THE

RUINED CASTLE.

LONELY mansion of the dead!
Who can tell thy varied story?
All thine ancient line have fled,
Leaving thee in ruin hoary.

Buttress and balcony fair,

Arrowy frieze thy lines surrounding; Rayless keep, and hanging stair,

To the murmuring breezes sounding.

Thou hast had thy day of pride,

Martial squadrons rank'd before thee; Towering high, and flaunting wide,

Gilded banners beaming o'er thee!

Heroes came, and tilted near,

Beauty claim'd thee for her dwelling; Evening pilgrims paused to hear

Tones of mirth and music swelling.

From thy lattices thy light

Threw a magic halo round thee; And, amid the shadowy night,

With a lucid girdle bound thee.

Thou hast had thy day of strength,
Braved the tempest in its thunder ;
Scorn'd invasion, but at length,
Time hath rent thy joints asunder!

Oft thy ladye from the tower,
Anxious o'er the forest glancing,
Hail'd her lord at twilight hour,

On his raven charger prancing,

Home returning through the plain,

With the laurels war had crown'd him,

Pages at his bridle-rein,

Grooms behind, and squires around him.

Sad are now thy chambers, which

Warriors throng'd, and woman haunted; Wall-flower blooms in every niche

Where the culverin was planted.

Ivy tendrils twine thy brow,

Purple lichens cling unto thee; Birds of night thy dwellers now,

Swallows swim and twitter through thee!

Once, beneath the breath of morn,

In thy halls did cheer awaken;

Dull, and desolate, and worn,

Thou art lone, and left forsaken !

Where is now thy power and pride?

Whence hath fled thine ancient glory?

Whelm'd in time's disastrous tide:

'Tis a moral for a story!

THE

EMIGRANTS' FAREWELL.

GREEN Albyn, farewell! though by us never more
Should be welcomed the hills that encircle thy shore;
Though to far distant worlds 'tis our fortune to roam,
Still to thee shall we look, as the land of our home!

Green Albyn, farewell! though thou fadest on our sight,
Are the deeds of our fathers not written in light?
And cannot the tones of the pibroch display

How they march'd to the field, how they won in the fray?

Green Albyn, farewell! though to us be not given
For our country to strive, as our fathers have striven,
'Tween their ashes and us, though may roll the dark sea,
Still their spirit is ours, and our hearts are with thee.

Green Albyn, farewell! though the glens of our pride,
Through the mist of the morn, shall no more be descried,
Nor the deer on the hill; nor the cairn on the moor;
Nor the chief in the hall,—we are thine as of yore!

Green Albyn, farewell! when our footsteps shall stray
On the banks where Lake Erie expands to the day,
In our bonnets the rough-bearded thistle shall twine,
And be dear to our souls, as a symbol of thine!

Green Albyn, farewell! to thy rocks, to thy rills,
To the eagles that build on the crest of thy hills,
To the lake, to the forest, the moor and the dell,
To thee, and thy children, green Albyn, farewell!