IT IS DAY.

And with its light heart-stirring sound,
I strive to please the village boys;
Even Cæsar he will dance around,

And, when I pipe, with them rejoice;
While by the fire, on winter's eve,
I sit, and pleasing stories weave.

And am I poor, or wretched then,

Who in the beams of mercy live?
I've learn'd to spurn the joys of men,

And prize a boon they cannot give—
A peace within, that cheers my way—-
A boon that none can take away.

Heaven knows that I have many cares,
Submissive, let me bow to fate;
My fortune brings me weighty fears,
My Cæsar and my flageolet!
But when my wanderings here are past,

I'll get a home in heaven at last.

191

J. B. THOMSON.

IT IS DAY.

It is day, it is day,

Lovely maid, come away,

Let us welcome the blush of the dawn;

The bird upon the tree,

He is singing merrily,

And the shepherd whistles blythe o'er the lawn;
All nature is awake, and every thing is gay,
For now it is day, it is day.

It is day, it is day,

Wreathy shadows flee away,

Rosy health is on the wings of the gale,
Even sorrow's griefs are fled,

And pale sickness leaves her bed,

To gather fresh flowers in the vale,

Each sense breathes delight, each pulse is in play,
For O it is day, it is day.

It is day, it is day,

Lovely Peggy, come away,

Let us brush the fresh dews from the green,

Each fresh little flower,

Peeping forth from beauty's bower,

Smiles around on the fairy-colour'd scene;

[spray,

Young summer breathes around, and the linnet from his Tells the glens and the woods, it is day.

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J. B. THOMSON.

THE FLOWER OF ERNE.

PLEASANT were the hours by Erne's stream a-wandering,

But sad was the parting adieu,

[presence,

Bade us steal from sweet scenes, so endear'd by thy Where each word and look show'd thee true.

How oft in the rapture of love's joyous moments,
To range through yon wood we were used,
And how bless'd with my love, in yon wild rosy
On her sweet winning features I've mused.

bower,

GUDE NIGHT AN' JOY BE WI' YOU A'. 193

Why droops the lily fair, and each gay woodland flower,
And why croaks the hoarse raven along,

And why, O gentle Erne, far along thy Sylvan shore,
Hush the small birds their evening song?

But hark! yon doleful knell, and see yon sable band,
Oh! they bear my dear Helen away;

And now her purer soul breathes its own etherial air,
In the clime of the aye cloudless day.

Cease, then, my fond heart, no more must thou ponder,
On scenes by remembrance held dear,

For past are all your charms, even love's gay illusions,
That once wont this bosom to cheer.

PETER TAIT.

GUDE NIGHT AN' JOY BE WI' YOU A'.

THE is wearin' to the wane,
year

An' day is fading west awa',

Loud raves the torrent an' the rain,

An' dark the cloud comes down the shaw.

But let the tempest tout an' blaw,

Upon his loudest winter horn,

Gude night an' joy be wi' you a',
We'll maybe meet again the morn.

S

194 GUDE NIGHT AN' JOY BE WI' YOU A'.

O we hae wander'd far an' wide,
O'er Scotia's land of firth an' fell;
An' mony a simple flower we've cull'd,
An' twined them wi' the heather-bell:
We've ranged the dingle an' the dell,
The hamlet, an' the baron's ha',
Now let us tak' a kind farewell,
Gude night an' joy be wi' you a'.

Ye hae been kind as I was keen,
And follow'd where I led the way,
Till ilka poet's lore we've seen,
Of this an' mony a former day:
If e'er I led your steps astray,
Forgi'e your minstrel ance for a',
A tear fa's wi' his partin' lay,

Gude night an' joy be wi' you

a'.

HOGG

SECTION IV.

POEMS BY THE EDITOR.