She heeded not the breeze that blew,

Chill on her bosom bare;

She heeded not the hoary dew,

That gemmed her raven hair.

But vainly looks she to the hill,

And vainly to the lea,

She starts-'tis but the distant rill

'Tis but the rustling tree.

The twilight fades-the moon shines clear,
And still her watch she keeps;
But hark!-a moan comes o'er her ear

Of one that wails and weeps.

Ah, no!-full well she knows the sound-
The sign of dule and death!

The moaning wild of startled hound,
That bays the passing wraith!

And dimly down the distance, lo!
A warrior's corse between;
With wail and woe, descending slow,

The train of death is seen!

*

Where yonder birches wave and weep
O'er Teith's transparent tide;
Beneath one grassy mound they sleep,

The chieftain and his bride!

Our next extract shall be from a piece entitled "A Sketch," the the whole of which we would gladly transfer to our pages, so beautiful is it. We are compelled, however, to satisfy ourselves with a few lines which we doubt not will create a desire in the mind of every real lover of poetry to see the whole. The "Sketch," commences with a

description of a garret, small and mean," and "furnished scantily." This room unseemly and forbidding as is its appearance is tenanted by one of this earth's true nobility. Of this individual we have the following description.

A SKETCH.

BEFORE the wooden table sat a form

Which well accorded with the place; that form
In all its shrunk proportions did denote
Heart-wearing poverty, and toil, and woe ;—
In sable suit 'twas clad, thread-bare and old,
Yet could not that mean vesture hide a grace,
A native elegance, a harmony

Of bearing and of form, which did proclaim,

That those shrunk limbs had been of perfect mould,
Once faultless in their symmetry, and strong

In manly energy, buoyant with life;

Time had not wrought the change; for young he was-
Ay, very young: scarce twenty years had passed
Across his heaven of life; but those few years
Had been all cloud, with scarce one ray of light:

And ah, how well can want and weary woe
Perform the work of Time!

The young man leaned his head upon

his hand;

His face turned upward met the sickly light.
That face was beautiful! at once it drew
The gazer's admiration; the eye entranced,
Might dwell for ever there unsatisfied.
It was a beauty of no common cast,
Consisting not in feature or in hue,
But all in spirit and in character,

A beauty which seemed scarce of earth,

So pure, so spiritual! and alas!

There was a something in its grace which told
Of fell disease, fragility and death-
A something undefinable which told

That that frail tenement so beautiful,

Not long would keep the treasure it enshrined,
But, robbed of that to which it owed its all
Of loveliness and int'rest, would become
A thing of nought—a worthless clod of earth!

'Twas strange how many mingled feelings grew
Within the heart, while dwelt the fixed gaze
Upon that upturned face,-pity, and dread,
And tearful interest, and sympathy,
Esteem, affection, admiration, - all

Had one spontaneous birth. At once you

felt

The charm of those still features, there the spell.

The eye-oh, in that dark and lustrous eye

What generous glance! what power, what mind, what soul,

From those clear depths resplendently shone forth!

The eye proclaimed the POET! there was seen
Reflected, all the soul of which it shone

The perfect mirror-all the POET's soul!
Ay, that garret's lonely denizen

Was Poesy's own child! a Poet He

In his whole nature-every feeling - thought!
What need had He of space, or air, or light?
The poet in a dungeon is the same—
The self same poet as when free he roves

The boundless paths of earth! the lonely roof,

The dingy, cob-webbed wall, the dust, the smoke,
The homely furniture, the darkened air,

The rayless pane-what are all these to him?
He sees them not!-

We now leave the University Album fully persuaded that it will be a favourite with all who take any interest in our venerable University. None must judge of it by its predecessors. In style at least, if in no other respect, it stands alone.

NOTE.

ON account of the illness of the Editor and his consequent inability to superintend the publication of the last number, several inaccuracies appeared. Most of these the reader would easily correct for himself. In one case, however, the sense was materially affected. The sentence in Page 188, line 15, commencing,-We believe, &c, should have have stood as follows.

We believe that notwithstanding the coincidences which are to be found in the writings of the two philosophers, there are ample traces in those of Coleridge of great and marked originality and that too, upon the very points in which they are found to agree most. If, moreover, Coleridge has emphatically denied the charge of intentional plagiarism, we maintain that no one has a right to charge that crime upon him, unless upon evidence of the clearest character, that his powers, as indicated by those portions of his writings concerning the authorship of which there is no doubt, were altogether incompetent to the task of originating the ideas himself. That Coleridge had a mind of vast powers capable of grasping the mightiest subjects which come within the range of human reason, none who are fully acquainted with the productions of his pen or those sentiments, &c.

GLASGOW:-PRINTED BY george richARDSON, 35, MILLER STREET.

THIS title will no doubt carry many of our readers to an assembly far more important and august than the Glasgow University Peel Club and will present to their minds the thought of interests with which those of our University will bear no comparison. It will awaken in their minds the recollection of those inimitable displays of argument and eloquence which have thrown an additional lustre around the name of Lyndhurst, and which have given him a firmer hold on the affections and gratitude of every true hearted Conservative. Those reviews of Whig inactivity and feebleness; those exposures of the utter inability of the present Government to carry forward the affairs of the country; those censures administered with all the force of justice and with all the captivating influence of the most surpassing eloquence, have conferred the greatest benefits upon the cause of good government, and have covered the present Ministry with a disgrace which is only exceded by that which results from their present tenure of office after such merited condemnations and after the many defeats which they have sustained even in their own House of Commons. Should the Melbourne Ministry outlive the present Session of Parliament, and abuse still further the forbearance of an indignant people, we shall expect from Lord Lyndhurst "a review of the Session" more withering than any which he has yet given. The events which have transpired since