The blood of Scotland's sons in per❜lous fray,
To add a ray of glory to our crown.

The Dane hath come, at venture, on our coast,
With sanguine hopes of ravage uncontroul'd;
No hand, but feeble hand of maiden fair,
No head, but hoary head of trembling age,
They thought to meet as guardians of our flocks-
Thus far they've pierc'd within our happy land,
And spread around their steps the scathing fire;
And farther must they pierce, or famine gaunt,
Will smite their wasteful limbs.---They cannot fly
Uncheck'd, for by to-morrow's eve, secur'd
By trench and mound, a powerful band, in rear,
Shall curb their stolen flight on right the sea
Dashing o'er ridged rocks-on left the hill
Dark with entangling woods, and ambush❜d men,
Shall force them in despair to face our swords,
And yield their throats to our revengeful steel.'

The HOUSE of MOURNING.

A Poem under this title, the production of Mr. John Scott, Editor of the Champion, 'A Visit to Paris, and other Works,

HAS JUST APPEARED.

THE Author deplores the death of his son, and his strains are characterised by natural and energetic feeling, by adequate tenderness and force of expression, and by an elevation of mind that shews his capability of achieving works of greater extent and higher importance. The following extracts cannot prove unacceptable to every Reader susceptable of true taste and pathetic senti

ment :

"We'll find relief in sense of deep enduring, We'll seek delight in thinking ill past curing; And we will show allegiance to our child, Fix'd as his love for us, changeless and mild :

Hours, days, and months, and years, shall pass away,
His sightly form, now stiffen'd, shall decay,
His eyes our pride, his limbs our decent care,
His gentle mouth, his clean and silky hair,
His round and restless hands, that warm'd and slid
In ours, his feet still running where we bid,—
His arms that drew him to his mother's breast,
His lips that kiss'd her when he went to rest,—
The graceful, tender, carriage of his joy,
When she came forth, led by her darling boy,
Who, as the morning grew, and she lay sleeping,
Was looking, listening, and on tiptoe creeping,
Restless, yet checking his solicitude,

Lest aught should reach her of disturbance rude,---
Then springing like a bird, when gleam'd her eye,
That her first sight on his blest smile might lie.

This picture is exquisitely drawn. The following passage is highly poetical.

At last it came,---and something told its coming!
As midnight drew, we heard, or felt a bumming,
As if on muffled wheels approached a Power
That could dismay our souls, and blot the hour!
We knew a fatal Presence in the room,
And knew that it was come to take our boy;
From shadowy wings there seem'd to spread a gloom
To make existence pant, and smother joy:
A freezing instinct told us Death was near;
Our hearts shriek'd inwardly in mortal fear;
Yet we were mute,--and on the sufferer's bed
We threw ourselves, and held his breathing head ;-
Held him, as one who drowns holds to the sand,

That crumbles as he clings,--and falls about his hand.

*

*

We mark'd the time, and shuddering said 'twas well,
That sulky midnight struck the fatal knell,---
And that, while others took their joy, or sleep,
We o'er his corse a chilly watch should keep :
We fac'd the blast the more we felt it pierce,
And dar'd the lightning as we saw it fierce.
We hugg'd ourselves that we had not one face
To look to now, in this great foreign place:
And when we thought of home, 'twas with a start,
As if it were the world's detested part-;

Yet this was new,---for formerly 'twas sweet
To sit and think when HE and THEY should meet.

The Poem thus concludes

Then fare-thee-well! though still to thee, sweet child!
Thy Father look'd, to feel thy spirit mild

Come on his heart, perturbed thoughts to soothe,
As oil upon the water steals to smooth;

Though the soft breathings of thy happy sleep,
Heard in the morning as he wakeful lay.

Seem'd, like commission'd whispering's to creep,
Binding to purity and peace the day;

Although thou taught'st him more than he could teach
In turn to thee, and to his wants gave more
Than thy youth's weakness ever did beseech,-
And though no power thy presence can restore-
Yet, since the loss is ours-the gain is thine-
Since thou, perhaps, may'st elsewhere brighter shine,--
We will despair,-but we will not repine.

Farewell, on earth! I firmly say farewell!
Though back upon me falls the echoing knell;
A groan of emptiness from what was full,-
A wail of gloominess from what was fair;
Although the utterance seems my soul to pull,
To dissipate it with the word in air!
Farewell to thee is an adieu to all-

My portion here has still been scant and small,
Till thou wast given, a treasure to my need,
In whose enjoyment I was rich indeed :
And now I'm left again-poor-very poor!
Condemn'd without an object to endure,
Seeking to rest, yet forc'd to stumble through:
Life's picture sinks into one jaundic'd hue,-
The foreground stormy, and the distant dark-
A covering deluge, but without an ark."

The Country Ruined.---An Epigram.

PERISH the country! yet my NAME
Shall ne'er in STORY be forgot,
But still the more increase in fame,
The more the country GOES TO POr!

VANITY CORRECTED.

What is said of princes reaches to all persons of great rank, more or less, according to their station, and therefore it becomes them to consider that they, instead of having any privilege with regard to indiscretion, áre doubly censurable for the mistakes they commit: mistakes which a little consideration might prevent. Many a great man, for want of a small quantity of discretion, is under the disagreeable necessity of making acknowledgments the most repugnant to his character..

The fortress of Porto Ferrajo, in the island of Elba, has been always reckoned the place in Europe which has the best title to be deemed impregnable. The Marshal DE LA MEILLERASE, a French officer of distinction, going to take a view of it, was shewn every part of it by Griffoni, governor of it, for the great duke of Tuscany. To this governor the marshal could not help saying, with more vanity than propriety, "Your place is a strong place, Sir; but if my master should give me orders to attack it, I should not at all doubt of giving him a good account of it in six weeks." "Your excellency," replied Griffoni, "takes much too long a time, for my master is so much the king's humble servant, that if he had any occasion for it, he might command it in a moment." The marshall blushed, and after taking a turn or two, answered, "You are a man of sense, governor, and I am a blockhead." There was certainly good sense and spirit in this answer; and the marshal atoned very well for the fault he had committed: but without doubt he would have discovered more sense if he had avoided the mistake.

Anecdote relating to Alexander the Great

Among other prodigies which preceded the march of Alexander's army towards Persia, the image of Orpheus at Libethra, made of Cypress-wood, was seen to sweat in great abundance, to the discouragement of many; but Aristander told him, that far from presaging any ill to him, it signified he should perform things so important and glorious, as should make the poets and musicians of future ages labour and sweat to describe and celebrate them.

THE NARRATOR, No. XIX.

SCATTERED THOUGHTS on the ANTIQUITY of the HARP,

Concluded from page 132.

And thus it was, meeting one day with an old soldier who in his youth had delighted much in minstrelsey, they proceeded to discourse of the excellency of the art, when the veteran assured Blondell, that there was at that moment a prisoner in the neighbouring fortress, a most skilful harper, and who often at the close of day, did entertain him while on his duty with the most de lightful symphonies; that he (the soldier) had often inclined to think the pe: former a person of superior consequence, and far above the ordinary cast of prisoners. This was glad tidings to Blondell, who took his harp, and hasted to the spot; it was about the setting sun when he arrived, and placed himself with his instrument before the great tower of the castle. If it be him, said the faithful Minstrel, Richard will reverberate the sounds I taught him, they are only known to him and myself and now Blondell began to play, and to articulate the well known stanza; the sounds and the words were instantly responded from within. Richard is there, exclaimed Blondell, I have found my king, and I will never cease till I have worked his deliverance. The Minstrel was faithful to his word, Richard was soon ransomed, and the Pope excommunicated the perfidious Leopold.

John, the brother of Richard, though in many other instances, an eccentric character, was highly attached to minstrelsey, but it was not of the rational kind; his taste was levity, and the celebrated Bertram de Clare was both that king's Minstrel and his Buffoon, Of this Antic, it is recorded, that as he was one day hastening to join his master at Clarendon, he was stopped in the woods by a banditti, who knowing the whimsical talent of