Oh! it was not thus when his oaken spear

Was true to that knight forlorn ;

And hosts of a thousand were scattered like deer
At the blasts of the hunter's horn;

When he strode on the wreck of each well-fought field
With the yellow-hair'd chiefs of his native land;
For his lance was not shiver'd on helmet or shield,
And the sword that seem'd fit for Archangel to wield,
Was light in his terrible hand.

Yet bleeding and bound though the Wallace wight
For his long-lov'd country die!

The bugle ne'er sung to a braver knight

Than William of Elderslie !

But the day of his glory shall never depart;

His head unentomb'd shall with glory be palm'd, From its blood-streaming altar his spirit shall start, Though the raven has fed on his mouldering heart, A nobler was never enbalmed.

THE TINKER AND MILLER'S DAUGHTER.
Peter Pindar.

THE meanest creature somewhat may contain,
As Providence ne'er makes a thing in vain.

Upon a day, a poor and trav'lling tinker,
In fortune's various tricks a constant thinker,

Pass'd in some village near a miller's door,
Where, lo! his eye did most astonish'd catch
The miller's daughter peeping o'er the hatch,
Deform'd, and monstrous ugly, to be sure.

Struck with the uncommon form, the tinker started, Just like a frighten'd horse or murd'rer carted, Up gazing at the gibbet and the rope; Turning his brain about, in a brown study, (For as I've said, his brain was not so muddy,) "'Sbud! (quoth the tinker) I have now some hope.

"Fortune, the jade, is not far off, perchance' And then began to rub his hands and dance.

Now all so full of love, o'erjoyed he ran,
Embrac'd and squeez'd Miss Grist, and thus began :
"My dear, my soul, my angel, sweet Miss Grist,
Now may I never mend a kettle more,

If ever I saw one like you before!"

Then, nothing loth, like Eve, the nymph he kiss'd.

Now, very sensibly indeed, Miss Grist,
Thought opportunity should not be miss'd;
Knowing that prudery oft lets slip a joy ;
Thus was Miss Grist too prudent to be coy.

For really 'tis with girls a dangerous farce,
To flout a swain when offers are but scarce.

She did not scream, and cry, "I'll not be woo'd ;
Keep off, you smutty fellow-don't be rude;
I'm meat for your superiors, tinker."-No,
Indeed, she treated not the tinker so.

But lo, the damsel with her usual squint,
Suffered her tinker love, to imprint

Sweet kisses on her lips, and squeeze her hand,
Hug her, and say the softest things unto her,
And in love's plain and pretty language woo her,
Without a frown, or even a reprimand.

Soon won, the nymph agreed to join his bed,
And, when the tinker chose, to church be led.

Now to the father the brisk lover hied;
Who at his noisy mill so busy plied,
Grinding, and taking handsome toll of corn,
Sometimes indeed too handsome to be borne.

"Ho! Master Miller," did the tinker say

Forth from his cloud of flour the miller came, "Nice weather, Master Miller-charming dayHeav'n's very kind "-the miller said the same.

"Now, miller, possibly you may not guess

At this same business I am come about: 'Tis this then,-know, I love your daughter Bess :There, Master Miller !—now the riddle's out.

"I'm not for mincing matters, Sir! d'ye see— I likes your daughter Bess, and she likes me.

"Poh!" quoth the miller, grinning at the tinker,

"Thou dost not mean to marriage to persuade her; Ugly as is old Nick I needs must think her,

Though, to be sure, 'tis said, 'twas me that made her.

"No, no, though she's my daughter, I'm not blind;
But, tinker, what hath now possess'd thy mind;
Thou'rt the first offer she has met, by dad-
But tell me, tinker, art thou drunk, or mad?'

"No-I'm not drunk nor mad," the tinker cried,
"But Bet's the maid I wish to make my bride;

No girl in these two eyes doth Bet excel."
"Why, fool," the miller said, "Bet hath a hump!
And then her nose!-the nose of my old pump.

"I know it," quoth the tinker, "know it well."
"Her face," quoth Grist, "is freckled, wrinkled, flat;
Her mouth as wide as that of my tom cat;

And then she squints a thousand ways at once
Her waist, a corkscrew; and her hair how red!
A downright bunch of carrots on her head-

Why what the deuce is got into thy sconce?"
"No deuce is in my sconce," rejoin'd the tinker;
"But, Sir, what's that to you, if fine I think her."
"Why, man," quoth Grist, "she's fit to make a show,
And therefore sure I am that thou must banter."
"Miller," replied the tinker, "right, for know,

'Tis for that very thing, a show, I want her."

AMBITION.

DEEP in the crystalline water, and hid in a charming alcove,
Surrounded by numerous plants, all verdant, and healthy, and flourishing,
Playfully spreading their tendrils, each bearing the impress of Alla:

Deep in the crystalline water, and hid in a charming alcove,

Lay many sons of the element,-shells of most wondrous formation,
Rich in a myriad of hues, and bright as the eye of Ayesha.

Sometimes the water ran noisily, turbulent in its career.

"Aha!" laughed these beautiful shells, "it is little we care for thine

uproar;

Our charming alcove, though but small, protects us, in part, from thy

fury."

Far above these happy shells, nigh to the water's bright surface,
Dwelt there a cluster of others; but they were much larger and richer;
And the small brethren revered them because of their higher condition.

Splendid recesses of coral, flashing amid the pure element,
Elegant in their formation, and boasting transcendant magnificence,
Graced the clear glistening water, and were the bright homes of these
larger shells.

Ah! when the water ran noisily, turbulent in its career,

These larger shells 'countered its fury in greater degree than the smaller

ones,

Because of the surface extensive which they to the water presented.

And oft when the water coursed onward, ruled by the right hand of Alla,
It threw itself wildly against the coral alcoves of these larger shells,
And some of them tremblingly bowed before the stern force of the current.

Bowed before the swift current, though feebly resisting its might,And, sorrowing, fell from their homes, down, down to the place of the smaller ones,

And because of their grander condition the fall was, alas! much the greater.

Now, one of the little shells lying secure in the lower alcove,
Not heeding the many descents of its nobler relations, the larger shells,
Determined to raise itself unto an eminence equal with those above.

This shell, so aspiring and eager to be o'er its fellow companions, Though vain, discontented and selfish, was shrewd in no minor degree, And therefore it chose to set out on a day when the waters were placid.

Onward it cautiously went, gently rising amid the pure element,
Proceeding with slowness and care, avoiding the coralline branches,
And thinking of nought save the honour which it from its friends would
obtain.

Gently progressing, and wary of things which might tend to obstruct,
Shunning the weed and the twiglet, so dangerous to its success,
In process of time the vain shell was far above all of its fellows.

Then, resting awhile from its labours, it mused on the friends left behind,

"Poor things! how I pity your folly; contented to dwell as ye are, With no inward wish to improve your condition, or heighten your rank !

Lamentable 'tis that your ignorance may not now be dissipated;
Were ye endued with my feelings, so lofty, so noble, so grand,

How would ye loath your condition, and think with contempt of your

lowliness!

Thus mused the shell, then proceeded again on its watery way,
And carefully minding the many entanglements found in its path,
Smoothly and well it ascended—the water continuing placid.

Now it approached the larger shells, which it so often had envied,
But as it drew near to their homes, the aspiring one paused for a moment,
And mused within itself thus :-"I will stand above ye, noble friends!

So, avoiding the dazzling alcoves in which dwelt these beautiful shells, The vain one proceeded with caution; and, rising amid the still water, In a while it arrived near the surface serene as the brow of an angel.

And the radiant sun-glory poured through the waters so free from commotion,

And circled the venturous shell in a halo of heavenly light,

And all was effulgence and splendour, and paradise seemed to be there!

Surrounded by glorious light, the beautiful shell murmured thus :— "What splendour! What richness I see! Yet above it must be more

intense :

Not here will I rest from my labours; no, no; I will rise, I will rise !"
Once more did the bold shell ascend, but alas! on that perilous way
A darkness ensued, for the glorious sunshine was veiled in its course,
By the clouds of adversity coming 'tween it and the venturous shell!
Then, guideless, and knowing no path, the beautiful one fast descended,
Down, down, through the light-wanting water; down, down, with a
fearful velocity,
Down, down, till it fell in the charming, though humble alcove of its
friends!

And they said to the poor foolish shell, "Oh, hadst thou remained with us here,

Thou would'st never have been thus degraded, and happiness might have

been thine;

But no, thou wert restless and vain; and this is the fruit of Ambition !” WILLIAM F. PEACOCK.

NAPOLEON.

YES! bury him deep in the infinite sea;
Let his heart have a limitless grave;
For his spirit in life was fierce and free
As the course of the tempest's wave.

As far from the stretch of all earthly controul,
Were the fathomless depths of his mind;
And the ebbs and flows of his single soul,
Were as tides to the rest of mankind.

Then his briny pall shall engirdle the world,
As in life did the voice of his fame;

And each mutinous billow, that's skyward curl'd,
Shall seem to re-echo his name.

That name shall be storied in records sublime,

In the uttermost corners of earth;

Now breathed as a curse now a spell-word sublime,
In the glorified land of his birth.

His airy form, on some lofty mast,

In fire-fraught clouds shall appear,

And mix with the shriek of the hurricane blast,

His voice to the fancy of fear.

Yes! plunge his dark heart in the infinite sea,

It would burst from a narrower tomb

Shall less than an ocean his sepulchre be,

Whose mandate to millions was doom?-Poetical Album.