Soon as his light has warmed the seas,

From the parting cloud fresh blows the breeze;
And that is the spirit whose well-known song
Makes the vessel to sail in joy along.
No fears hath she; her giant form

O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm,
Majestically calm would go

'Mid the deep darkness white as snow!
But gently now the small waves glide
Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side.
So stately her bearing, so proud her array,
The main she will traverse for ever and aye.
Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast ;-
Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last.
Five hundred souls in one instant of dread
Are hurried o'er the deck;
And fast the miserable ship
Becomes a lifeless wreck.

Her keel hath struck on a hidden rock,
Her planks are torn asunder,

And down come her masts with a reeling shock,

And a hideous crash like thunder.

Her sails are draggled in the brine,

That gladdened like the skies,

And her pendant, that kissed the fair moonshine, Down many a fathom lies.

Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow hues

Gleamed softly from below,

And flung a warm and sunny flush

O'er the wreaths of murmuring snow,
To the coral-rocks are hurrying down,
To sleep amid colours as bright as their own.

A SLEEPING CHILD.

ART thou a thing of mortal birth,
Whose happy home is on our earth?
Does human blood with life imbue
Those wandering veins of heavenly blue,
That stray along thy forehead fair,
Lost 'mid a gleam of golden hair?
Oh! can that light and airy breath
Steal from a being doomed to death?

Those features to the grave be sent
In sleep thus mutely eloquent?
Or art thou, what thy form would seem,
The phantom of a blessed dream?

Oh! that my spirit's eye could see
Whence burst those gleams of ecstasy!
That light of gleaming soul appears
To play from thoughts above thy years.
Thou smil'st as if thy soul were soaring
To heaven, and heaven's God adoring!
And who can tell what visions high
May bless an infant's sleeping eye!
What brighter throne can brightness find
To reign on than an infant's mind,
Ere sin destroy or error dim
The glory of the seraphim?

William Tennant.

Born 1785.

Died 1848.

Was born at East Anstruther, in Fife, in 1785. In 1812 he published "Anster Fair" in his own little village. It was some time before the poem became known to the literary world, but in 1814 a favourable notice appeared in the " Edinburgh Review," which brought it into notice. Although much of it is coarse, there are many pieces of considerable beauty. He published some other pieces of little note. Tennant, by great industry, had acquired a good knowledge of Latin, Greek, Arabic, Syriac, and Persian; and after being for some time classical teacher in Dollar Academy, he was appointed Professor of Oriental Languages in the University of St Andrews. He died in 1848.

FROM "ANSTER FAIR."

HER form was as the Morning's blithesome star,
That, capped with lustrous coronet of beams,
Rides up the dawning orient in her car,

New-washed, and doubly fulgent from the streams—

The Chaldee shepherd eyes her light afar,

And on his knees adores her as she gleams;

So shone the stately form of Maggie Lauder,

And so the admiring crowds pay homage and applaud her.

Each little step her trembling palfrey took,
Shaked her majestic person into grace,

And as at times bis glossy sides she strook
Endearingly with whip's green silken lace-
The prancer seemed to court such kind rebuke,
Loitering with wilful tardiness of pace-
By Jove, the very waving of her arm

Had power a brutish lout to unbrutify and charm!
Her face was as the summer cloud, whereon
The dawning sun delights to rest his rays!
Compared with it, old Sharon's vale, o'ergrown
With flaunting roses, had resigned its praise;
For why? Her face with heaven's own roses shone,
Mocking the morn, and witching men to gaze;
And he that gazed with cold unsmitten soul,

The blockhead's heart was ice thrice baked beneath the Pole.
Her locks, apparent tufts of wiry gold,

Lay on her lily temples, fairly dangling,
And on each hair, so harmless to behold,
A lover's soul hung mercilessly strangling!
The piping silly zephyrs vied to unfold

The tresses in their arms so slim and tangling,
And thrid in sport these lover-noosing snares,
And played at hide-and-seek amid the golden hairs.
Her eye was as an honoured palace, where

A choir of lightsome Graces frisk and dance;
What object drew her gaze, how mean soe'er,
Got dignity and honour from the glance;
Woe to the man on whom she unaware

Did the dear witchery of her eye elance!

'Twas such a thrilling, killing, keen regard— May Heaven from such a look preserve each tender bard!

Mrs Southey.

Born 1787.

Died 1854.

CAROLINE ANNE BOWLES was the only child of Captain Bowles of Buckland, near Lymington, Hants. She was born in 1787. Having while very young lost both her parents, she spent much of her early life in retirement. For many years she contributed to the magazines poems which were greatly admired. In 1820 she published "Ellen FitzArthur," a poem, and her name as the author was then given to the world. "Widow's Tale," "Solitary Hours," "Chapters on Churchyards," &c., followed, and obtained for the author a high place among the roll of poetesses. In 1839 she married Robert Southey the poet, with whom she

The

had for many years been intimate, evidently to cheer and take care of him in his declining years. From the state of Southey's mind soon after, this task was one of great difficulty, and required the utmost selfsacrifice. On his death, Mrs Southey was left nearly destitute, which, in her then state of health, was very trying; but she was relieved from this distress by a pension from Government of L.200 a-year. Her last volume of poetry was published in 1847. She died in 1854.

MARINER'S HYMN.

LAUNCH thy bark, mariner!
Christian, God speed thee!
Let loose the rudder-bands-
Good angels lead thee!
Set thy sails warily,
Tempests will come;
Steer thy course steadily;
Christian, steer home!

Look to the weather-bow,
Breakers are round thee;
Let fall the plummet now,
Shallows may ground thee.
Reef in the foresail there;
Hold the helm fast!
So-let the vessel wear-
There swept the blast.

"What of the night, watchman!
What of the night?"
"Cloudy-all quiet-

No land yet-all's right."
Be wakeful, be vigilant-

Danger may be

At an hour when all seemeth

Securest to thee.

How! gains the leak so fast?

Clean out the hold-
Hoist up thy merchandise,
Heave out thy gold;
There-let the ingots go-
Now the ship rights;
Hurra! the harbour's near--

Lo! the red lights!

Slacken not sail yet

At inlet or island;
Straight for the beacon steer,
Straight for the high land.
Crowd all thy canvas on,
Cut through the foam-
Christian! cast anchor now-
Heaven is thy home!

Lord Byron.

Born 1788.

Died 1824.

GEORGE GORDON BYRON was by the father's side English, and by the mother's side Scotch; he was born in London, on the 22d January 1788. When he was two years old his parents removed to Aberdeen for economy's sake, and in due time placed Byron at a day-school there, where he remained till he was ten years old. In 1798, by the death of a grand-uncle, Byron became heir to an English peerage, and removed with his mother to the family seat of Newstead Abbey. Two years after he was sent to Harrow, where he remained till 1805. It does not appear that he gave any indications there of the wonderful genius he afterwards displayed. On leaving Harrow he entered Trinity College, Cambridge, and here his muse began to plume her wings. His pieces were at first handed about in MS., and at last, in 1807, was published "The Hours of Idleness." Fortunately for the world, the "Edinburgh Review" made a fierce and undeserved onslaught on the noble author. Till that moment Byron was unconscious of his powers; but the critique stung him to the quick, and he resolved on revenge. Before the year was out, "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers" burst upon the literary world, a satire as scathing as he himself could desire. While his name was thus filling the public ear, he took his seat in the House of Lords, and shortly after sailed for the Mediterranean. On his return to England in 1812, he published the first two cantos of "Childe Harold," the first fruits of his wanderings. The result was, as he himself expresses it, "he awoke one morning and found himself famous." A series of Eastern tales followed-"The Giaour, "Bride of Abydos," "The Corsair," and "Lara." Byron was now the idol of the gay circles of London. Apparently at last satiated with its enjoyment, he, without any real attachment, proposed to Miss Milbanke, a northern heiress, and was accepted. The marriage was an unhappy one, and in a year after Lady Byron sought a refuge in her father's house from her troubles, carrying with her their only child, Ada, afterwards Countess of Lovelace. Byron never saw them again. Embarrassed with debt, reckless, and yet conscious of his high powers, Byron again set out for the continent, never again to set foot on his native land. Some of his finest pieces were written during this period-" The Prisoner of Chillon," "Manfred," the remaining cantos of "Childe Harold," &c. In 1821 the Greek war of Independence broke out. Byron's heart sympathised deeply in their struggle for freedom, and the world saw with joy the poet forsake his life of indolent vice, and join in a noble