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“I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her shroud,"
Cried a voice from the kinsmen, all wrathful and loud,
" And empty that shroud and that coffin did seemn :
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 ;
When a voice from the kinsmen spoke louder in scorn-
'Twas the youth that had loved the fair Ellen of Lorn :-
“I dreamt of my lady, I dreamt of her grief,
I dreamt 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 reveald where his lady was found :
From a rock of the ocean that beauty is borne :
Now joy to the house of fair Ellen of Lorn!

THE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

Ye mariners of England !

Who guard our native seas,
Whose flag has braved a thousand years

The battle and the breeze,
Your glorious standard launch again,

To match another foe!
And sweep through the deep

While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages long and loud,

And the stormy tempests blow.
The spirits of your fathers

Shall start from every wave!
For the deck it was their field of fame,
And ocean was their

grave;
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell,

Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,

While the stormy tempests blow;
While the battle rages long and loud,

And the stormy tempests blow.

• Bhruadair mise m'an rìbhinn, 's mu eislinn nam marbh," Ghlaodh guth an fhir chinnidh gu tartarach searbh ; “ Bha chaisil-chrò falamh, an t-anart gu'n chreubh, 'Mhic Cailein, 'Mhic Cailein, an aisling so leugh.” O! chinn Mac'Illeathain gu glas-neulach fann, 'Nuair dh'fhosgladh chiste, an corp cha robh ann 'N sin ghlaodh am fear-cinnidh ni b'àirde fo cholg, Am flath uasal thug gràdh do Ealasaid òig. “ Chunnaic mis' ann am aisling ribhinn mo ghaoil, 'S an t-ainneart a fhuair i 'an Duairt a'chaoil ; Air carraig a' chuain 's ann a chuala mi h-éigh: Mhic Cailein, Mhic Cailein, an aisling so leugh." Thuit an cealgair le geilt air a ghluinibh 's an ùir, A's dh’aidich e'n t-àite 'n robh 'n t-àilleagan ùr ; O charraig a' chuain thugadh ainnir nam buadh, 'S bha chuirm air a càramh an àros nan stuadh.

MARAICHEAN NA H-ALBA.

A mharaichean na h-Alba,

A dh'fhalbhadh leinn le gairm,
Fo'r brataich riabh bu dileas,

A sheas ri strìgh 's ri stoirm ;
Le sròl a' srannraich 'mach o thìr,

'Chur naimhdean sìos le buaidh,
Agus siùbhlaibh thar nan sùgh

Nuair is gailbhich' smùid a' chuain, 'S is fuaimneach, fada toirm a' chath',

'S is gailbhich' smùid a' chuain.
Gu'n eirich riochd nan treun-f hear

Mar éibhlean o gach tonn !
O'n uaighibh uaine sàil',

Air ’m bu bhlàr dhoibh clàir nan long ;
'S far 'n deachaidh Nelson treun do'r dith,

Gu’n las gach cridh' gu'r gruaidh,
Dol gu siùbhlach thar nan sùgh,

Nuair is gailbhich' smuid a' chuain ;
'S is fuaimneach, fada toirm a' chath',

'S is gailbhich' smùid a' chuain,

Britannia needs no bulwarks,

No towers along the steep ;
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,

Her home is on the deep :
With thunders from her native oak,

She quells the floods below,
As they roar on the shore,

When the stormy tempests blow;
When the battle rages long and loud,

And the stormy tempests blow.
The meteor-flag of England

Shall yet terrific burn,
Till danger's troubled night depart,

And the star of peace return;
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors !

Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of your name,

When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,

And the storm has ceased to blow.

ADAM AND EVE.

There dwelt no joy in Eden's rosy bower,
Till Hymen brought his love-delighted hour!
In vain the viewless seraph lingering there,
At starry midnight charm'd the silent air ;
In vain the wild-bird carollid on the steep,
To hail the sun slow wheeling from the deep ;
In vain, to sooth the solitary shade,
Aerial notes in mingling measure play'd ;
The summer wind that shook the spangled tree,
The whispering wave, the murmur of the bee;-
Still slowly passed the melancholy day,
And still the stranger wist not where to stray.
The world was sad the garden was a wild !
And man, the hermit, sigh’d—till woman smiled!

Cha 'n fheum ar dùthaich daingnich',

'S tùr-chaisteil chrann m'a tràigh, 'S ur siubhal-s' air na sléibhtibh cuain,

'S ur dachaidh buan air sàil'. Le tàirneanach o'r darach cruaidh,

Theid tuinn a chlaoidh gu suain, 'S iad a' rànaich gu tràigh,

'Nuair is gairbhe gàirich cuain ; 'S is fuaimneach, fada toirm a' chath',

'S is gairbhe gàirich cuain.
A' bhratach bhuadhar, Bhreatunnach,

Gu'n leum 's gu'n las r'a crann,
Gus 'dean uainn' oidhche 'chruadail triall,

S reul-sìth' gu tìr nam beann.
Bidh sin, a ghaisgeach' fairge !

Ar ceol 's ar cuirm le 'r buaidh, 'S fuaim ar ciùil bidh mu'r cliù,

Nuair dh'fhàsas ciùin' air cuan; 'S gun tuillidh toirm no teine cath',

Gun strìgh gun stoirm air cuan.

ADH A MH AGUS EUBH.

Bu mhaiseach Eden le 'chuid gheug a's chrann,
Ach 's beag do dh'aighear 'fhuair ar n-athair ann;
Bu diomhain do na h-aingil mhaith bhi 'n dùil
Gun cuireadh iad air aiteas le 'n cruit-chiuil;
Bu diomhain do na h-eoin, air òb’s air ghéig,
Bhi'cur ri ceòl san fheasgar bhòidheach chéit ;
Bu diomhain do'n t-sruth mhòr bhi 'crònaich dha,
'S do bheachain bhreac bhi ’srannraich 'measg nam blàth ;
Cha robh nan ceòl ach glòramas gun bhlas,
Cha robh an Gàradh ach mar fhàsach ghlas ;
Bha Adhamh còir na ònaran fo ghruaim
Gus an d'fhuair e Eubh, a' bhean a b' éibhinn snuadh,

TIE EXILE OF ERIN.

There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,

The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill ;
For his country he sighed, when at twilight repairing

To wander alone by the wind beaten hill:
But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion,
For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean,
Where once in the fire of his youthful emotion,
He
sang

the bold anthem of Erin go bragh. Sad is my fate, said the heart-broken stranger ;

The wild deer and wolf to a covert may flee ;

* T. Campbell, in his autobiographical notes, written in 1837, refers to the above Poem in the following words :-"While tarrying at Hamburgh, in the year 1800, I made acquaintance with some of the Irish refugees, who had been concerned in the rebellion of 1798. Among these was one Anthony M'Cann, an honest, excellent man who is still alive and in prosperous circumstances at Altona. When I first knew him he was in a situation much the reverse; but Anthony commanded respect whether rich or poor. It was in consequence of meeting him one evening on the banks of the Elbe, lonely and pensive at the thought of his situation, that I wrote · The Exile of Érin.' » There were others also resident there with whom Campbell felt deep sympathy, and this awakened the strings of his lyre and induced this touching effusion, which was in a few days set to music and sung by the exiles themselves. The celebrated 'Tom Moore, designated by the Irish “FLATA NAM FILI," often said, that he would rather than fourteen of his best pieces that he had been the author of this Poem. Another Irish Poet, Mr James M'Henry, wrote “The Exile's Return,” and although we cannot at present accompany it with a translation, we hope to be able to do so in a subsequent edition. Its insertion here will help to cheer the reader after perusing the foregoing.O’er the hills of Slieve-Gallen, as homeward he wandered,

The Exile of Erin oft paused with delight; To dear recollections his soul he surrendered,

As each well known object returned to his sight: Here was the brook oft he leaped so light-hearted, Here was the bower where with love he first smarted, And here was the old oak where, when he departed,

He carved his last farewell—'twas Erin go bragh. His heart wild was beating, when softly assailed him

The sound of a harp-Oh! he listened with joy! His quickening emotions, his visage revealed them,

And the fire of his country beamed strong from his eye! A sweet female voice soon the loved strains attended 'Twas dear to his fond soul that o'er it suspended,

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