Delicious is the lay that sings
The haunts of happy lovers,

The path that leads them to the grove,
The leafy grove that covers:

And pity sanctifies the verse

That paints, by strength of sorrow,
The unconquerable strength of love;
Bear witness, rueful Yarrow !

But thou, that didst appear so fair

To fond imagination,

Dost rival in the light of day

Her delicate creation :

Meek loveliness is round thee spread,

A softness still and holy;

The grace of forest charms decayed,

And pastoral melancholy.

That region left, the vale unfolds

Rich groves of lofty stature,

With Yarrow winding through the pomp

Of cultivated nature;

And, rising from those lofty groves,

Behold a ruin hoary!

The shattered front of Newark's towers,

Renowned in border story.

Fair scenes for childhood's opening bloom,

For sportive youth to stray in;

For manhood to enjoy his strength;
And age to wear away in!

Yon cottage seems a bower of bliss,
It promises protection

To studious ease, and generous cares,
chaste affection!

And

every

How sweet on this autumnal day,
The wild wood's fruits to gather,
And on my true love's forehead plant
A crest of blooming heather!
And what if I enwreathed my own!
'Twere no offence to reason;

The sober hills thus deck their brows
To meet the wintry season.

I see but not by sight alone,
Loved Yarrow, have I won thee;
A ray of fancy still survives—
Her sunshine plays upon thee!
Thy ever youthful waters keep
A course of lively pleasure;

And gladsome notes my lips can breathe,
Accordant to the measure.

The vapours linger round the heights, They melt-and soon must vanish ; One hour is theirs, nor more is mine— Sad thought! which I would banish,

But that I know, where'er I go,
Thy genuine image, Yarrow!

Will dwell with me—to heighten joy,
And cheer my mind in sorrow.

James Montgomery.

Born 1771. Died 1854.

A MOTHER'S LOVE.

A MOTHER'S Love,-how sweet the name ! What is a Mother's love?

-A noble, pure, and tender flame,

Enkindled from above,

To bless a heart of earthly mould;

The warmest love that can grow cold;
This is a Mother's Love.

To bring a helpless babe to light,
Then, while it lies forlorn,
To gaze upon that dearest sight,

And feel herself new-born,
In its existence lose her own,
And live and breathe in it alone;

This is a Mother's Love.

Its weakness in her arms to bear;

To cherish on her breast,

Feed it from Love's own fountain there,

And lull it there to rest;

Then, while it slumbers, watch its breath,
As if to guard from instant death;
This is a Mother's Love.

To mark its growth from day to day,
Its opening charms admire,
Catch from its eye the earliest ray

Of intellectual fire;

To smile and listen while it talks,
And lend a finger when it walks ;
This is a Mother's Love.

And can a Mother's Love grow cold?
Can she forget her boy?
His pleading innocence behold,

Nor weep for grief-for joy?
A Mother may forget her child,
While wolves devour it on the wild;
Is this a Mother's Love?

Ten thousand voices answer "No!"
Ye clasp your babes and kiss ;
Your bosoms yearn, your eyes o'erflow;
Yet, ah! remember this,—

The infant, reared alone for earth,

May live, may die,—to curse his birth;
-Is this a Mother's Love?

A parent's heart may prove a snare;
The child she loves so well,

Her hand may lead, with gentlest care,
Down the smooth road to hell;
Nourish its frame,-destroy its mind:
Thus do the blind mislead the blind,
Even with a Mother's Love.

Blest infant! whom his mother taught
Early to seek the Lord,

And poured upon his dawning thought
The day-spring of the word;
This was the lesson to her son

-Time is Eternity begun :

Behold that Mother's Love.

Blest Mother! who, in wisdom's path
By her own parent trod,

Thus taught her son to flee the wrath,
And know the fear, of God:

Ah, youth like him enjoy your prime ;

Begin Eternity in time,

Taught by that Mother's Love.

That Mother's Love!-how sweet the name!

What was that Mother's Love?