Such wonders open to our view,

As none but angels see, Maims.
Methought we wander'd in a grove,
A grove in pleasant fields, Mamma
In joyful measures on we move,

As music rapture yields, Mamma.

a;

She took me in her snow-white hand,
Then led me through the air, Mamma,
Far higher above sea and land,

Than ever eagles were, Mamma!
The sea and land, with all their stores,
Of rivers, woods, and hills, Mamma,

Indeed they do appear no more

Than a few little pills, Mamma.

I sought, and sought Papa's estate,
But found it not at all, Mamma.
The world, in whole, seem'd not so great
As half a cannon-ball, Mamma.

We saw the sun, but like a star,

The moon, a mustard-seed, Mamma. Like Elias in his fiery car,

Being wing'd with lightning's speed, Mamma.

Swift as our thoughts, O joyful day!

We glance through all the spheres, Mamma; Their music sounding by the way,

Heaven rush'd upon our ears, Mamma;
Now spheres, and all we knew before,
Are lost unto our view, Mamma;
The former things are now no more,
Behold, all things are new, Mamma.

No death there is, nor sorrow there,
To interrupt our bliss Mamma;
For death, sin, hell, and sorrow are
Deep-buried in th' abyss, Mamma.
With wintry storms the ground ne'er pines,
Cloth'd in eternal bloom, Mamma;
The Sun of glory ever shines,

The Just they shine with him, Mamma.

Dh'fhosgail iongantais gach taobh,
Nach fhaic ach aingle naomh, Mhamà.
Th'air leam gun d'imich sinn measg chraobh,
Bu taitneach leam an raon, Mhamà,
Le aoibhneas a' gluasad le'r deòin,
Mar ghleusas binn cheòl gach caìl.

'N sin thog i 'n àirde mi gu grad,

'S mi aic' na sneachd-ghil laimh, Mhama, Ni 's fhaide os ceann muir a's tìr,

Na bha iolar riamh. Mhamà.
A' mhuir a's tir, 's gach ni ta annt',

Gach coill a's beinn, gach srath a's càrn,
Bu lugh' iad gu leir ann ar beachd,
No gràine do chloich-shneachd, Mhama.

'N sin sheall mi, agus sheall mi rìs,
'S cha d'fhuair mi 'n oighreachd aig Papà;
An saoghal gu leir cha bu mhò,

Na peilear gunna mhòir, Mhamà. Cha bu mhò na rionnag a' ghrian,

A' ghealach no ròs crìon, Mhamà; Sinn 'direadh mar Elias suas,

Mar dhealanach aig luath's, Mhamà.

Oh 'n turas aoibhneach! luath mar smuain,
Os ceann nan speur 'dol suas, Mhamà;
Gu h-obann chuairt'cheadh sinn le ceòl,
A's flaitheanas na glòir, Mhamà.
Cha chuala cluas, cha'n fhaca sùil,

A leithid a shluagh 's a dhù'ich, Mhamà,
Na seann nithe chaidh 'n cur air cùl,
Gach uile ni ann ùr, Mhamà.

Is cha'n 'eil bàs an sin no bròn,

Ach aoibhneas siorruidh 's sòlas làn;

Am bàs, am peacadh, ifrinn s bròn,

Chaidh 'n adhlacadh 'san doimhn' gu bràth. 'N so cha 'n 'eil geamhradh cranntaidh, fuar, Ach samhradh buan gun cheann, Mhamà ; Oir Grian na glòir' tha 'dealradh shuas, 'S na fìreana na làth'r, Mhamà.

I saw my sister Anna shine,

A virgin in her prime, Mamma;
Not such as with you sometimes dine;
But like the angels fine, Mamma ;
Her robe was all a flowing stream

Of silver dipt in light, Mamma;
But ah! it wak'd me from my dream,
It shin'd so strong and bright, Mamma!

THE HERMIT.

At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove;
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove;
'Twas then by the cave of the mountain afar,
A hermit his song of the night thus began;
No more with himself, or with nature, at war,
He thought as a sage, while he felt as a man.

Ah! why thus abandoned to darkness and woe,
Why thus, lonely Philomel, flows thy sad strain !
For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
And thy bosom no trace of misfortune retain.
Yet, if pity inspire thee, ah! cease not thy lay;
Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn:
O sooth him, whose pleasures, like thine, pass away!
Full quickly they pass-but they never return.

"Now, gliding remote, on the verge of the sky,
The moon, half extinguished, her crescent displays:
But lately I marked, when majestic on high
She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze.
Roll on, thou fair orb! and, with gladness, pursue
The path that conducts thee to splendour again-
But man's fading glory no change shall renew.
Ah fool! to exult in a glory so vain!

" 'Tis night; and the landscape is lovely no more.
I mourn; but, ye woodlands! I mourn not for you:
For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
Perfumed with fragrance, and glittering with dew.
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;
Kind nature the embryo blossom will save-

Mo phiuthar Anna, chunnaic mi,"
'Na h-òigh shoillsich ghil, Mnamà,
Cha 'n ann mar iadsan bhios marr ribhs', '
Aig dinnear no aig tì, Mhamà.
Ach còmhdaichte le trusgan rìomhach,

Dh' airgiod tumta 'n solus àigh ;

Ach ah! gu'n d' dhùisg e mi o m' bhruadar,` 'N lainnear bha m'a cuairt, Mhamă.

AN T-AONARAN.

Mu thoiseach na h-oidhch' 'n uair tha 'm baile mu thàmh, 'S am pobull gu suaimhneach, gun acain, gun phràmh ; 'S nach cluinnear ach torman an uillt air a' ghaoith, Agus caoidhrean na feadaig gu dubhach feadh chraobh ; B'ann an sin lamh ri uaimh, fada cian o gach beo, 'Sheinn Aonaran liath gu ro thiamhaidh a cheol : Cha mhò bha ris féin no ri nàdur an gruaim,

Oir bhreithnich mar ghliocair a's dh'aidich a thruaigh'.

"C'arson tha thu, 'fheadag, cho dubhach, fo ghruaim, Gu h-anraiteach, acaineach, 'm fasgadh nam bruach! Oir pillidh an t-earrach le leannan duit féin,

'S do chridhe bidh ait am measg chrann agus gheug.
Ach truas riamh mu dh'fhairich na cuitich do ghlaodh :
Le daoine guil thus' air son sòlais a chlaon :

Thoir furtachd,—ar sonais cha mhair ach ro ghearr !
Gu grad théid iad seachad, 's cha phill iad gu bràth.

"Tha 'gheallach air tearnadh o àirde nan speur,
'S'ga falach fo'n fhàire 's a' fàgail an ré:
Car tacain 'na mòrachd gu'n d' shiubhail i shuas,
'S tha na reultan fo dhubhar le dealradh a snuaidh.
Gabh air t'aghaidh a'd' chùrsa gun chùram, gun sgìos,
Anns a' cheum ni do threòrach' gu mòrachd a rìs—
Ach uabhar luchd-gòraich cha téid leo fo'n fhòd,
'S ciod uime 'n dean duine gearr-shaoghalach bòsd!

"Tha'n oidhch' ann, a's maise cha'n fhaicear air cluan ;
Ach mo thuireadh cha'n 'eil air son ghleann agus chruach:
Oir an fhàire tha 'briseadh ni maiseach as ùr,
Air an spìsreadh le lusan, 's fo thlàth dhealt do'n drùchd.
Cha'n 'eil air son dùdlachd a' gheamhraidh fo phràmh ;
Oir ni tìom agus nàdur gach ni mar a bha—

But, when shall spring visit the mouldering urn?
O! when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?

""Twas thus, by the glare of false science betrayed,
That leads to bewilder: and dazzles, to blind;
My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade,
Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.

O! pity great Father of light! then I cried,
Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee,
Lo! humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride:

From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free.
"And darkness and doubt are now flying away;
No longer I roam, in conjecture forlorn;

So breaks on the traveller, faint, and astray,
The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.
See truth, love, and mercy, in triumph descending,
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom!

On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb,"

THE CHRISTAIN'S PRAYER.

My God, in me thy mighty power exert,
Enlighten, comfort, sanctify, my heart:
Sweeten my temper, and subdue my will,
Make me like Jesus, with thy spirit fill.
I want to live on earth a life of faith,
I want to credit all the Bible saith:
I want to imitate my Saviour's life,
Avoiding lightness, gloom, and sinful strife.
I want to bring poor sinners to thy throne,
I want to love and honour Christ alone:
I want to feel the Spirit's inward power,
And stand prepared for death's important hour.
I want a meek, a gentle, quiet frame,

A heart that glows with love to Jesus's name :
I want a living sacrifice to be,

To him, who died a sacrifice for me.

I want to do whatever God requires,

I want my heart to burn with pure desire:
I want to be what Christ my Lord commands,
And leave myself, my all, in his dear hands.
O Lord, pour out thy Spirit on my soul,
My will, my temper, and my tongue control;
Lead me through life to glorify thy grace,
And after death to see thee face to face !