She thought to catch the distant strain, In listening mood she seemed to stand, SONG OF MEG MERRILIES AT THE BIRTH OF THE INFANT. "She sat upon a broken corner-stone in the angle of a paved apartment, part of which she had swept clean to afford a smooth space for the evolutions of her spindle. A strong sunbeam, through a lofty and narrow window, fell upon her wild dress and features, and afforded her light for her occupation; the rest of the apartment was very gloomy. Equipt in a habit which mingled the national dress of the Scottish common people with something of an eastern costume, she spun a thread, drawn from wool of three different colours, black, white, and gray, by assistance of those ancient implements of housewifery now almost banished from the land, the distaff and spindle. As she spun, she sung what seemed to be a charm. Mannering, after in vain attempting to make himself master of the exact words of her song, afterwards attempted the following paraphrase of what, from a few intelligible phrases, he concluded to be its purport :" TWIST ye, twine ye! even so, Mingle shades of joy and woe, While the mystic twist is spinning Passions wild, and follies vain, Now they wax, and now they dwindle Mingle human bliss and woe. SONG OF MEG MERRILIES FOR THE PARTING SPIRIT. "Upon a lair composed of straw, with a blanket stretched over it, lay a figure, so still, that, except that it was not dressed in the ordinary habiliments of the grave, Brown would have concluded it to be a corpse. On a steadier vi he perceived it was only on the point of becoming so, for he heard one or two of those low, deep, and hard drawn sighs, that precede dissolution when the frame is tenacious of life. A female figure, dressed in a long cloak, sat on a stone by this miserable couch; her elbows rested upon her knees, and her face, averted from the light of an iron lamp beside her, was bent upon that of the dying person. She moistened his mouth from time to time with some liquid, and between whiles sung, in a low monotonous cadence, one of those prayers, or rather spells, which, in some parts of Scotland, and the north of England, are used by the vulgar and ignorant to speed the passage of a parting spirit, like the tolling of the bell in Catholic days. She accompanied this dismal sound with a slow rocking motion of her body to and fro, as if to keep time with her song. The words ran nearly thus:" WASTED, weary, wherefore stay, Wrestling thus with earth and clay? Hark! the mass is singing. From thee doff thy mortal weed, Fear not snow-drift driving fast, That shall ne'er know waking. Haste thee, haste thee, to be gone, WHY SIT'ST THOU BY THAT RUINED hall. "The window of a turret, which projected at an angle with the wall, and thus came to be very near Lovel's apartment, was half open, and from that quarter he heard again the same music which had probably broken short his dream. With its visionary character it had lost much of its charms-it was now nothing more than an air on the harpsichord, tolerably well performed-such is the caprice of imagination as affecting the fine arts. A female voice sung, with some taste and great simplicity, something between a song and a hymn, in words to the following effect:" "WHY sit'st thou by that ruin'd hall, Or ponder how it pass'd away?"— "Know'st thou not me?" the Deep Voice cried; Alternate, in thy fickle pride, Desired, neglected, and accused! "Before my breath, like blazing flax, When time and thou shalt part for ever.” REBECCA'S HYMN. 'It was in the twilight of the day when her trial, if it could be called such, had taken place, that a low knock was heard at the door of Rebecca's prison chamber. It disturbed not the inmate, who was then engaged in the evening prayer recommended by her religion, and which concluded with a hymn, which we have ventured thus to translate into English: " WHEN Israel, of the Lord beloved, Out from the land of bondage came, And trump and timbrel answer'd keen, Forsaken Israel wanders lone: But present still, though now unseen! And oh, when stoops on Judah's path Our harps we left by burning streams, And mute are timbrel, harp, and horn. ROMAN CATHOLIC HYMN FOR THE SOUL OF THE DECEASED. "Four maidens, Rowena leading the choir, raised a hymn for the soul of the deceased, of which we have only been able to decipher two or three stanzas: DUST unto dust, To this all must; The tenant hath resign'd To waste and worm- Through paths unknown To seek the realms of woe, Shall purge the stain Of actions done below. In that sad place, Brief may thy dwelling be! Till prayers and alms, And holy psalms, Shall set the captive free. ANNOT LYLE'S SONG. "A little Gaelic song, in which she, expressed her feelings, has been translated by the ingenious and unhappy Alexander M'Donald; and we willingly transcribe the lines: "_ WERT thou, like me, in life's low vale, With thee how blest, that lot I'd share ; With thee I'd fly wherever gale But, parted by severe decree, Far different must our fortunes prove; To weep and pray for him I love. The pangs this foolish heart must feel, No sullen murmur shall reveal, No selfish murmurs ever own. Nor will I, through life's weary years, JAMES MONTGOMERY. MONTGOMERY is an amiable and pleasing writer, whose compositions, both prose and poetry, display a delightful fancy, and a feeling heart. His productions are particularly valuable, for their excellent moral and religious tendency. He is one of the few poets, whose volumes we may read through, without finding anything to shock the most refined and devotional taste. PSALM CIII. O MY Soul, with all thy powers, He thy peace and pardon seal'd. He with loving kindness crown'd thee, Slow to wrath, to favour free. He will not retain displeasure, As the heaven the earth transcends, Far as east and west are parted, As a father loving-hearted Spares his son, he spareth us; For he knows our feeble frame, Mark the field flower where it groweth, When the south wind softly bloweth, |