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Glowing with love, on fire for fame,

A Troubadour that hated sorrow, Beneath his lady's window came, And thus he sung his last good-morrow :

My arm it is my country's right,

My heart is in my true love's bower; Gaily for love and fame to fight,

Befits the gallant Troubadour."

And while he march'd with helm on head,

And harp in hand, the descant rung,
As faithful to his favourite maid,
The minstrel-burthen still he sung:
“ My arm it is my country's right,

My heart is in my lady's bower;
Resolv'd for love and fame to fight,

I come, a gallant Troubadour.”

Even when the battle-roar was deep,

With dauntless heart he hew'd his way, Mid splintering lance, and falchion sweep,

And still was heard his warrior-lay;

«« My life it is my country's right,

My heart is in my lady's bower;
For love to die, for fame to fight,

Becomes the gallant Troubadour !**

Alas! upon the bloody field,

He fell beneath the foeman's glaive,
But still, reclining on his shield,
Expiring sung the exulting stave;
My life it is my country's rights

My heart is in my lady's bower;
For love and fame to fall in fight,

Becomes the gallant Troubadour!"




By a modern Welsh Harper.

Wilt thou not waken, Bride of May,

While flowers are fresh and the sweet bells chime?
Listen and learn from my roundelay,
How all Life's pilot-boats sail'd one day-

A match with Time.

Love sat on a lotos-leaf afļoat,
And saw old Time in his loaded boat;
Slowly he cross'd Life's narrow tide,
While Love sat clapping his wings, and cried

“ Who will pass Time?"

Patience came first, but soon was gone
With helm and sail to help Time on;
Care and Grief could not lend an oar,
And Prudence said (while he stay'd on shore),

“ I wait for Time!”

Hope fill'd with flowers her cork-tree bark, And lighted its helm with a glow-worm spark: Then Love, when he saw her bark fly fast, Said—“ Lingering Time will soon be past!

Hope out-speeds Time !"

Wit went nearest old Time to pass,
With his diamond oar and his boat of glass;
A feathery dart from his store he drew,
And shouted, while far and swift it flew

“ O Mirth kills Time!"

But Time sent the feathery arrows back,
Hope's boat of amaranths miss'd its track,
Then Love bade his butterfly pilots move,
And laughing said, " They shall see how Love

Can conquer Time,"

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His gossamer sails he spread with speed,
But Time has wings when Time has need;
Swiftly he cross'd Life's sparkling tide,
And only Memory stay'd to chide

Unpitying Time!

Waken and listen then, Bride of May!

Listen and heed thy minstrel's rhyme
Still for thee some bright hours stay,
For it was a hand like thine, they say,

Gave wings to Time.



From my slumber I woke at the dead hour of night,

And down to the ocean I sped;
The moon on the billows was trembling and bright

As it rose o'er the Pyramid's head.

John Findlay, the author of this piece, was born at Glasgow in 1789. His parents were in a humble condition of life, but of a most respectable character, and they gave their son all the advantages of a good education. From the academy of Mr. Hall of that city, he was sent, at the age of four. teen, to the university. He there soon distinguished himself above most of his contemporaries, and became an excellent Greek and Latin Scholar. Ia the Philosophy class he was distinguished for the excellence of his prose com

Its beams lent a magic far dearer than sleep,

As I trode my lone course on the sand;
And dear was the blast as it blew o'er the deep, .

For it came from my native land.

The battle had ceas'd with the sweet setting sun,

But I heard its dread tumults again ;
I paus'dit was nought but the answering gun

Of the watchman afar on the plain.

positions; and during his academical career he wrote various short poems, chiefly on classical subjects, remarkable for ease, elegance and spirit. While yet a student, living within the walls of the college, he published, in 1802, a volume entitled “Wallace, or the vale of Ellerslie," with other poems, These were composed when he was about nineteen years of age, and are generally esteemed. Wallace may be called his principal performance. It is doubtless an imperfect composition ; but it displays a wonderful power of versification, and contains many splendid descriptions of external nature. It was shortly afterwards republished with considerable additions. Soon after he published an edition of the " Grave" with many admirable notes ; wrote a learned and ingenious life of Cervantes, and edited an edition of Smith's Wealth of Nations, a task that might have been supposed out of his province, but which he executed with considerable ability, displaying an intimate acquaintance with the principles of political economy, and with the works of all the most eminent French writers on that science. The prospect of a situation in one of the public offices led him to London in 1807, where he wrote many learned articles, particularly on antiquarian subjects, for different periodical publications, and busily employed himself in the study of old English Litera. ture, in which he was excelled by few, and in which he ever afterwards deligbt. ed. Being disappointed in his hope of a permanent establishment, he returned in 1808 to Glasgow, and in that year published a collection of “Historical and Romantic Ballads," in two volumes. The notes with which they are illus. trated are interesting and valuable. In these volumes are to be found two ballads of Findlay's own composition, written in imitation of “Songs of the olden time," which have been pronounced by very able critics to be in their kind almost perfect.

At the close of the year 1810, his hopes of a permanent situation in London

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