Ne'er by day did Reason's mint
Give my thoughts a clearer print
Of assured reality,

Than was left by Phantasy,
Stamp'd and colour'd on my sprite
In a dream of yester-night.

In a bark, methought, lone steering,
I was cast on Ocean's strife;
This, 't was whisper'd in my hearing,
Meant the sea of life.

Sad regrets from past existence

Came, like gales of chilling breath; Shadow'd in the forward distance Lay the land of Death.

Now seeming more, now less remote,
On that dim-seen shore, methought
I beheld two hands a space
Slow unshroud a spectre's face;
And my flesh's hair upstood,-
"T was mine own similitude.

But my soul revived at seeing
Ocean, like an emerald spark,
Kindle, while an air-dropt being
Smiling steer'd my bark.
Heaven-like-yet he look'd as human
As supernal beauty can,
More compassionate than woman,
Lordly more than man.

And as some sweet clarion's breath
Stirs the soldier's scorn of death-
So his accents bade me brook
The spectre's eye of icy look,
Till it shut them-turn'd its head,
Like a beaten foe, and fled.

"Types not this," I said, "fair spirit!
That my death-hour is not come?
Say, what days shall I inherit?-
Tell my soul their sum."

"No," he said, "yon phantom's aspect,
Trust me, would appal thee worse,
Held in clearly measured prospect:-
Ask not for a curse?

Make not, for I overhear

Thine unspoken thoughts as clear
As thy mortal ear could catch

The close-brought tickings of a watch-
Make not the untold request

That's now revolving in thy breast.

"Tis to live again, remeasuring
Youth's years like a scene rehearsed,
In thy second life-time treasuring
Knowledge from the first.
Hast thou felt, poor self-deceiver!
Life's career so void of pain,
As to wish its fitful fever

'New begun again?

Could experience, ten times thine,
Pain from Being disentwine-

Threads by Fate together spun?

Could thy flight Heaven's lightning shun? No, nor could thy foresight's glance

'Scape the myriad shafts of chance.

"Wouldst thou bear again Love's troubleFriendship's death-dissever'd ties;

Toil to grasp or miss the bubble
Of Ambition's prize?

Say thy life's new-guided action

Flow'd from Virtue's fairest springs-
Still would Envy and Detraction
Double not their stings?

Worth itself is but a charter

To be mankind's distinguish'd martyr."
-I caught the moral, and cried," Hail!
Spirit! let us onward sail,

Envying, fearing, hating none,

Guardian Spirit, steer me on!"

LINES

Written at the request of the Highland Society in London, when met to commemorate the 21st of March, the day of victory in Egypt.

PLEDGE to the much loved land that gave us birth!

Invincible romantic Scotia's shore!

Pledge to the memory of her parted worth!

And first, amidst the brave, remember Moore!

And be it deem'd not wrong that name to give, In festive hours, which prompts the patriot's sigh!

Who would not envy such as Moore to live?
And died he not as heroes wish to die?

Yes, though too soon attaining glory's goal,
To us his bright career too short was given;
Yet in a mighty cause his phoenix soul

Rose on the flames of victory to Heaven!

How oft (if beats in subjugated Spain

One patriot heart) in secret shall it mourn For him!-How oft on far Corunna's plain Shall British exiles weep upon his urn!

Peace to the mighty dead!-our bosom thanks In sprightlier strains the living may inspire! Joy to the chiefs that lead old Scotia's ranks Of Roman garb, and more than Roman fire! Triumphant be the thistle still unfurl'd,

Dear symbol wild! on freedom's hills it grows, Where Fingal stemm'd the tyrant's of the world, And Roman eagles found unconquer'd foes. Joy to the band* this day on Egypt's coast, Whose valour tamed proud France's tricolour, And wrench'd the banner from her bravest host, Baptized Invincible in Austria's gore!

Joy for the day on red Vimeira's strand,
When, bayonet to bayonet opposed,
First of Britannia's host her Highland band
Gave but the death-shot once, and foremost
closed!

Is there a son of generous England here,
Or fervid Erin?-he with us shall join,

To pray that in eternal union dear,

The rose, the shamrock, and the thistle twine Types of a race who shall th' invader scorn, As rocks resist the billows round their shore; Types of a race who shall to time unborn Their Country leave unconquer'd as of yore!

* The 42d regiment.

STANZAS

To the memory of the Spanish Patriots latest killed in resisting the Regency and the Duke of Angouleme.

BRAVE men who at the Trocadero fell

Beside your cannons conquer'd not, though slain, There is a victory in dying well

For Freedom, and ye have not died in vain; For come what may, there shall be hearts in Spain

To honour, aye embrace your martyr'd lot, Cursing the Bigot's and the Bourbon's chain, And looking on your graves, though trophied not, As holier, hallow'd ground than priests could make the spot!

What though your cause be baffled-freemen

cast

In dungeons-dragg'd to death, or forced to flee;
Hope is not wither'd in affliction's blast-

The patriot's blood's the seed of freedom's tree;
And short your orgies of revenge shall be,
Cowl'd Demons of the Inquisitorial cell!
Earth shudders at your victory for ye,

Are worse than common fiends from' Heaven that fell,

The baser, ranker sprung, Autochthones of Hell!

Go to your bloody rites again-bring back
The hall of horrors and the assessor's pen,
Recording answers shriek'd upon the rack;
Smile o'er the gaspings of spine-broken men;-
Preach, perpetrate damnation in your den;-