What though the good, the brave, the wise, With adverse force undaunted rise,

To break the eternal doom!

Though Cato lived, though Tully spoke,
Though Brutus dealt the godlike stroke,
Yet perish'd fated Rome.

To swell some future tyrant's pride,
Good Fleury pours the golden tide
On Gallia's smiling shores;

Once more her fields shall thirst in vain
For wholesome streams of honest gain,
While rapine wastes her stores.

Yet glorious is the great design,
And such, O Pultney! such is thine,

To prop a nation's frame.

If crush'd beneath the sacred weight
The ruins of a falling state,

Shall tell the patriot's name.

JOHN LOGAN.

Soutra. Mid-Lothian.-1748-1788.

Logan is accused of having purloined certain Poems from the manuscript of poor Michael Bruce, and published them as his own. The best pieces in his volume, are, however, indisputably his own.

SONG.

The Braes of Yarrow.

THY braes were bonny, Yarrow stream ! "When first on them I met my lover; "Thy braes how dreary, Yarrow stream! "When now thy waves his body cover! For ever now, O Yarrow stream! "Thou art to me a stream of sorrow; "For never on thy banks shall I

"Behold my love, the flower of Yarrow.

"He promised me a milk-white steed, "To bear me to his father's bowers;

"He promised me a little

page,

"To 'squire me to his father's towers; "He promised me a wedding-ring,"The wedding-day was fix'd to-morrow ;"Now he is wedded to his grave,

"Alas, his watery grave in Yarrow!

"Sweet were his words when last we met; "My passion I as freely told him!

Clasp'd in his arms, I little thought

"That I should never more behold him! "Scarce was he gone, I saw his ghost; "It vanish'd with a shriek of sorrow;

"Thrice did the water-wraith ascend,

"And gave a doleful groan through Yarrow.

"His mother from the window look'd,

"With all the longing of a mother;

"His little sister weeping walk'd

"The green-wood path, to meet her brother. "They sought him east, they sought him west,

They sought him all the forest thorough;

"They only saw the cloud of night,

"No longer from thy window look, "Thou hast no son, thou tender mother! "No longer walk thou lovely maid!

Alas, thou hast no more a brother!

"No longer seek him east or west,

"And search no more the forest thorough; "For, wandering in the night so dark,

"He fell a lifeless corse in Yarrow.

"The tear shall never leave my cheek,
"No other youth shall be my marrow;
"I'll seek thy body in the stream,

"And then with thee I'll sleep in Yarrow."

The tear did never leave her cheek,

No other youth became her marrow;

She found his body in the stream,

And now with him she sleeps in Yarrow.

O D E.

On the Death of a young Lady.

THE peace of Heaven attend thy shade,
My early friend, my favourite maid!
When life was new, companions gay,
We hail'd the morning of our day.

Ah, with what joy did I behold
The flower of beauty fair unfold,

And fear'd no storm to blast thy bloom,
Or bring thee to an earthly tomb!

Untimely gone! for ever fled
The roses of the cheek so red;
The affection warm, the temper mild,
The sweetness that in sorrow smiled.

Alas! the cheek where beauty glow'd,
The heart where goodness overflow'd,
A clod amid the valley lies,

And dust to dust' the mourner cries..

O, from thy kindred early torn,

e;

And to thy grave untimely borne ;
Vanish'd for ever from my view,
Thou, sister of my soul, adieu!

Fair with my first ideas twined,
Thine image oft will meet my mind;

And, while remembrance brings thee near,

Affection sad will drop a tear.

How oft does sorrow bend the head,

Before we dwell among the dead!