And thought be thrown, before unknown,
Within the dullest breast.

My soul doth long for its stirring song,

It makes my heart rejoice;

And nature owns no loftier tones
Than its majestic voice.

'Tis dear to me when it comes between

Sweet summer's shining hours;

I'll not complain, if in its reign
It doth disturb my flowers.

But I love it best in winter drest,

When it comes on its milk-white steed;

When it rides in power, on the snowy shower,
It is beautiful indeed!

Some sigh for a breeze-for a soft, south breeze,
For a life 'neath a summer sky-

For a quiet spot, where storms come not,
And a cloud is never nigh.

For a lovely dell, where the roses dwell,
And the woodbine sweetly twines;
Where no sound is heard, save of the bird
That sings among the vines.

I own the charm of a sun-bright home,

Of a red, rich, rosy bower,

But I'd sometimes hear, in the midnight drear,

The wind's majestic power.

Let me hear it roar on the mountain hoar,

With the hail-stones falling fast;

And the earth should rock, 'neath the mighty shock

Of its tremendous blast.

Some ask a life serene and calm,
Where all is still and mild;
A face as bright, a heart as light,
As a happy, thoughtless child.

A full, full, share in manhood's thoughts,
I'd have reserved for me;

I'd have them flow, down deep and low,
Though troubled they must be.

MISS J. J. NORTON.

LV.-REPLY OF ROB ROY MACGREGOR TO MR. OSBALDIS

TONE.

You speak like a boy-like a boy who thinks the old gnarled oak can be twisted as easily as the young sapling. Can I forget that I have been branded as an outlaw, stigmatized as a traitor, a price set on my head as if I had been a wolf, my family treated as the dam and cubs of the hill-fox, whom all may torment, vilify, degrade, and insult; the very name which came to me from a long and noble line of martial ancestors, denounced, as if it were a spell to con'jure up the devil with?

And they shall find that the name they have dâred to proscribethat the name of MacGregor is a spell to raise the wild devil withal. They shall hear of my vengeance, that would scorn to listen to the story of my wrongs. The miserable highland drover, bankrupt, barefooted, stripped of all, dishonored and hunted down, because the avarice of others grasped at more than that poor all could pay, shall burst on them in an awful change. They that scoffed at the groveling worm, and trod upon him, may cry and howl when they see the stoop of the flying and fiery-mouthed dragon. But why do I speak of all this?-only ye may opine, it frets my patience to be hunted like an otter or a seal, or a salmon upon the shallows, and that by my very friends and neighbors; and to have as many sword-cuts made, and pistols flashed at me, as I had this day at the °ford of Avondow, would try a saint's temper, much more a Highlander's who are not famous for that good gift as you may have heard. But one thing bides with me of what Nichol said. I'm vexed for the bairns-I'm vexed when I think of Robert and Hamish living their father's life— But let us say no more of this.

You must think hardly of us, and it is not natural that it should be otherwise. But remember, at least, we have not been unprovoked; we are a rude and an ignorant, and it may be a violent and passionate, but we are not a cruel people. The land might be at peace and in law for us, did they allow us to enjoy the blessings of peaceful law. But we have been a persecuted people; and if persecution maketh wise men mad, what must it do to men like us, living as our fathers did a thousand years since, and possessing scarce more lights than they did? Can we view their bloody edicts against us-their hanging, heading, hounding, and hunting down an ancient and honorable name—as deserving better treatment than that which enemies give to enemies? Here I stand-have been in twenty frays, and never hurt man but when I was in hot blood-and yet they would betray me, and hang me like a masterless dog, at the gate of any great man that has an ill-will at me.

You are a kind-hearted and an honorable youth, and understand, doubtless, that which is due to the feelings of a man of honor. But the heather that I have trod upon when living must bloom over me when I am dead: my heart would sink, and my arm would shrink and wither, like fern in the frost, were I to lose sight of my native hills; nor has the world a scene that would console me for the loss of the rocks and °cairns, wild as they are, that you see around us. And Helen-what would become of her were I to leave her, the subject of new insult and atrocity?—or how could she bear to be removed from these scenes, where the remembrance of her wrongs is aye sweetened by the recollection of her revenge?

I was once so hard put at by my great enemy, as I may well call him, that I was forced even to give way to the tide, and remove myself and my people and my family from our dwellings in our native land, and to withdraw for a time into MacCullummore's country; and Helen made a lament on our departure, as well as MacRimmon himself could have framed it; and so piteously sad and woesome that our hearts almost broke as we listened to her; it was like the wailing of one for the mother that bare him-and I would not have the same touch of the heart-break again--no, not to have all the lands that were ever owned by MacGregor.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

LVI. TUBAL CAIN.

OLD Tubal Cain was a man of might,
In the days when earth was young;
By the fierce red light of his furnace bright,
The strokes of his hammer rung;

And he lifted high his brawny hand

On the iron glowing clear,

Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers,
As he fashioned the sword and spear.
And he sang “Hurräh for my handiwork!
Hurrah for the spear and sword!

Hurrah for the hand that shall wield thee well,
For he shall be king and lord!"

To Tubal Cain came many a one,

As he wrought by his roaring fire,

And each one prayed for a strong steel blade,
As the crown of his desire:

And he made them weapons sharp and strong,
Till they shouted loud for glee,

And gave him gifts of pearls and gold,
And spoils of the forest free.

And they sang “Hurrah for Tubal Cain,
Who hath given us strength anew!
Hurrah for the smith, hurrah for the fire,
And hurrah for the metal true!"'

But a sudden change came o'er his heart,
Ere the setting of the sun;

And Tubal Cain was filled with pain
For the evil he had done:

He saw that men, with rage and hate,

Made war upon their kind,

That the land was red with the blood they shed,

In their lust for carnage blind.

And he said-" Alas! that ever I made,

Or that skill of mine should plan,

The spear and the sword, for men whose joy
Is to slay their fellow man!"

And for many a day old Tubal Cain

Sat brooding o'er his woe;

And his hand forbore to smite the ore,
And his furnace smouldered low.
But he rose at last with a cheerful face,
And a bright, courageous eye,

And bared his strong right arm for work,
While the quick flames mounted high.

And he sang-"Hurrah for my handiwork!"

And the red sparks lit the air;

"Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made,"

And he fashioned the first ploughshare.

And men, taught wisdom from the past,

In friendship joined their hands,

Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall,
And ploughed the willing lands;

And sang-" Hurrah for Tubal Cain!

Our staunch good friend is he;

And for the ploughshare and the plough,

To him our praise shall be.

But while oppression lifts its head,
Or a tyrant would be lord-

Though we may thank him for the plough,

We'll not forget the sword!"

REV. CHARLES MACKAY.

LVII.-COMBAT BETWEEN THE HORATII AND THE CURIATII.

THE Roman and Alban forces met about five miles from Rome, prepared to decide the fate of their respective kingdoms; for almost every battle in those barbarous times was decisive. The two armies were for sometime drawn out in array, awaiting the signal to begin, both chiding that dreadful suspense which kept them from death or victory. But an unexpected proposal from the Alban general, put a stop to the onset; for stepping in between both armies, he, by single combat, offered the Romans a choice of deciding the dispute; adding, that the side whose champion was overcome, should submit to the conqueror. A proposal like this suited the impetuous temper of the Roman king, and was embraced with joy by his subjects, each of whom hoped that himself should be chosen to fight the cause of his country. Many valiant men offered themselves, but could not be accepted to the exclusion of others, till at last chance suggested a remedy.

There were at that time three twin brothers in each army; those of the Romans were called Horatii, and the Albans, Curiatii; all being remarkable for their courage, strength, and activity. To them it was resolved to commit the management of the combat. When the previous ceremony of oaths and protestations, binding the army of the vanquished party to submit to that of the victorious, was over, the combatants were led forth, amidst the encouragements, the prayers, and the shouts of their country. They were reminded of their former achievements; they were admonished that their fathers, their countrymen, and even the gods, were spectators of their behavior.

When the people expected to see them rush to combat, they quitted their arms, and embraced each other with all the marks of the most tender friendship; but at length, warmed with the importance of the trial, the champions engaged, and each, totally regardless of his own safety, sought only the destruction of his opponent. The spectators, in horrid silence, trembled at every blow, and wished to share the danger; till at length victory, which had hitherto been doubtful, appeared to declare against the Romans. They beheld two of their champions lying dead upon the plain, and the three Curiatii, who were all wounded, slowly endeavoring to pursue the survivor, who seemed, by flight, to beg for mercy.

The Alban army, unable to suppress their joy, raised a loud acclamation, while the Romans inwardly repined at the cowardice of him whom they saw in circumstances of such baseness. Soon, however,