And in your harmony sublime

I read the doom of distant time;
That man's regenerate soul from crime
Shall yet be drawn,

And reason on his mortal clime

Immortal dawn.

What 's hallowed ground? "T is what gives birth
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth!
Peace! Independence! Truth! go forth
Earth's compass round:

And your high priesthood shall make earth
ALL HALLOWED GROUND.

CAMPBELL.

The Lost Wife.

LONE, by my solitary hearth,

Whence peace hath fled,

And home-like joys, and innocent mirth

Are banished;

Silent and sad, I linger to recall

The memory of all

In thee, dear partner of my cares, I lost;

Cares, shared with thee, more sweet than joys the world can boast.

My home-why did I say my home!

Now have I none,

Unless thou from the grave again couldst come,

Beloved one!

My home was in thy trusting heart,

Where'er thou wert;

My happy home in thy confiding breast, Where my worn spirit refuge found and rest.

I know not if thou wast most fair

And best of womankind;

Or whether earth yet beareth fruits more rare
Of heart and mind;

TO ME, I know, thou wert the fairest,

Kindest, dearest,

That heaven to man in mercy ever gave, And more than man from heaven deserved to have.

Never from thee, sweet wife,

Came word or look awry,

Nor peacock pride, nor sullen fit, nor strife
For mastery:

Calm and controlled thy spirit was, and sure
So to endure:

My friend, protectress, guide, whose gentle will Compelled my good, withholding from me ill.

No art of selfishness

Thy generous nature knew;

Thy life all love, thy bliss the power to bless;
Constant and true,

Content, if to thy lot the world should bring
Enduring suffering;

Unhappy, if permitted but to share

Part of my griefs, wouldst both our burthens bear.

My joy, my solace, and my pride

I found thee still:

Whatever change our fortunes might betide

Of good or ill,

Worthier I was life's blessing to receive

While thou didst live;

All that I had of good in others' sight Reflected shone thy virtue's borrowed light.

The lute unstrung-the meals in silence ate
We wont to share;

The widowed bed-the chamber desolate,
Thou art not there;

The tear at parting, and the greeting kiss,
Who would not miss?

Endearments fond, and solaced hours, and all
The important trivial things men comfort call.

Oh! mayst thou, if permitted, from above
The starry sphere,

Encompass me with ever-during love,

As thou didst here:

Still be my guardian spirit, lest I be

Unworthy thee;

Still, as on earth, thy grace celestial give,

So GUIDE MY LIFE AS THOU WOULDST HAVE ME LIVE.

JOHN FISHER MURRAY.

To Mary in Heaven.

THOU lingering star, with lessening ray,
That lovest to greet the early morn,

Again thou usher'st in the day

My Mary from my soul was torn.

O Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest?

Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hearst thou the groans that rend his breast.

That sacred hour can I forget,

Can I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love! Eternity will not efface

Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace;

Ah! little thought we 't was our last!

Ayr, gurgling, kissed his pebbled shore,

O'erhung with wild woods, thickening green;

The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,
Twined amorous round the raptured scene:
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on every spray,
Till too, too soon, the glowing west
Proclaimed the speed of winged day.

Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care!
Time but the impression deeper makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear.
My Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy blissful place of rest?
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hearst thou the groans that rend his breast?

Maidenhood.

MAIDEN! with the meek brown eyes,
In whose orb a shadow lies,
Like the dusk in evening skies!

Thou whose locks outshine the sun,
Golden tresses wreathed in one,
As the braided streamlets run!

Standing with reluctant feet,
Where the brook and river meet,
Womanhood and childhood fleet!

Gazing, with a timid glance,
On the brooklet's swift advance,
On the river's broad expanse!

BURNS.