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MARGADH

NAN TRAILLEAN.

Sheas mi air faiche bhoidhich luim, am faisg air bile 'chuain,
A's bheachdaich mi air sugradh mear nan tonn a b'aillidh snuadh;
A' cluicheadh chaidh na gaothan seach, gu mireagach fa sgaoil ;
'S air saorsa naduir bheachdaich mi, a's dh'i ghabh m'anam gaol.
Na neoil le 'n trusgain or-bhuidhe rinn siubhal seach gu luath,
'S bha eunlaith mbara loinneireach a' dol gun tamh mu'n cuairt;
Co' ionnan ris na h-uisgeachan ghrad thog air m'anam fonn,
Ri h-oran binn nan h-oiteig bhlath, troimh'n d' iomaineadh an tonn.
Gu aird na neamhan sheall mi suas-le 'n cuirtein siorruidh gorm-
A's mile smuain mu'n t-saoghal chian ghrad dh'fhairich mi 'teachd orm ;
Balbh urnuigh rinn mi ris an Dia nach leir do chloinn nan daoin',
A's mhol mi ainm-san a rinn duin' os ceann gach creutair saor.
Air dusgadh dhomh m'mheorachadh-thruis umam moran sluaigh :
Bha maighdean dhubh a' gul gu h-ard, 's mu 'gairdeanaibh cord cruaidh-
Air uchd a mhathar naoidhean tlath 's a ghruaidh le deuraibh tais ;-
Seann duine liath fo acain mhoir le bron air caitheadh as.
Dh'imich borb phlanndairean mun cuairt, a's dh'fharraid aois na h-oigh-
Air neart na mathar ghabh iad beachd, cha'n fhac iad riamh a denir-
Mhin-rannsaich iad an seann duin' liath, 's rinn di-meas air a dhealbh
Chual iad guth cagair aon a cheil', ach bha d’a och-san balbh.
Ard ghuthan ladurna rinn fuaim mun phris a b'fhiach gach aon ;
Bhruchd deoir na mathar sios gu dluth air falt a leanabain ghaoil.
A' mhaighdean shleuchd le h-athair sios, a's phog le goin a lamh-
An seann duin' liath spion 'fhalt le bron, a's thuit e air an traigh:
'S an sin, le cridhe briste, bruit', 's a dheoir a' ruith gun tamb,
An seann duin'thog ri neamh a shuil maraon r'a nionaig ghraidh ;-
Ag urnuigh ma bha Dia an sin, e theachd le 'chobhair chaoin,
G’an teasraigin bho ’n amhghar chruaidh-a chur an traill fa sgaoil.
Ach tiota beag—'s le lamhan ciontach chunntadh sios an t-or;
Shlaod fear an seann duin' bronach leis--a's dh'iomain fear an oigh,
An naoidhean sgaradh leo o 'n uchd, 's an gaire air a ghruaidh ;
A's ainm a mhathar air a bheul, gun toirt fainear d'a truaigh.
Chaidh 'nis na planndairean a thaobh, 'n an cunradh 'deanamh uaill,
'S le 'm buannachd shalaich shiubhail iad troi' bhaile mor an t-sluaigh,
Air teachd do'n t-Sabaid thig iad cruinn gu aoradh naomba Dhe;
Ach fagaidh iad an traillean truagh an sas a' sileadh dheur.
O fhir na h-uaill! do shailm biodh glan, 's biodh tachuinge gun bhreug,
"Mar b'aill leat cach a dheanamh dhuit, dean thusa dhoibh d'a reir,"'
Do thigh na h-urnuigh dean gu grad do thraillean truagh a ghairm,
A's ann am fianuis dhaoin' a's Dhe, an saorsa dean a sheirm.
A's earbsa faodaidh tu mar sin, air fagail dhuit an t-saogh‘il,
Gu'n cuir an Slanuighear 'na ghradh, do spiorad fein fa sgaoil,
Ach boinn do thraillean, O! na h-earb gu geatan neamh thoirt suas,
'S dol as o uamhas corruich Dhe, 's o pheanas siorruidh buan.
O's fuisneach a bhios t-uchd air teachd Ja saorsa do gach traill!
Ni t’inntinn uaill 's na tonnan mear, a bhuaileas air an traigh;
Mar oran binn bidh fuaim nan gaoth 'ni mire feadh do chiabh,
A's nadur fein, 's gach duil 'na com, sior thogaidh fonn do Dhia.
(ach craobh a luaisgeas anns a ghaoith, 's gach eun a chi thu 'leum
Ni cagar riut mu 'n t-saorsa mhoir, a bhios aig t’anam fein;
Seadh, saorsa o chionta fola's dheur, 's o mhallachd cuing an traill:
O bhuannachd shalaich mar an ceudn', 's o uamhas gath a' bhais.
od' bhruadar duisgidh tu 's an oidhch' le h-inntinn aoibhinn, ait,
A's naoidhein shaoirte ni do cheum le rosan cubhraidh 'sgap' ;
A's re do bheatha 'n so a bhos sior sheinnear leis gach aon,
Air cliu an fhirein choir a chuir a thraillean bochd fa sgaoil.

THE MURDERED SLAVE.

He died beneath the lash-his mortal frame
Could bear no more, and Death in mercy came !
Patient and calm his spirit passed away,
And now his body sleeps beneath the clay ;
His toils are over, and his weary breast
Has found, what man in life denied him,-Rest.
Poor slumbering dust—is there that passes by
And yields thy death the tribute of a sigh?
The tyrant tramples on thy lowly grave,
6. 'Tis but the ashes of a murdered Slave!”
And even the more humane have learned to steel
Their hearts, and think that only White Men feel ?
But Jesus looked upon the scene of death,
And marked the Negro's last expiring breath ;
Sustained that breath to speak a parting word,
An humble witness for his gracious Lord :
And bade him, like the Prince of Heaven,
Pray that his murderers night be forgiven!
The gloomy vale he passed,—the pang was o'er,-
He felt the lash of slavery no more, -
He dropped his quivering flesh upon the sod,
And flew to meet his Saviour and his God.
They dug his burial-place-and cast within
The bleeding record of a nation's sin :-
No eve might dare to pity or to weep,
No fond affection there its watches keep ;
The purple stain that told the deed was done,
Was bleached by midnight dews and noontido sun ;
The white man trod as common ground the spot
Where lay the Slave he murdered and forgot.
-Yet there is hid a safe and sacred trust,
Angels are guarding the despised dust ;
And on that day, when all the dead shall rise,
Shall bear their charge with shoutings to the skies.

THE BROKEN HEART HEALED.

Yes! I have seen her with her tearful eye
Fixed on the visions that have long gone by ;
Bright scenes of bliss, which playful fancy wove,
As friendship sweetly ripened into love.

AN TRAILL MHOIRTE.

Gu tuille 'ghiulan cha robh neart ’na chom,
Thràigh uaithe 'anam fo na buillean trom,
Gu sàmhach, caoin rinn bàs bho olc a ghairm,
'S tha 'chorp a nis 'na shuain fo'n torraig ghuirm.
A shaothair sguir, 's an ni 's a' bheatha bhos
A dhiùltadh dha le daoine fhuair e,-Fois.
A dhuslaich bhailbh, am bheil a' triall ort seach'
Aon neach do d' bhàs a dh'iocas pris na h-" (ch!”
A'd' leabaidh dhìblidh saltraidh 'm breun-fhear ort,
" 'Bheil ann ach duslach tràill a chaidh a mhort!'
A's an-iochd dh'fhòghlum daoine truacant' féin,
'sa mheas nach fairich daoine-dubha péin!
Ach dh'amhairc Iosa 'nuas air meud an lochd,
A's thug fainear do chrìch an Negro bhochd ;
A's neartaich ’anail ann an glaic a' bhàis
Gu luaidh a thoirt air ainm a Thighearn digh ;
A's tròcair iarruidh d'a luchd-casgraidh breun,
Mar Phrionnsa Nèamh d'a naimhdean guineach féin!
Chuir e 'n gleann domhain, dorcha seach, 's gach bròn,
'S cha ruig air slat na tràillealachd ni's mò,
Fheòil bhriosgach, phlosgach, leig e chum na crèadh',
A's ruith e 'n coinneamh 'Shlàn'ir a's a Dhé.

Ait-adhlaic chladhaich iad-a's thilg a steach
Fuil-chuimhneachan a' chinnich so 'n am peac':-
Cha robh a chridh' aig sùil gu'm faict' a deòir,
'S cha'n fhaodadh aigne bhlàth ann suidhe 'bhròn ;
Am ball trom-dhearg a dh'innis mar a bha,
Bha night' le driùchd na h-oidhch’’s le grian an là ;
Shaltair an duine geal an t-àit' gun suim
'S an d’luidh an tràill a chuir e moirt' á chuimhn',
Gidheadh tha Neamhnuid luachmhor ann fo sgàil,
Tha ainglo' 'cuartachadh an duis fo thair ;-
A's air an là sin anns an dùisg na mairbh,
Le h-iolach ni iad gus na neòil a ghairm.

AN CRIDHE BRISTE AIR A SHLANACHADH.

Sealh! chunnaic mi le deur a' bhròin 'na sùil
A' mhaighdean dillidh 'cuimhneachadh le tùrs',
Air dithean ait a dh 'fhalbh 'nuair bhruaidir i,
M'an t-sonas phailt a mhealladh i gun dith,

Then the dear youth, through yonder sylvan glade,
Led the confiding and the happy maid ;
Where'er they strayed, all nature fairer seemed
Each well-known object with new beauties beamed.
The day arrived ; but, ah! how changed the scene
From what her wishes and her hopes have been!
That day which promised bliss and bridal bloom,
Found her in weeds, her lover in the tomb !

Deep was the wound the sad bereavement made,
And long she wept, but while she wept she prayed ;
With grief confessing, at her Saviour's feet,
Her guilt was great, her punishment was meet.
At length that Saviour, stooping from on high,
Silenced her doubts, and whispered, “ It is l”-
That gentle voice made every murmur cease,
And o'er her bosom breathed a sacred peace.
Her soul, no longer to the creature bound,
Sought her Creator, and while seeking found;
Her thoughts, her hopes, her cares from earth withdrew,
And all surrendered to her Lord anew.

Thus, when the storm disturbed that inland sea,
Which bathes thy shore, thrice favoured Galilee !
The foaming billows mocked the seamen's skill ;
But when the Saviour utters," Peace, be still,”
Hushed is the wind, each angry wave subsides,
And the frail shallop in smooth waters glide.

THE HYMN OF CLEANTHES.*

Great Jove, of all the immortal gods supreme,
By varions names ador’d; be thou my theme;
Thou know'st no change, omnipotent art thou ;
Before thy everlasting throne, I bow.
Nature itself is under thy control.
Thy arm has form’d, supports, and guides the whole.
Man; blest with vocal pow’rs, is taught to raise
His tuneful voice to celebrate thy praise,

• Dr Doddridge has the following note in his Family Expositor, on Acts, xvii. 28:-“ These words,” • For we are his offspring, (which I choose to put in a poetical order, as best imitating the original,) are well known to be found in Aratus, a poet of Cilicia, Paul's own Country, who lived about 300 years before this time. I wonder so few writers should have added that they are, with the

An caidreamh gràidh an oig-fhir b'àillidh sgiamh ;
Le’n tric a ghabh i sràid gun sgàth, gun fhiamh ;
Ri taobh nan alltan, no sa' choille dhlùth,
Air feasgar blàth, no moch air bhàrr an driùchd.
Ach O! mo chreach, nach fhaic thu'n caochladh mòr
Tha nis air teachd-am fiùran òg cha bheo,
Na laidhe tosdach tha e anns an ùir,
An t-Òg a dh'fhas gu h-àluinn fallan ùr.

'S domhain an lot rinn so na cridhe blàth ;
Ach 'nuair a ghuil, a h-urnuigh chuir i ’n àird ;
'S gu h-umhal dh' aidich i aig casaibh Ios'
A ciont' gu'm b'airidh air na shealbhaich i.
An sin an Slàn't hear chròm a nuas ag radh,
“ 'S mi fein a th' ann,” b'e so an cagar graidh-
'S le 'chaomh ghuth sèimh gu'n d'fhuadaich e gach gruaim
'So sin a mach gu'n d' mheal i sòlas nuadh.
Ni b' fhaide cha robh 'cridhe ris a' chreutair fuaight;
Ach dh'iarr i 'Cruith'ear, 's 'n uair a shir i, fhuair,
A maoin 'sa dòchas thog i nis a suas,
“ 'Sa miann gu léir tha Air-san, Treun nam buadh.”

Mar so 'nuair dh'éirich a' mhuir bheuchdach suas ;
Ri d' thràigh tha slachdraich 'Ghalile namn buaidh,
Na tonnan uaibhreach ’n suaraich chuir gach nì;
Ach 'nuair thuirt Josa riutha “Tosd, biodh sìth,
An fhairge shiolaidh, 's balbh gu'n d'fhas an t-sid,
'S an iùbhrach lag gu tearuinnt' rainig tìr.

LAOIDII CHLEANTHEIS.

A Righ nan saogh'l, àrd-cheannard feachd nan dée,
Ard-mholt fo iomadh ainm do chliù bidh 'm bheul :
’S leat neart gun cheann, 's cha chaochail thu gu sior,
An làth'ir do chathrach siorruidh sleuchdam sios.
Tha nadur féin le chuibhlean mòr fo d' smachd,
'S air dearn do laimh a' ruith a chuairt a mach.
'Se crioch chloinn daoin', le'n teanga cheolmhoir, bhion,
Do chliù-sa sheinn ’n an dàin air feadh gach linn.

alteration of one letter only, to be found in the Hymn of Cleanthes to Jupiter, or the supreme God, which I willingly mention, is beyond comparison the purest and finest piece of natural religion of its length, in the whole world, of pagan antiquity; and which, so far as I can recollect, contains nothing unworthy of a Christian, or, I had almost said, of an inspired pen.

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