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The pure in heart, the contrite pious soul

Dwell in unsullied light beyond the starry pole:
:To faith, liope, charity their lives were given,
And now they reign with Christ for everinore in heaven.

With wondrous beauty cloth’d, in order bright,
With crowns of gold, and vests of dazzling white,
The saints of God appear, -raptur’d they rise,
And mount in splendour to their kindred skies,
With jov their Saviour and their God to see,
And live in light and love to all eternity:
No more shall death or pain, or grief annoy,
But each revolving hour awake increasing joy;
Seated on royal seats the feast they join,
A banquet spread by grace and love divine;
With seraphs and with seraphim unite,
Around the throne of God's eternal light.

To silver larps symphonious hymns they sing,
Warbling the praises of the Almighty King,
Who gave his only Son for man to die,
And open by his death the portals of the sky:
To lead his followers to their blest abode,
The mercy-seat of heaven, the bosom of their God.

All praise to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
From man redeem'd, and from the heavenly host.

LACHIN Y GAIR.

From Lord Byron's Hours of Idleness.

LACHIN Y GAIR, or as it is pronounced in the Erse, Loch NA GARR,

towers proudly pre-eminent in the northern Highlands, near Invercauld. One of our modern tourists mentions it as the highest mountain perhaps in Great Britain : be this as it may, it is certainly one of the most sublime and picturesque amongst our

“ Caledoniau Alps.” Its appearance is of a dusky hue, but the summit is the seat of eternal snows: near Lachin y Gair I spent some of the early part of my life, the recollection of which has given birth to the following stanzas:

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I.
AWAY; se say landscapes! pe gardens of roses !

In
you

let the minions of luxury
Restore me the rocks, where the snow-fake reposes,

Though still they are sacred to freedom and love;

Yet, Yet, Caledonia! belov'd are thy mountains,

Round their white summits though elements war,
Thouzb cataracts foam, 'stead of smooth flowing fountains,

I sigh for the valley of dark Lochin y Garr.

II.
Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wander’d,

My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid *
On chieftains long perish'd my memory ponder'd,

As daily I strode through the pine-cover'd glade;
I sought not my home, till the day's dying glory

Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star;
For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story,

Disclos'd by the natives of dark Loch na Garr.

III.
“ Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices

“ Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale ?"
Surely the soul of the liero rejoices,

And rides on the wind o'er his own Highland vale.
Round Loch na Garr wbile the stormy mist gathers,

Winter presides in his cold icy ear,
Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers,

They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr.

IV.
“ Ill starred t, thongh brave, did no visions foreboding,

“ Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause?"
Ah! were you destin'd to die at Culloden 1,

Victory crown'd not your fall with applause;
Still were you happy in death's earthly slumber,
You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemarll

,
The pibroch § resounds, to the piper's loud number,

Your deeds, on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr.

Years

* This word is erroneously pronounced plad: the proper pronunciation (according to the Scotch) is shewn by the orthography.

+ I allude here to my maternal ancestors, the “Gordons," many of whom fought for the unfortunate prince Charles, better known by the name of the Pretender. This branch was nearly allied by blood, as well as attachment to the Stuarts. George the ed earl of Huntley, married the priucess Annabella Stuart, daughter of James I. of Scotland. By her he left tour sons; the third sir William Gordon, I have the honour to claim as one of my progenitors.

# Whether any perished in the battle of Cnlloden, I am not certain; but as many fell in the insurrection, I have used the name of the principal action, “pars pro toto.” || A tract of the Highlands so called; there is aiso a castle at Braemar.

A bagpipe.

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Years have rolld on, Loch na Garr! since I left you;

Years must elapse, ere I tread you again: Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you,

Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain: Epgland! thy beauties are tame and domestic,

To one who has rov'd on the mountains afar, Oh! for the crags that are wild and majestic,

The steep, frowning glories of dark Loch na Garr.

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What though we befriendit young Charlie?

To tell it I dinna think shanie; Poor lad! he came to us but barely,

An' reckoned our mountains his hame: 'Tis true that our reason forbade us,

But tenderness carried the day;
Had Geordie come friendless amaug us,
Wi' him we had a' gane away.-

Sword an' buckler an'a',
Buckler an' sword an'a';
For George will encounter the devil,
Wi' sword an' buckler an'a'.

An' o I wad eagerly press him

The keys of the East to retain; For should he gi'e up the possession,

We'll soon hae to force them again; Than yield up an inch wi' dishopour,

Though it war my finishin' blow, He ay may depend on Macdonald, wi's Highlandmen all in a row.

Knees an' elbows an'a',
Elbows an' knees an' a';
Depend upon Donald Macdonald,
His knees an' elbows an'a'.

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If Bonapart land at Fort William,

Auld Europe nae langer shall grane;
I laugh, whan I think how we'll gall him

Wi' bullet, wi' steel, an' wi' stane;
Wi' rocks o' the Nevis an' Gairy,

We'll rattle him aff frae our shore ;
Or lull bim asleep in a cairney,
An’sing him— Lochaber no more!

Stanes an' bullets an'a',
Bullets an' stanes an'a';
We'll finish the Corsican callan',
Wi' stanes an’ bullets an' a'.

The Gordon is gude in a hurry;

An' Campbell is strel to the barte; An' Grant, an' Mackenzie, an' Murray,

Au' Cameron will hurkle to nane, The Siuarts are sturdy an’ wapple,

An’ sae is Macleod an' Mackay; An' I, their gude-brither Macdonald

Sal ne'er be the last i’ the fray.--

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