MAY-EVE: OR, KATE OF ABERDEEN.

THE silver moon's enamour'd beam Steals softly through the night, To wanton with the winding stream, And kiss reflected light.

To beds of state go balmy sleep, ('Tis where you've seldom been)

May's vigil whilst the shepherds keep
With Kate of Aberdeen.

Upon the green the virgins wait,
In rosy chaplets gay,

Till morn unbar her golden gate,
And give the promis'd May.

Methinks I hear the maids declare,
The promis'd May, when seen,
Not half so fragrant, half so fair,
As Kate of Aberdeen.

Strike up the tabor's boldest notes,
We'll rouse the nodding grove;
The nested birds shall raise their throats,
And hail the maid I love:

And see-the matin lark mistakes,

He quits the tufted green :

Fond bird! 'tis not the morning breaks, 'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.

Now lightsome o'er the level mead,
Where midnight fairies rove,
Like them, the jocund dance we'll lead,
Or tune the reed to love.

For see, the rosy May draws nigh:
She claims a virgin queen;
And hark, the happy shepherds cry
'Tis Kate of Aberdeen.

MORNING.

IN the barn the tenant cock,
Close to partlet perch'd on high,
Briskly crows, (the shepherd's clock !)
Jocund that the morning's nigh.

Swiftly from the mountain's brow,
Shadows, nurs'd by night, retire:
And the peeping sun-beam, now,
Paints with gold the village spire.

Philomel forsakes the thorn,

Plaintive where she prates at night;
And the lark, to meet the morn,
Soars beyond the shepherd's sight.

From the low-roof'd cottage ridge,
See the chatt'ring swallow spring;
Darting through the one-arch'd bridge,

Now the pine-tree's waving top
Gently greets the morning gale :
Kidlings, now, begin to crop
Daisies, on the dewey dale.

From the balmy sweets, uncloy'd,
(Restless till her task be done)
Now the busy bee's employ'd
Sipping dew before the sun.
Trickling through the crevic'd rock,
Where the limpid stream distills,
Sweet refreshment waits the flock
When 'tis sun-drove from the hills.

Colin's for the promis'd corn

(Ere the harvest hopes are ripe) Anxious; whilst the huntsman's horn, Boldly sounding, drowns his pipe.

Sweet,

O sweet, the warbling throng, On the white emblossom'd spray! Nature's universal song

Echoes to the rising day.

A SONG, SENT WITH A ROSE.

YES, every flower that blows
I pass'd unheeded by,
Till this enchanting rose

Had fix'd my wand'ring eye;
It scented every breeze,

That wanton'd o'er the stream,
Or trembled through the trees,
To meet the morning beam.
To deck that beauteous maid,
Its fragrance can't excel,
From some celestial shade

The damask charmer fell;
And as her balmy sweets

On Chloe's breast she pours,
The queen of Beauty greets

WILLIAM FALCONER was the son of a barber in Edinburgh, and was born in 1730. He was bred to the sea, and passed his boyhood on board a Leith trader. But it would appear that his choice was determined by necessity rather than will-that he was, "By severe decree,

Condemned reluctant to the faithless sea."

Subsequently he served on board a merchant vessel-the Britannia. She was wrecked in the Levant, off Cape Colonna, and the whole of the crew perished, except Falconer and two other mariners. To this event the world is indebted for "The Shipwreck,"-a poem that stands at the head of the class to which it belongs. The perils he encountered he has described, and to the agonies he endured he has given adequate expression. His work has, therefore, truth for its foundation;— "The Shipwreck" is the result of experience. The author was, moreover, a skilful seaman; and the details of the storm, and the awful circumstances that followed it, are given with a degree of accuracy and technicality of which none but a practised sailor was capable. It was published in 1762; immediately attracted attention, and led to the writer's appointment as a midshipman in the navy, and subsequently to the office of purser in the Glory frigate. His leisure was then occupied in the production of a marine Dictionary. He also enlisted in the corps of political combatants, and issued a poem, "The Demagogue," in which he attacked Churchill and his party. It is written in a manly and energetic style, and contains passages that may be compared with the best of his more vigorous and skilful opponent. These, with the exception of some lines to the memory of the Prince Frederick of Wales, an ode to the Duke of York on his departure from England, a ballad, and a song of no great merit, are all the productions of the muse of Falconer.

In September 1769, he embarked for India, in the Aurora. In December the vessel touched at the Cape, pursued her voyage, and was never heard of afterwards. The author of "The Shipwreck" was therefore doomed to perish by a calamity which he so eloquently depicts. Whether he suddenly sunk in the great deep, or, as it may be, remained for days struggling with the storm, or perhaps upon some frail raft battling with the ocean, can never be ascertained.

"The Shipwreck" has been always popular, and will remain so while British sympathies are excited by the hazards of those who,

"Sweep through the deep

While the stormy tempests blow."

It is a clear, accurate, and able description of the peculiar perils of a seaman's life, the duties he has to perform, and the hopes which his situation perpetually excites. The writer was an "able seaman;" but he was more. The theme of his muse was "new to epic lore;" and it required a mind of no common order to deal with it. Later times have sufficiently shown that the cabin of a ship may be made the school of literary excellence; but a century ago it was a startling circumstance to find a mariner producing elegant and vigorous verse. Falconer, although he has given abundant proof that he had read and studied the poets who preceded him, was an ORIGINAL writer, for his subject was original and daring. The Shipwreck is not confined to the topic most prominent in it; it contains several fine descriptions of scenery, the characters of the officers are drawn by a masterly pencil,-and the episode of Palemon and Anna is exquisitely wrought. The Storm and the Wreck are necessarily the principal incidents of the poem. They are described with exceeding minuteness; the accuracy of the writer is indeed one of the marvels of his work; yet the details never weary, they grow naturally out of the subject. There is at the same time a rare degree of vigour thrown into the interesting story. Its faults are, that he so continually alludes to classic names and associations, called up though they are by the seas and shores of Greece and that the speeches of the captain and his mates are too prolonged, considering the perilous position in which they were placed. It is also perhaps opposed to probability, that Palemon should have been sent by his "rough parent" on ship-board, with the father of the maid, from whom the voyage was designed to estrange the "love-sick youth." The Shipwreck, however,

FALCONER.

FROM THE SHIPWRECK.

Now borne impetuous o'er the boiling deeps, Her course to Attic shores the vessel keeps: The pilots, as the waves behind her swell, Still with the wheeling stern their force repel. For this assault should either quarter feel, Again to flank the tempest she might reel. The steersmen every bidden turn apply; To right and left the spokes alternate fly. Thus when some conquer'd host retreats in fear, The bravest leaders guard the broken rear; Indignant they retire, and long oppose