honest John to our notice are rude and graphic. The reformers inoculated them with a controversial and satiric meaning, and took them into the service of the kirk:-see how they tear off the scarlet robes from the Roman lady. John Anderson my jo, John, And how do ye do, cummer- For five o' them were gotten When he was far awa. The two lawful bairns were Baptism and the Lord's Supper; the spurious progeny were Penance, Confirmation, Extreme unction, Ordination, and Marriage. Those five illegitimate bairns of the scarlet lady were all rejected by the reformers. PEGGY ALISON. Ilk care and fear, when thou art near, Young kings upon their hansel throne Are no sae blest as I am! I'll kiss thee yet, yet, An' I'll kiss thee o'er again, An' I'll kiss thee yet, yet, When in my arms, wi' a' thy charms, And by thy een, sae bonnie blue, And break it shall I never! The name of Peggy Alison gives an air of truth and reality to this little warm and affectionate song, which the classical name of Chloe, Chloris, or Daphne, would fail to bestow. We imagine that the heroine has lived and breathed among us, and repaid the admiration of the poet by a smile and a salute-but we have no such lively feeling concerning the ladies of pastoral romance. The song is by Burns, and one of his early compositions. CHEROKEE INDIAN DEATH SONG. The sun sets in night, and the stars shun the day, Remember the arrows he shot from his bow; Remember the wood where in ambush we lay, And the scalps which we bore from your nation away. Now the flame rises fast; ye exult in my pain; But the son of Alknomook can never complain. I go to the land where father is gone: my His ghost shall rejoice in the fame of his son. Death comes like a friend, to relieve me from pain; And thy son, O Alknomook, has scorn'd to complain! The original power and happy genius of this song are universally felt. The tranquil heroism, the calm endurance and dignity of nature of the son of Alknomook, take possession of our hearts: we cannot forget, if we would, the savage hero whose virtues the Muse of Campbell has dashed off in one happy line: A stoic of the woods, a man without a tear. It is the composition of Anne Home, wife of the celebrated John Hunter, and sister to Sir Everard Home, Bart. THE EVENING STAR. How sweet thy modest light to view, To mark each image trembling there,- Though blazing o'er the arch of night, That soon the sun will rise again. Thine is the breeze that, murmuring, bland As music, wafts the lover's sigh, And bids the yielding heart expand In love's delicious ecstasy. Fair star! though I be doom'd to prove That rapture's tears are mix'd with pain; But sweeter to be lov'd again. A poetic mind of no common order perished when John Leyden, the author of this pretty ode, died in the East. A slow and consuming illness seized upon him, and his laborious mind and conscientious heart would not allow his body proper repose. His happiest moments were when he recalled the hills and streams of his native Tiviotdale to his fancy. Sir John Malcolm, a countryman and a man of genius, sat down by his bed-side, and read him a letter from Scotland describing the enthusiasm of the volunteers of Liddisdale-summoned from their sleep by sound of drum and beacon-light-marching against an imaginary enemy, to the warlike border air of "Wha dare meddle wi' me" - Leyden's face kindled; he started up, and, with strange melody and wild gesticulation, sang aloud— Wha dare meddle wi' me? Wha dare meddle wi' me? |