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12. What is the rent of the land per performed by Mr Robert Semple; in Scotch or English acre ?

which he visited several important pla13. Is the farmer. liable to any ad

ces, not noticed in his former work.ditional burden, for land-tax, assess

He is about to publish the Observations

made on this second journey. The work ment for the poor, stipend to the mi

will be embellished by a variety of nister, or salary to the schoolmaster; plates, illustrative of the Costume and and to what amount?

Manners of the Inhabitants of several 14. What do you consider to be parts of the Peninsula. the best sizes for arable farms, in dif

Captain Henderson has in the press, ferent districts, according to the capi- An Account of the British Settlement tals of which different farmers may be of Honduras; together with Sketches of

the Manners and Customs of the Mos. possessed ; and why do you think such sizes preferable ?

quito Indians.

The Rev. Mr Dibdin, has just com15. What sums, on an average, may pleted the first volume, of his edition of it require, to stock such farms; and Amęs's and Herbert's Typographical Anwhat may

be the average expense of tiquities of Great Britain; and it will the different articles ?

make its appearance in December.

Mr Surr's new novel, named the Ro. mance of the Times, will appear about Christmas.

The Rev. W. Ward, of Diss, has in the Literary Inte!ligence, ENGLISH and press, the first volume of the Fulfilment FOREIGN.

of the Revelation, or Prophetic History

of the Declension and Restoration of the MR

TR Lambert, who lately travelled Christian Church.

through Lower Canada, and the A work which cannot fail to prove United States, has begun to print an ac- highly interesting to lovers of the fine count of his Observations on the present arts, is in considerable forwardness. It State of those interesting Countries.-- will consist of thirty engraved portraits His work will make three volumes oc of some of the females most distinguishtavo, and will be illustrated with a va ed at the present day for beauty, rank, riety of engravings, from drawings made and fashion. It is intended to appear in on the spot.

five parts, and is to be entitled, Beauties Sir William Ousely has made consic of the Reign of George III. The porderable progress in a work, which con traits are painted by Mrs Mee, and will sists of the Accounts of Alexander the be engraved by artists of the first eminGreal, which are to be found in Eastern ence. They will be accompanied with writers.

biographical accounts, forming together The general Collection of Voyages a most magnificent folio volume. and Travels, in twenty.eight volumes,

A Collection of Tales, selected and corresponding with the British Essayists, translated from the works of Wieland, will be ready in a few days.

Schiller, Meissner, and other celebrated We are authorised to mention that the German writers, in three volumes small late Marquis of, wrote a series of ootavo, will speedily make their appeara Letters to his son on every topic of Education ; and that the work will, with. The magnificent work, entitled Pictuout delay, be given to the world. resque Tour of Constantinople, and the

some copies of the original 4to edition shores of the Bosphorus, by M. Melling, of Mr Barlow's fine poem of the Colum. architectural draftsman, and the Sultana biad, have been imported from Ameri. Hadidge, sister of the Emperor Selim III. ca, by Mr Raymond, of Pall Mall, and is intended to form twelve parts. Four are to be had at Four Guineas in boards. of these have already appeared. This The volume taken altogether is one of production has been honourably distinthe most elegant that ever issued from guished by the Committee of Arts, and

has also received particular notice in the A second journey through the Sou- reports of the National Institute on the thern part of Spain, has been recently progress of the fine arts.



the press.



Or catch the strains thy fancy pours, Written in the year 1786, when the cele When fairy bands at moon-light hours

brated Robert Burns had bid farwell Frisk frae yon mould'ring roofless tow'rs to his native Country, and was about to

In gowns sae green, emigrate to Jamaica,

To strew the cottar's pach wi' flow'rs,

At Hallowe'en. “ Full many a flow'r is born to blush un-'

Or when Tam's drouth, sae ill to slocken, seen,

His vera hindmost mite had brocken, 56 And waste its sweetness on the desert

And on his beast, the beast sat rocken, air."


Through mirk and mire,

The clouds in fury 'round him bocken, HAIL, sweetest bard! sae lately ken’t,

Hail, rain, and fire.
Now formaist on the Thistley bent,
Thy artless notes ding a' in prent,

The tempest ragen through the wood,

And roaren in the rising flood,
They gar ane glow'r ;

Auld Cloots himsel' in merry mood
In raptures wi' them aft I've spent,

Whisken before him,
A happy hour.

To right and left, fiends yellen loud
When Winter wi' his drouket pow

In triumph o'er him, Howls whistlen o'er the witter'd knowe,

And Spunkie in the mosses blinken,
And roaren mak's the burn to rowe;

Spectres in dizens round him jinken,
The frantic form

And warlocks to their doxies winken, 'Thou paints, my fancy soon taks lowe

The Coof to flee,
And rides the storm.

Safe's man thou'd scaur the hardiest thinken When smiling Spring, wi' lilies crown'd,

What drinkers' dree, Strews her white daisies thick around,

Ye tuneful nine, frae moors and fells, The woodlands ring, I catch the sound

(For there sweet Poesy aft dwells,) From every tree ;

Gae fetch a wreath o' heather-bells,
Froni glen to glen I skip and bound,

And vi'lets blue;
And follow thee.


gowans in't, and row't in ells I follow thee, and fondly stray

'Round Robin's brow, Where rosy summer, blyth and gay, 0! Fortune, smile and kiss him yet! Half naked 'mang the tedded hay,

Down wi' his sails cho' they be set, in mirth and glee,

If worth can e'er thy favour get,
Dances and sports the hours away,

Or catch thine e'e,
And sings wi' thee. Or tears can plead, thou'll never let

Burns owr'e the sea.
And when thou hails, at dewy morn,
The warbler on the spangled thorn,

Poor Scotia on the barren wild
The winding path and yellow corn,

Sits weeping o'er her darling child,
On wand'ring Ayr,

Neglected, friendless, starv'd and toil'd,

'Gainst want nae shield, Away, sweet bard, wi' thee I'm borne, I know not where.

Forc'd for to seek some climate mild,

Some warmer bield. 'Neath yop ag'd Elm at noon I ly,

Adown the hawthorn blossom'd vale Doon's bonnie waters wimplin' by,

The lily white, the primrose pale, There mark thy Muse unrivalled fly

May waste their fragrance on the gale, By haunted streanis,

And drop unseen, Catching the glow that from the


But ah! can suffering merit fail
Of beauty beams.

To find a frien'.
And when in sober mantle clad

Shall Burns, immortal, matchless chiel', Sweet Evening comes, celestial maid, Yon sunny heights nae langer speel, 'I trace thee to the lowly shed,

Nor braes, whare he has pip'd sae leel, The peaceful cot,

And Orpheus-like, Where Cherubs crown the Patriarch's head, Could charm a' nature round to feel And bless the spota

His music strike.



The shipwreck'd boy benumb’d and wet,

Gen'rous to a stranger's woe, Has oft again to life been het,

Kindling with the patriot's glow,
The slender bark's no aye owre-set

Britons to their country owe,
When ocean roars ;

Honour and security.
May his not find some harbour yet
On these bleak shores.

Be a hungry brother fed,

Be the down-cast mourner glad, Ye Embro'lads *, sae deep in skill, Bid the shiv'ring wretch be clad, Ye hạe the art his ail to kill,

Set the groaning prisoner free.
Your kindness kirsten'd wi' a gill

So shall Britons hail the day,
Might gi'et the fing,

Sacred to their Sovereign's sway;
And yet gar ilka shaw, and hill,

Geniune loyaley display,
Melodious ring.

Bless the glorious Jubilee.
It cannot sure attach to you,
To skreen his laurels frae the dew,

Shed then your beams around him now,
Your heat impart;

OH! sweet cursd the head of theblue rol. And foil the storm that would subdue,

ling wave, An honest heart.

As we sail'd from our dear native shore;

The hills of Old England had sunk in the Haste wipe the tear frae Scotland's e'e, O.! keep her dautet bairn a wee,

When the storm and the tempest did roar, Sic native worth out owr'e the sea

On thy dark rocky coast, Labradore!
Maun ne'er be hurl'd,
Rin, hap your Poet coziely,

Three days and three nights roar'd the
And brag the world.

A Caledonian.

tempest of heaven, And loud howl'd the wave to the shore !

Our unfurl'd sails to the tempest were THE JUBILEE.

A New Song.

As we beat on thy coast, Labradore,
By G. Scott.

On thy bleak barren coast, Labradore! BRITONS! hail the auspicious day,

Our ensign revers'd to our mizen we Sacred to our sov'reign's sway;

hoist. Heav'n-born loyalty display,

But who was could pity or save ?
On this glorious Jubilee.

Our signal of woe was soon ceased by the Queen of Isles, with proud applause,

blast, Bless thy king, revere the laws ;

And carried away on the wave,
Dauntless still, maintain thy cause,

And carried away on the wave.
Vengeance, death, or victory.

Our guris too were loaded and fir'd, but in Ours the country, ours the king,

vain, Warriors stern, and patriots keen,

For who the sad signal could hear! Freedom's standard still is seen

The lightning's wide flash seem'd to laugh Streaming o'er our heads, to flee.

at our pain,

And the thunder to mock at our fear, See Europa's blasted plains,

And the thunder to mock at our fear ! Hear her widows, hear her swains, Wail their fate, and clank their chains, Curse the load of slavery.

'Twas then that our houses to our meni'ry

return'd, Heroes of the Northern Isle !

And all that to man can be dear ; Crush the rude Usurper vile,

But our woes in the roar of the billow Cause th' insulted slave to smile,

were drown'a, Bless thy generosity.

And the wave from our cheek wash'd the

tear, Strike Napoleon's blood-stain'a throne,

And the wave from our cheek wash'd the Bid the patriot-spark be blown,

tear. Think the Nation's wrongs thine own, And they shall be--shall be free.

Each mast, the rude blast by the board has Conquering under George's reign,

now ta'en, Shall we grace a Tyrant's train?

And the seamen Heaven's aid now implore, Shall our battles be in vain?

And grasp for assistance, and grasp, buc in Soul of Nelson ! can it be?


As they sink in the billows hoarse roar, * The Scotch Nobility and Literati. As they sihk on thy coast, Labradore!


does cease,

of peace,

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O higher, still higher, rose the rude wave How canst thou, Christian, mercy crave, to heaven,

From that great Pow'r thou call'st thy
O louder the tempest did roar!-

Now many brave seamen unburied are drie Who crush the Negro to the grave,

With stern Oppression's iron rod.
And toss'd on thy coast, Labradore,
On thy storm-beaten coast, Labradore!

Thou rack'st the Negro's soul with pangs

Far sharper than his body feels.
The tempest to thunder and blow now When venom from the serpent's fangs

shoots through his veins and life soon als.
And the rough-rolling ocean to roar;
Their souls are safe moor'd in that haven The serpent's wound is bliss to thine,

Its victim's pains and woes soun end, Where storms cannot fear any more,

Thy wound brings ling'ring torture fine, Nor thy cold frozen coast, Labradore ! 'Tis thine to sever friend from friend. Glasgow.

R. G.

'Tis almost o'er, of life the dream;

Too much to bear has almost ceas'd;
The CaptivE NEGRO.

My tears and blood no more shall stream,
SWEET western breeze that gently waves,

The captive now shall be releas'd.
'The branches of this mountain shade,

M. R. E.
Beyond yon crimson'd sea that laves
My country's shore, thou'st haply stray'd.

Rich, mingling with thy balmy breath,
Methinks I feel my native air ;

THOU of Morven's race renown'd,

O Hero Bard! whose harp has rung
That thought will soothe the pangs of death,
Which now my inmost vitals tear.

Symphonious to thy tuneful tongue,

That by the magic of its sound
Full twenty springs have brought their

Charmed the cloud-born ghosts around,
And usher'd autumn's mellow glow,

Who with bold hand the deep toned
Full twenty winters chilling gloom,
Have autumn's sweetest flow'rs laid low.

Struck as thou sung'st the strife of kings;

While Scotia's sons, thy strains to hear,
Since last my native fields I view'd, Hung round thee leaning on the spear,
Since last a friendly voice I heard,

Saw in thy energetic strain,
Since Afric's sands my tears bedew'd,

The fight wherein themselves had fought,
And bath'd the feet of Christians fear'd.

Their minds by strong description A lovely maiden blest my arms

In all the pride of blooming youth,

A triumph knew again.
Her innocence and artless charms

While rose in song the battle plain,
Were grac'd by modest love and truth.

Where Fingal, like an angry god,

Resistless in his terrors strode,
Scarce fifteen moons their silv'ry beams
Do lonely vale or grove had shed,

And strew'd the field with hostile slain !
Had sparkl'd in the rippling streams,

Or lower'd thy lofty tone and sung
Or foam from mountain torrents bred. “The heaving breasts of love :"

Then o'er the chords thy fingers hung,
When on our coast a Christian band,
To hunt their fellow creatures flew;

Fearing each harsher sound to move.
They seiz'd me, while with ruthless hand As rose the measure plaintive, slow,
My babe before my eyes they slew. And seemed to know the tale of woe

The tragic lay each soul ingrost,
And as it writh'd and scream'd in pain,

And in soft sympathy was lost,
Uplifted on the bloody spear,
They laugh’d, then coolly crush'd its brain,

The warrior's pride so high before.
And mock'd the francic parent's tear.

Then struggled from each manly breast,

The sigh too full to be supprest,
Each setting sun my tears flow fast,

Each face a gaze of sorrow wore.
Each morning brings no joy for me,

And oft was turned aside the head,
My days in toil and stripes are passid,
My nights in pain and misery.

In private, Pity's tear to shed,
The fiery west that gilds yon spires,
May tinge with flame sonie kindred eye,

* It is needless to remind the readers Perhaps my noble aged sire's,

of Ossian, that his love tales are almost Who heaves for me the bursting sigh. all tragical.



of tears,

Or to the fair Malvina's ear

ELEGIAC LINES, Sung how thy darling Oscar fell f,

To the Memory of the late Mrs Green of
I see thee to the mind appear

Upon the mournful theme to dwell,
In tears the lover's sorrows flow,

“ How many stand A father's tearless agony

« Around the death-bed of their dear. Vindictively beams from thine eye.

est friends,
A smile shines' sternly thro' thy woe! " And point the parting anguish.”

Thy Oscar falls !--alone he stood !
On earth the bleeding Hero lyes; '

'TIS past. Stern Death has struck Yet by himself revenged he dies,

the fatal blow,
Spreads round him streams of traitor That frees thy struggling spirit from its

clay ;
Which loosed at length from long expe-

rienced woe,
Verses by JOHN JOHNSTON of CURRIT To realms ethereal wings its joyful way,

Sad was thy passage through this vale THE dew hung glistning on the thorn,

The birdies sang frae every bough, Severe thy trials, but thy soul resigned, And sweetly rose the vernal morn,

And though deep sorrow mark'd thy When first, my Jean, I met wi' you. lingering yeass,

Serene submission tranquillized thy
I mind the place, yon daisied lee,

Where a wee burnie wimples near,
There first you owned your love to mé : Bright were thy prospects in life's open-
And ay sinsyne the spot's been dear, ing morn,

Hope beamed her cheering radiance
The lammies loupet on the lee,

o'er thy heart;
Frae 'mang the broom the lintie sang, But early thou, of every comfort shorn,
The cuckoo answered frae the tree, Wast doomed with each fond cherished
Wi' love and joy creation rang.

hope to part. It was na' wealth, it was na'kin,

Soon were thy fancy's fairy visions fled,
Thai ruled us on our wedding day,

Too soon affliction taught thy soul to
Love did our courtship first begin,
And still, sweet power: has borne the That only in the mansions of the dead,

The wearied spirit could forsake its woe.

If o'er the prostrate clay, so lately left,
What tho' we're poor, we've honest been, That gentle spirit haply hovers near;

And still had something yet to spare, Oh! sooth thy mourning friends, who,
And blest between ourselves, my Jean, thus bereft,
Sae what on earth can we wish mair.

O'er thy loved relics shed the frequent

tear. When toil is o'er, tho' banes be sair, On wings of love I hamewatd flee,

Breathe consolation to each grief.fill'd Transported if I can but share

breast, One hour with my sweet babes and That still indulges unavailing woe; thee.

Bid them reflect that beatific rest,

Succeeds thy thorny bitter path below. What will we leave them, when we're Bid them look forward to that blissful gane,

time, Nae goud nor gear frae us they'll When, purified by Heaven's chastising claim,

rod; We'll leave them what's mair worth, my Your souls shall meet in that extatic Jean,

clime, We'll leave them an unspotted name.

“ Where all the poor in heart hehold.

their God.” Cupar, Fife.'

W. M. W. + See Temora, Book I.



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