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FARE THEE WELL!—'Tis meet we part,
Since other ties and hopes are thine ;
Will surely strengthen mine!
Repress each struggling sigh,
Then lay me down and die !
Fare thee well !—I'll not upbraid
Thy fickleness or falsehood now ;
Repair one broken vow ?
In one so false or weak,
And read it on my cheek.
Fare thee well !-On yonder tree
One leaf is fluttering to the blast,
For I shall fade as fast !
Thy wandering heart to save
I have but one-the Grave!
It is not painful, Pætus. HER form it is not of the sky,
Nor yet her sex above ;
And bright with woman's love.
She loved, as Roman matron should,
Her hero's spotless name;
Flow on the field of fame;
She brought to him his own bright brand,
She bent a suppliant knee,
And bade him, by his own right hand,
Die freeman 'mid the free.
It is not painful, Pætus.”—Ay!
Such words would Arria say,
Her life-blood ebb away.
Ages since then have swept along ;
Arria is but a name;-
Still woman's soul the same,
A FAREWELL TO SCOTLAND.
Our native land- our native vale,
A long and last adieu ;Farewell to bonny Teviotdale,
And Cheviot-mountains blue !
Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds,
And streams renown'd in song ;
Farewell, ye blithesome braes and meads,
Our hearts have loved so long.
Farewell, ye broomy elfin knowes,
Where thyme and harebells grow; Farewell, ye hoary haunted howes
O’erhung with birk and sloe.
The battle-mound—the Border-tower,
That Scotia's annals teil ;The martyr's grave—the lover's bower
To each-to all-farewell !
Home of our hearts our father's home.com
Land of the brave and free ! The sail is flapping on the foam
That bears us far from thee!
We seek a wild and distant shore
Beyond the Atlantic main ; We leave thee to return no more,
Nor view thy cliffs again !
But may dishonour blight our fame,
And quench our household fires, When we, or ours, forget thy name,
Green island of our sires.
Our native land-our native vale
A long, a last adieu ;-
FROM BISHOP HEBER'S JOURNAL.
IF thou wert by my side, my love !
How fast would evening fail In green Bengala's palmy grove,
Listening the nightingale !
If thou, my love! wert by my side,
My babies at my knee,
O'er Gunga's mimic sea !
I miss thee at the dawning grey,
When on our deck reclined, In careless ease my limbs I lay,
And woo the cooler wind.
I miss thee when by Gunga's stream
My twilight steps I guide,
I miss thee from my side.
I spread my books, my pencil try,
The lingering noon to cheer, But miss thy kind approving eye,
Thy meek attentive ear.
But when of morn or eve the star
Beholds me on my knee,
Thy prayers ascend for me.
Then on! then on! where duty leads,
My course be onward still,