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Her sail was the web of the gossamer's "Macgregor! Macgregor!" he bitterly loom,

The glow-worm her wakelight, the rain

bow her boom;

cried ;

"Macgregor! Macgregor!" the echoes replied.

A dim rayless beam was her prow and her He struck at the lady, but, strange though mast, it seem,

Like wold-fire, at midnight, that glares on His sword only fell on the rocks and the

the waste.

Though rough was the river with rock and cascade,

No torrent, no rock, her velocity staid ; She wimpled the water to weather and lee,

And heaved as if borne on the waves of

the sea.

Mute Nature was roused in the bounds of the glen ;

The wild deer of Gartney abandoned his den,

Fled panting away, over river and isle, Nor once turned his eye to the brook of Glen-Gyle.

The fox fled in terror, the eagle awoke, As slumbering he dozed in the shelve of the rock;

Astonished, to hide in the moonbeam he flew,

And screwed the night heaven till lost in the blue.

Young Malcolm 'beheld the pale lady approach,

The chieftain salute her, and shrink from her touch;

He saw the Macgregor kneel down on the plain,

As begging for something he could not obtain ;

She raised him indignant, derided his


Then bore him on board, set her sail, and away.

Though fast the red bark down the river did glide,

Yet faster ran Malcolm adown by its side;


But the groans from the boat that ascended amain,

Were groans from a bosom in horror and pain.

They reached the dark lake, and bore lightly away;

Macgregor is vanished for ever and aye!

TO THE COMET OF 1811. How lovely is this wildered scene,

As twilight from her vaults so blue Steals soft o'er Yarrow's mountains green, To sleep embalmed in midnight dew!

All hail, ye hills, whose towering height, Like shadows, scoops the yielding sky! And thou, mysterious guest of night, Dread traveller of immensity!

Stranger of heaven! I bid thee hail!
Shred from the pall of glory riven,
That flashest in celestial gale,

Broad pennon of the King of Heaven!

Art thou the flag of woe and death,

From angel's ensign-staff unfurled? Art thou the standard of his wrath]

Waved o'er a sordid sinful world?

No, from that pure pellucid beam, That erst o'er plains of Bethlehem shone,

No latent evil we can deem,

Bright herald of the eternal throne !

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It guides alike in commerce or at college;
Struggles the bursts of passion to control,
Feeds all the finer feelings of the soul;

Poor hum-drum Ringan played anither Defies the deep-laid stratagems of guile,


For Ringan wanted neither wit nor art; Of mony a far-aff place he kent the gate;

Was deep, deep learned, but unco, unco blate.

And gives even innocence a sweeter smile;
Ennobles all the little worth we have,
And shields our virtue even to the grave.

How vast the difference, then, between
the twain,

He kend how mony miles 'twas to the Since pleasure ever is pursued by pain. Pleasure's a syren with inviting arms, Sweet is her voice and powerful are her


How mony rake wad lave the ocean toom ;
Where a' the swallows gaed in time of


What gars the thunders roars, and tempests blaw;

Where lumps o' siller grow aneath the grun';


Lured by her call we tread her flowery ground,

Joy wings our steps and music warbles round.

Lulled in her arms we lose the flying hours, How a' this yirth rows round about the And lie embosomed 'midst her blooming



In short, on books sae meikle time he Till, armed with death, she watches our spent, undoing, Ye couldna' speak o' aught, but Ringan Stabs while she sings, and triumphs in our ruin.




Baroness listless exotics, but the vigorous products of the soil. The more practical parts of education were not neglected; and on arriving at maturity, Caroline Oliphant was a very accomplished young woman, her national enthusiasm fired with the recollection of all that was romantic in the history of her native land, and her tastes trained to

after-life she found enjoyment in a wider range of sympathies, without lessening her interest in the country of her birth.

CAROLINE OLIPHANT, Nairne, the greatest of Scotland's female song-writers, was born on the 16th August 1766, at the old mansionhouse of Gask, in Perthshire. Her father, Laurence Oliphant, the laird of Gask, a cadet of the ancient and distinguished family of Oliphant, was an ardent adherent of the Stuart cause, having taken an active part in the re-appreciate its ideas and manners; yet in bellion of 1745, on account of which the family estates were forfeited. Her mother was a daughter of Duncan Robertson of Strowan, chief of the clan Robertson, or Donnachie, also an adherent of the Jacobite cause. It is no wonder, then, to find the future poetess named after the "Young Chevalier." Both families suffered severely for their political convictions, and had therefore to practise a wholesome economy in their domestic habits; yet time, rather than the hardships to which it subjected them, alone tempered the ardour of their misplaced loyalty, and a lock of the prince's hair is still held as a precious heirloom by the Oliphants of Gask.

Mrs Oliphant died in 1774, and Caroline, with her brothers and sister, was placed in charge of a governess. Dancing and music were the favourite amusements of the family, and the famous Neil Gow often brought the soul of the one to sustain the life of the other. It need hardly be added that neither were

In 1792, her father died; and while still residing at Gask with her brother Laurence, she became interested in the rich collections of national songs which the genius of Burns was reviving and creating, and she felt stimulated to help the work of purifying the sentiments to which some of our finest old airs were sung. Her first attempt was "The Pleughman," which was soon followed by "John Tod," "The Laird of Cockpen," and others.

On the 2d of June 1806, she was married to her cousin, Major William Nairne, assistant Inspector-General of barracks in Scotland; and after residing some time at Portobello, they took up their residence at Duddingston, where her uncle, the chief of the Robertsons, presented her with a villa which was named after her. Here she formed an accomplished, but-so far as literature is concerned—a disguised member of the

She's stown the Bangor" frae the clerk,
An' snool'd him wi' the shame o't;
The minister's fa'n through the text,
An' Meg gets a' the blame o't.

The ploughman ploughs without the sock;

The gadman whistles sparely;
The shepherd pines amang his flock,
An' turns his e'en to Marley;
The tailor lad's fa'n ower the bed;

The cobbler ca's a parley;
The weaver's neb's out through the web,
An' a' for Meg o' Marley.

What's to be done, for our gudeman

Is flyting late an' early?

He rises but to curse an' ban,

An' sits down but to ferly.

But ne'er had love a brighter lowe

Than light his torches sparely,

At the bright e'en an' blythesome brow O' bonny Meg a' Marley.


Come o'er the stream, Charlie, dear Charlie, brave Charlie,

Come o'er the stream, Charlie, and dine with Maclean;

And though you be weary, we'll make your heart cheery,

And welcome our Charlie and his loyal train.

We'll bring down the track deer, we'll bring down the black steer,

The lamb from the breckan, the doe from the glen ;

The salt sea we'll harry, and bring to our Charlie,

The cream from the bothy, and curd from the pen.

Come o'er the stream, Charlie, etc.

And you shall drink freely the dews of Glen-Sheerly,

That stream in the star-light when kings do not ken,

And deep be your meed of the wine that is red,

To drink to your sire, and his friend the Maclean.

Come o'er the stream, Charlie, etc.

O'er heath-bells shall trace you, the maids to embrace you,

And deck your blue bonnet with flowers of the brae;

And the loveliest Mary in all Glen M'Quarry

Shall lie in your bosom till break of the day.

Come o'er the stream Charlie, etc.

If aught will invite you, or more will delight you,

'Tis ready; a troop of our bold Highlandmen

Shall range o'er the heather with bonnet and feather,

Strong arms and broad claymores three hundred and ten.

Come o'er the stream, Charlie, etc.



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SCOTT, like Burns, is in everybody's | ever, a great reader; and some volumes possession, and it is as unnecessary as it is impossible, in a publication such as this, fully to exhibit the varied characteristics of his poems. We shall therefore confine ourselves to those in which their specially Scotch aspects are most conspicuous, and supply a chronological summary of his life and chief literary labours. His paternal lineage is tracable to the Scotts of Buccleuch, through the Harden branch of the family. His father, Walter Scott, writer to the Signet, Edinburgh, was the eldest son of Robert Scott of Sandyknowe. His mother, Anne Rutherford, was the eldest daughter of Dr John Rutherford, Professor of Medicine in Edinburgh University.

Walter Scott was born in Edinburgh, at the head of the College Wynd, on the 15th August 1771. When eighteen months old he lost the power of his right leg, and on this account was sent to his grandfather's, at Sandyknowe. At four years of age, he was taken by his aunt to Bath, where he remained a year. He was then sent to Prestonpans to try the effects of sea-bathing on his lameness, Here, at this early age, he loved to attend to the curious stories of his father's friend, George Constable. Having come home to Edinburgh, he was, in 1778, sent to the High School, where "he was behind his class-fellows in years and progress." He was, how

of Shakspeare's plays having come in his way, he read them with great avidity. He became intimate with the blind poet, Dr Blacklock, who interested himself in his youthful studies, besides giving him access to his library, where he read Ossian and Spenser with much delight, especially the latter. His health becoming again doubtful, he was sent to his aunt's at Kelso, where he attended the Grammar School, and made the acquaintance, through a circulating library, of " Percy's Anecdotes," and the writings of Tasso, Richardson, Fielding, Smollett, and Mackenzie. Here, too, began his acquaintance with the Ballantynes, who were his school-fellows. He returned to Edinburgh in November 1783, and entered College. In 1786, he was apprenticed to his father for five years, during which time he studied French, Italian, and Spanish, in order to read the poets and romancists of those languages. In 1787, his meeting Burns at the house of Professor Ferguson, and his first journey into the Highlands, strongly impressed his imagination. In 1790, he decided on preparing for the bar, and attended the law classes in the University; he also attended the lectures of Professor Dugald Stewart, in whose class-room he read some essays, which won him the esteem of that great man.

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