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An sin gheibhinn fois agus sìth

Ann an soisgeul na firinn, o m' bhròn, Dh'fhaodainn fòghlum o ghliocas na h-aois,

'S a bhi aobhach an cuideachd na h-òig'. An Soisgeul ! an t-ionmhas thar luach

Tha r'a fhaotainn am focal an àigh!
Tha e prìseil thar airgiod a’s òr,

No aon ni air thalamh a ta.
Ach cha chualas clag-eaglaise riamh

Ann an so, feadh nan liath-chreag 's nan gleann, Cha do fhreagair fuaim thiamhaidh a' bhròin

A's Sàbaid cha 'n aithnichear annt.
A ghaothan a dh'fhuadaich mi sìos,

Do 'n dithreabh tha aonarach, fàs,
Cuiribh sgeul orm bheir aoibhneas do m' chridh'

Mu thìr do nach till mi gu bràth.
'Bheil mo chàirdean a dh'fhàg mi a'm' dhéigh,

'Cur guidhe no smuain air mo thòir ? O innis gu bheil caraid a làth'ir,

Ged nach fhaic mise caraid ni's mò.

Tha 'inntinn an duine ni 's luaith'

A' gluasad na aon ni a th' ann ; An coimeas, cha siubhail a' ghaoth,

'S caol-shaighdean an t-soluis ach mall. ’Nuair thig dùthaich mo shinnsear a'm bheachd,

'Sann a shaoileas mi'thiota bhi thall ; Ach tha cuimhne gu luath 'tighinn a steach,

A's tréigidh gach dòchas a mheall. Ach tha 'n eunlaith a' falbh thun an nid,

'S gach fia'-bhea'ch do chòsaibh an t-sléibh ; Tha àm fois againn eadhon an so,

'S theid mise do m' bhothan leam fhéin. Tha tròcair, r'a fhaotainn 's gach dit',

A's tròcair, nach dgh’or an smaoin! A léighseas gach trioblaid a's bròn

A tha 'n tòir air clanna nan daoin'.

DESTRUCTION OF THE ASSYRIANS.

2 Kings, xix. 35. The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen ; Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he pass'd ; And the eyes of the sleepers wax'd deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heav'd and for ever grew still ! And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide, But through it there roll'd not the breath of his pride : And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; And the might of the Gentile unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord !

LA VINI A..

The lovely, young Lavinia once had friends,
And fortune smild, deceitful, on her birth ;
For, in her helpless years depriv'd of all,
Of every stay, save innocence and Heaven,
She, with her widow'd mother, feeble, old,
And poor, lived in a cottage, far retir'd
Among the windings of a woody vale ;
By solitude and deep surrounding shades,
But more by bashful modesty, conceal'd.

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SGRIOS NAN ASIRIANACH.

2 Righ, xix. 35. Chrom Senacherib mar reub-chu air crò, Bha 'armailt a' dealradh le airgiod a's òr ; Bha boillsgeadh a lannan mar reultaibh 's a' chuan, Feadh oidhch' air a luasgadh le gaoith thig o thuath, Mar dhuileach na coille 's an Samhradh 'na ghlòir, Bu lionmhor a threun-laoich 'n àm na gréine 'dhol fodh'; Mar dhuileach na coille 's an Fhogharadh reòt' Bha 'ghaisgich sa' mhaduinn sgapt', seargta, gun treòir. Sgaoil Aingeal a' Bhàis a sgiath air a' ghaoith, A's shéid e le 'anail air aghaidh nan daoi ; Air suaimhneas an tàmha thuit pràmh-chadal fuar, Aon phlosg thug gach cridhe-cha do phlosg ach aon uair. Le chuineanan farsuing luidh an t-each air an fhraoch, Ach trompa cha d'tharruing e sitir a chaoidh ; Bha cóip gheal a phlosgaidh gu fuar air an fhonn, Mar chobhar na mara air sgeir nan garbh thonn. Bha ’m marcach na shìneadh 's bu dìblidh a shnuadh, A' mheirg air a chlogad 's an dealt air a ghruaidh ; Gach bratach na h-aonar, gach pailliun mar uaigh, Gach sleagh bha gun togail, 's gach gall-tromp gun fhuaim. Bha banntraichean Ashuir fo ànradh 's fo thùrs', A's iodhalan Bhàail 's gach àite 'n an smùr ; A's spionnadh a' Chinnich nach do mhilleadh 's an àr, Leagh iad, 0! Thighearn, mar shneachd ann a'd' làth'ir.

LABHINIA.

Bha càirdean aon uair aig Labhinia òg,
An ainnir àillidh. Dh'fhàg iad i gu moch ;
'Na naoidhean chaill i 'h-uile earbsa 's taic,
A h-uile dìon,-ach neò-chiontas a’s nèamh.
Le ʼmàthair, banntrach uireasbh’ach a's lag,
Am bòthan ìosal chòmhnuich iad le chéil;
Folaicht' o dhaoinibh 'n dìomhaireachd nan gleann,
Fo dhubhar chraobh an uaigneas sàmhach, sèimh,
Gu mòr ni's mò le macantachd a's beus.

Together thus they shunn'd the cruel scorn
Which virtue, sunk to poverty, would meet
From giddy passion and low-minded pride :
Almost on Nature's common bounty fed ;
Like the gay birds that sung them to repose,
Content, and careless of to-morrow's fare.
Her form was fresher than the morning rose,
When the dew wets its leaves ; unstain'd, and pure,
As is the lily, or the mountain snow.
The modest virtues mingled in her eyes,
Still on the ground dejected, darting all
Their humid beams into the blooming flowers :
Or when the mournful tale her mother told,
Of what her faithless fortune promis'd once,
Thrill'd in her thought, they, like the dewy star
Of evening, shone in tears. A native grace
Sat fair proportion'd on her polish'd limbs,
Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire,
Beyond the pomp of dress ; for loveliness
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is, when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most.
Thoughtless of beauty, she was beauty's self,
Recluse amid the close-embow'ring woods,
As in the hollow breast of Appenine,
Beneath the shelter of encircling hills,
A myrtle rises, far from human eye,
And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild ;
So flourish'd, blooming, and unseen by all,
The sweet Lavinia.

THE SABBATH MORNING.

How still the morning of the hallow'd day!
Mute is the voice of rural labour, hushed
The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song.
The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath
Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers,
That yester-morn bloom'd waving in the breeze.
Sounds the most faint attract the ear-the hum
Of early bee, the trickling of the dew.
The distant bleating midway up the hill.
Calmness sits throned on yon unmoving cloud.
To him who wanders o'er the upland leas,
The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale ;

Le chéile sheachain iad mar so an táir,
Tha daoine 'deanamh tha air at le uaill,
Air maise 's beusachd ann an là an airc.
Bu ghann an lòn, 's cha mhòr nach b' ionann fòs
A's eòin nan geug, a thàlaidh iad gu suain,
Iad sona 'n diugh, suarach mu'n àm ri teachd.
Bu chùbhraidh 'dealbh na blàth a' chèitein ùir
Fo-dhealt na maduinn mhoich, bu ghloine 'snuadh,
Na'n canach féin, no'n sneachd air uchd nam beann.
Bha macantas cho caoin ’na sùil ghuirm chiùin
Is gann a thog i, 'dearcadh sìos lo bàigh
Air snuadh nan neòinean 's air na blàithibh maoth';
No 'nuair a dh'éisdeadh i ri sgeul a' bhròin,
Mu chaochladh 'dòchais bha aon uair cho àrd,
Mar reul an anmoich dh' aomadh iad a sìos
Fo dhealta tlàth nan deur.-B'àillidh a dealbh,
A' mhaighdean dhreachmhor so bu mhaisich' fiamh ;
Le trusgan eutrom dh'éideadh i gu grinn
Ni b' fhearr na rìomhadh àrd :-a h-àilleachd-sa
Cha'n iarradh sgèimh no snas o rìomhadh fòs ;
Gun rìomhadh idir 's ann bu rìomhaich'i;
Suarach m'a h-àilleachd, b'àilleachd i air fad,
An rìbhinn aonarach ’an uaigneas ghleann.
Mar ann an doimhneachd dhìomhair tir nam beann,
An coire fasgach, no an glacaibh blàth,
A chinneas sòbhrach fad o shealladh sùl,
Le fàile fallain 'mach air feadh an raoin ;
Mar sin gu cùbhraidh a's gun fhios do'n t-saogh’l
Gu lurach dluinn 'chinn Labhinia suas.

MADUINN NA SABAID.

Nach sàmhach maduinn chiùin an latha naoimh !
Tha fuaim an t-saoghail balbh. Cha chluinnear fòs
'Sa bhuaile luinneag, no an fhead air raon.
Tha'n speal ’na sìneadh anns an fheur fo dhrùchd,
Na blàithean maoth a' seargadh anns an spadh,
Ge b'ùrail ait iad anns a' ghaoith an dé.
Cluinnear an fhuaim is faoine, eadhon srann
An t-seillein mhoich, a's braona tlàth an drùchd,
A's mèilich chaorach 's iad air uchd an t-sléibh.
Tha fiath mar bhan-righ anns na speuraibh shuas.
Dhasan tha 'mach air feadh nam bruachan àrd
’N lon-dubh tha 'seinn ni's binn', air leis, o'n ghleann ;

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