I praise Him, and with faith that inly Peace, and this cot, and thee, heartfeels; honored Maid! ROBERT TANNAHILL. 1774-1810. [A LYRICAL poet whose songs rival all but the best of Burns in popularity. Born at Paisley, June 3, 1774. His education was limited, but he was a diligent student and reader. He followed the trade of a weaver in his native town till his twenty-sixth year, when he removed to Lancashire, where he remained for two years, until the declining state of his father's health induced him to return. In 1807 he published a volume of poems and songs, the first edition of which sold in a few weeks, and became immensely popular with all classes of his countrymen. He afterwards fell into a state of morbid despondency, aggravated by bodily weakness, which at length resulted in mental derangement, and he committed suicide by drowning, May 17, 1810.] THE BRAES O BALQUHITHER. LET us go, lassie, go, To the braes o' Balquhither, Where the blae-berries grow 'Mang the bonnie Highland heather; Where the deer and the roe, Lightly bounding together, I will twine thee a bower By the clear siller fountain, Wi' the flowers of the mountain; To the bower o' my dearie. When the rude wintry win' Idly raves round our dwelling, And the roar of the linn On the night breeze is swelling, As the storm rattles o'er us, Now the summer's in prime Wi' the flowers richly blooming, To our dear native scenes Let us journey together, THE FLOWER O' DUMBLANE, THE Sun has gane down o'er the lofty And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene, While lanely I stray in the calm summer gloamin, To muse on sweet Jessie, the flower o' Dumblane. How sweet is the brier, wi' its saft fauldin' blossom! And sweet is the birk, wi' its mantle o' green; Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom, [THE daughter of William Blatchford of the county of Wicklow, Ireland. Her history is but hittle known to the public. Mrs. Tighe is chiefly known by her poem of Psyche in six cantos, founded on the classic fable of Apuleius, of the lives of Cupid and Psyche, or the allegory of Love and the Soul. Some of her minor pieces are also scarcely exceeded for beauty and pathos by anything of the kind in the language.] With hand too rashly daring to disclose The sacred veil which hung mysterious o'er her woes. Twice, as with agitated step she went, The lamp expiring shone with doubtful gleam, As though it warn'd her from her rash intent: And twice she paused, and on its trembling beam Gazed with suspended breath, while voices seem With murmuring sound along the roof to sigh; As one just waking from a troublous dream, With palpitating heart and straining eye, Still fix'd with fear remains, still thinks the danger nigh. Oh, daring Muse! wilt thou indeed essay To paint the wonders which that lamp could show? And canst thou hope in living words to say The dazzling glories of that heavenly view? Ah! well I ween, that if with pencil true That splendid vision could be well express'd, The fearful awe imprudent Psyche knew Would seize with rapture every wondering breast, When Love's all-potent charms divinely stood confess'd. All imperceptible to human touch, His wings display celestial essence light; The clear effulgence of the blaze is such, The brilliant plumage shines so heavenly bright, That mortal eyes turn dazzled from the sight; A youth he seems, in manhood's fresh est years; Round his fair neck, as clinging with delight, Each golden curl resplendently appears, Or shades his darker brow, which grace majestic wears: Or o'er his guileless front the ringlets bright Their rays of sunny lustre seem to throw, That front than polished ivory more white! His blooming cheeks with deeper blushes glow Than roses scatter'd o'er a bed of snow: While on his lips, distill'd in balmy dens (Those lips divine, that even in silence know The heart to touch), persuasion to in fuse, Still hangs a rosy charm that never vainly sues. The friendly curtain of indulgent sleep Disclosed not yet his eyes'resistless sway, But from their silky veil there seem'd to peep Some brilliant glances with a softened ray, Which o'er his features exquisitely play, And all his polish'd limbs suffuse with light. Thus through some narrow space the azure day, Sudden its cheerful rays diffusing bright, Wide darts its lucid beams, to gild the brow of night.. His fatal arrows and celestial bow Beside the couch were negligently thrown, Nor needs the god his dazzling arms to show His glorious birth; such beauty round him shone As sure could spring from Beauty's self alone; The bloom which glow'd o'er all of soft desire Could well proclaim him Beauty's cher ish'd son: And Beauty's self will oft those charms admire, And steal his witching smile, his glance's living fire. Dread horror seizes on her sinking heart, A mortal chillness shudders at her breast, Her soul shrinks fainting from death's icy dart, The groan scarce utter'd dies but half express'd, And down she sinks in deadly swoon oppress'd; But when at length, awaking from her trance, The terrors of her fate stand all confess'd, In vain she casts around her timid glance; The rudely frowning scenes her former joys enhance. No traces of those joys, alas, remain ! The wide-spread waste no gentle fountain cheers; One barren face the dreary prospect wears; Nought through the vast horizon meets her eye To calm the dismal tumult of her fears; THE LILY. How withered, perish'd seems the form The careless eye can find no grace, Yet in that bulb, those sapless scales, Yes, hide beneath the mouldering heap Oh! many a stormy night shall close In gloom upon the barren earth, While still, in undisturbed repose, Uninjured lies the future birth; And Ignorance with sceptic eye, Hope's patient smile shall wondering view: Or mock her fond credulity, As her soft tears the spot bedew. Sweet smile of hope, delicious tear! The sun, the shower indeed shall come; The promis'd verdant shoot appear, And nature bid her blossoms bloom. And thou, O virgin queen of spring! Shalt, from thy dark and lowly bed, Bursting thy green sheath's silken string, Unveil thy charms and perfume shed; Unfold thy robes of purest white, Unsullied from their darksome grave, And thy soft petals' silvery light In the mild breeze unfettered wave. So Faith shall seek the lowly dust And bear the long, cold wintry night, ROBERT SOUTHEY. 1774-1843. [ROBERT SOUTHEY was born at Bristol on Aug. 12, 1774. He was educated at Westminster School and at Balliol College, Oxford; and after some years of wandering and unsettlement he went to live, in 1803, at Greta Hall, near Keswick, which remained his home till his death in 1843. In 1813 he was made poet laureate. Besides his countless prose works, his volumes of verse were very numerous; the chief of them are:- Poems by Robert Lovell and Robert Southey, of Baliis College, Oxford, 2 vols., 1795-9. Joan of Arc, 1796; Poems, 1797; Thalaba the Destroyer. 1801: Madoc, 1805; Metrical Tales and other Poems, 1805; The Curse of Kehama, išto; Roderick, the last of the Goths, 1814; A Vision of Judgment, 1821.] FROM "RODERICK." [The King is in disguise on his final mission to ON foot they came, Triumphant borne on high, precedes And broad and bright the argent banner shone. Roderick, who dealing death from side to side, Had through the Moorish army now made way, Beheld it flash, and judging well what aid Approach'd, with sudden impulse that way rode, To tell of what had pass'd, . . . lest in the strife They should engage with Julian's men, and mar The mighty consummation. on One ran To meet him fleet of foot, and having given His tale to this swift messenger, the Goth Halted awhile to let Orelio breathe. |