SONG.

AIR" Katherine Ogie."

'Twas on a genial morn in May,
When sweetly flowers were springing,
To Ythan's banks I took my way,
Pleased by the wild birds singing.
The eastern clouds were tinged with red,
Scarcely were zephyrs blowing;
The river, o'er its gemmy bed,
Was softly silent flowing.

To Methlic's church-yard close I drew,
Where high the ash is rising;

When to its gates a female flew,
With speed which was surprising.

The gate was lock'd, but, at a bound,
Lightly she
sprang in over;
And gazed upon the graves around,
Crying, "Here is laid my lover!

"My bitter moans he doth not hear,
Nor can he see my weeping;

My crying will not reach his ear,

Alas, in death he's sleeping!

Oh! come, slow death, and in my heart

Thy keenest dagger cover:

How sweet would be thy welcome dart!
'Twould send me to my lover!"

She leapt the iron gate again,
Like fairy flight amazing!

The Bellmuir's* dark fir forest, then,
Quick hid her from my gazing.

Now earthly sorrow she defies,

Nor grief nor care can move her ;
In Methlic's burying ground she lies,
Mould'ring beside her lover!

* The Bellmuir is a widely extended heathy tract of ground, on the northern bank of the Ythan, whereon is a beautiful and thriving planation, belonging to the Earl of Aberdeen.

D

EXTEMPORARY LINES,

To a Friend, whom the Author had invited to drink Tea with him; but, at the appointed time, the Author was detained from home till he was gone.

DEAR SIR, I never keener felt

The pangs by disappointment dealt,

Than what I did, when home I came
And found you gone, and mine the blame.
Alas! cried I, what have I done,
Staid out until my friend is gone!
Yon cursed clock !*-still let it be
As false to all as 'twas to me;
And may its master, who protested
That it was right, by it be hasted
On to commit some such foul blunder,
As he by it has laid me under.

* "Yon cursed clock!"-The cause of detainment was a clock'

being an hour slow, while its owner supposed it to be correct.

Then would his rage break it in pieces, And in the fire consume the cases;

A just reward for such a plight

As it threw me into last night.

If

you forgive my drear mistake, And not our former friendship break, My gratitude shall flow to youAt any rate, it will be due.

O, GENEROUS Sir! bear with my uncouth lays;
I sing thy goodness, in my dreary days.
My muse is far unworthy of the claim,

In her rude verse to place your honour'd name:
A name, to do it justice, would demand
The brightest genius ever graced this land.
To flattery, Sir, I am not here inclined,
So base a motive ne'er came in my mind.
I scorn the low, dissembling, fawning wretch,
Who, pleasing grandeur, does the truth o'erstretch.
But by another reason I'm confined-

I am not able, though I were design'd;
The task is far above my feeble power,
So high I never will attempt to tower.
But I shall sing thy mercy-dealing hand,
That o'er me waved life's joyful healing wand,