'Tis the chief of Glenara laments for his dear;
And her sire and her people are call'd to her bier.
Glenara came first, with the mourners and shroud;
Her kinsmen they followed, but mourned not aloud;
Their plaids all their bosoms were folded around;
They march'd all in silence-they looked to the ground.
In silence they reach'd over mountain and moor,

To a heath, where the oak-tree grew lonely and hoar,

66

Now here let us place the gray stone of her cairn—
Why speak ye no word?" said Glenara the stern.
"And tell me I charge you, ye clan of my spouse,
Why fold ye your mantles,-why cloud ye your brows?"
So spake the rude chieftain: no answer is made,
But each mantle unfolding, a dagger display'd.

"I dream'd of my lady, I dream'd of her shroud,”
Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud,
"And empty that shroud, and that coffin did seem;
Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"
Oh! pale grew the cheek of that chieftain, I ween,
When the shroud was unclosed, and no body was seen;
Then a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn-
'Twas the youth that had lov'd the fair Ellen of Lorn.
"I dream'd of my lady, I dream'd of her grief,
I dream'd that her lord was a barbarous chief;
On a rock of the ocean fair Ellen did seem;
Glenara! Glenara! now read me my dream!"
In dust low the traitor has knelt to the ground,
And the desert reveal'd where his lady was found;
From the rock of the ocean that beauty is borne;
Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn!

Campbell.

On Prayer.

PRAYER is the soul's sincere desire,
Utter'd or unexpress'd;

The motion of a hidden fire,

That trembles in the breast.

Prayer is the burthen of a sigh;
The falling of a tear;

The upward glancing of an eye,
When none but God is near.

Prayer is the simplest form of speech
That infant lips can try:

Prayer, the sublimest strains that reac
The Majesty on high.

Prayer is the Christian's vital breath:
The Christian's native air:

His watchword at the gates of death;
He enters heaven by prayer.

Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice,
Returning from his ways:
While angels in their songs rejoice,
And say, "Behold, he prays!"

The saints, in prayer, appear as one,
In word, and deed, and mind,
When, with the Father and his Son,
Their fellowship they find.

Nor prayer is made on earth alone:
The Holy Spirit pleads;

And Jesus, on the eternal throne,
For sinners intercedes.

O thou, by whom we come to God,
The Life, the Truth, the Way!
The path of prayer thyself hast trod;
Lord, teach us how to pray.

The Star of Bethlehem.

Montgomery.

WHEN, marshall'd on the mighty plain,
The glittering host bestud the sky,—
One star alone, of all the train,

Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.

Hark! hark! to God the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem;
But one alone the Saviour speaks,
It is the star of Bethlehem.

Once on the raging seas I rode,

The storm was loud—the night was dark,
The ocean yawn'd-and rudely blow'd

The wind that toss'd my foundering bark.
Deep horror then my vitals froze,
Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem;
When suddenly a star arose,

It was the star of Bethlehem.

It was my guide, my light, my all,

It bade my dark forebodings cease,
And, through the storm and danger's thrall,
It led me to the port of peace.

Now safely moor'd-my perils o'er,

I'll sing, first in night's diadem,

For ever, and for evermore,

The Star!-The Star of Bethlehem!

H. K. White.

Lochinvar.

Он, young Lochinvar is come out of the west!
Through all the wide border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword, he weapon had none-
He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone!

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar!
He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none,

But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented, the gallant came late:
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of young Lochinvar!
So boldly he enter'd the Netherby Hall,

'Mong bride'smen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all!-
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword—
For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word—
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war?-
Or to dance at our bridal? young Lord Lochinvar!"
"I long woo'd your daughter, my suit you denied:
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide!
And now I am come with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine!
There be maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar!"
The bride kiss'd the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaff'd off the wine, and he threw down the cup!
She look'd down to blush, and she look'd up to sigh-
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.

He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,

Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace!

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume, And the bride-maidens whisper'd, ""Twere better by far To have match'd our fair cousin with young Lochinvar!" One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reach'd the hall door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,

So light to the saddle before her he sprung!

"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow!" quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan, Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran; There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea,

But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see!

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar!-Scott.

The Three Black Crows.

Two honest tradesmen, meeting in the Strand,
One took the other briskly by the hand;

"Hark ye," said he, ""Tis an odd story this
About the crows!"- "I don't know what it is;"

Replied his friend-"No! I'm surprised at that-
Where I come from, it is the common chat;

But

you shall hear an odd affair indeed!
And that it happen'd they are all agreed:
Not to detain you from a thing so strange,
A gentleman who lives not far from 'Change,
This week, in short, as all the Alley knows,