue-bell, and the gowan fair,

Which childhood likes to gather.

Oh for that pipe of silver sound,
On which the shepherd lover,

In ancient days, breathed out his soul,
Beneath the mountain's cover!

Oh for that Great Lost Power of Song,

So soft and melancholy,

To make thy every hill and dale
Poetically holy!

And not alone each hill and dale,
Fair as they are by nature,

But every town and tower of thine,
And every lesser feature;

For where is there the spot of earth
Within my contemplation,

But from some noble deed or thing
Has taken consecration!

Scotland! the land of all I love,
The land of all that love me;

Land, whose green sod my youth has trod,
Whose sod shall lie above me

Hail, country of the brave and good;
Hail, land of song and story;
Land of the uncorrupted heart,
Of ancient faith and glory!

TO A LITTLE BOY.-An Extract.

My winsome one, my gallant one, so fair, so happy now, With thy bonnet set so proudly upon thy shining brow, With thy fearless bounding motions, and thy laugh of thoughtless glee,

So circled by a father's love which wards each ill from

thee!

Can I suppose another time, when this shall all be o'er, And thy cheek shall wear the ruddy badge of happiness

no more;

When all who now delight in thee, far elsewhere shall

have gone,

And thou shalt pilgrimize through life, unfriended and

alone,

Without an aid to strengthen or console thy troubled

mind,

Save the memory of the love of those who left thee thus

behind?

CHARLES MACKAY, LL.D.

CHARLES MACKAY, a British poet and journalist, was born in Perth in 1812, and gained a valuable portion of his education in Belgium, where, in 1830, he was a witness of the startling events of the revolution there. In 1834, he published a small volume of poems, which was the means of introducing him to the notice of John Black, the editor of the "Morning Chronicle," through whose instrumentality he became connected with that paper. After being connected with the "Morning Chronicle" for about nine years, during which time he published a small volume of poems, the principal of which was "The Hope of the World," he became editor of the "Glasgow Argus," entering upon his duties in September, 1844. He relinquished the conduct of that paper at the general election in 1847. In 1846, the Glasgow University conferred the title of doctor of laws upon Mr. Mackay by unanimous vote. He now writes the chief leading articles for the "Illustrated London News." Mr. Mackay has published several volumes of poems-"The Salamandrine;" "Legends of the Isles ;" "Egeria;" "Town Lyrics;" "Voices from the Crowd;" "Voices from the Mountains," &c., &c., and also several works in prose, the best known of which is, his "Memoirs of Extraordinary Popular Delusions."

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