NOR yet less pleasing at the heavenly throne, The Sabbath service of the shepherd boy! In some lone glen, where every sound is lulled To slumber, save the tinkling of the rill, Or bleat of lamb, or hovering falcon's cry, Stretched on the sward, he reads of Jesse's son ; Or sheds a tear o'er him to Egypt sold, And wonders why he weeps; the volume closed, With thyme-sprig laid between the leaves, he sings The sacred lays, his weekly lesson, conned With meikle care beneath the lowly roof, Where humble lore is learnt, where humble worth Pines unrewarded by a thankless state. Thus reading, hymning, all alone, unseen, The shepherd boy the Sabbath holy keeps,

Till on the heights he marks the straggling bands Returning homeward from the house of prayer.

GRAHAME

HE ne'er had seen one earthly sight; The sun, the day; the stars, the night;

Or tree, or butterfly, or flower,

Or fish in stream, or bird in bower,
Or woman, man, or child.

Beside a lake their cottage stood,
Not small, like ours, a peaceful flood;
But one of mighty size, and strange;
That, rough or smooth, is full of change,
And stirring in its bed.

But what do his desires avail?

For he must never handle sail,

Nor mount the mast, nor row, nor float

In sailor's ship or fisher's boat

Upon the rocking waves.

When one day (now mark me well,
Ye soon shall know how this befell)
He's in a vessel of his own,
On the swift water hurrying down
Towards the mighty sea.

But say what bears him?

The shell of a green Turtle, thin
And hollow; you might sit therein,
It was so wide and deep.

'Twas even the largest of its kind,
Large, thin, and light as birch-tree rind,
So light a shell that it would swim,
And gaily lift its fearless brim

Above the tossing surge.

And this the litttle blind Boy knew:
And he a story strange, yet true,
Had heard, how in a shell like this
An English boy, O thought of bliss!
Had stoutly launched from shore.

A bold thought roused him, and he took The shell from out its secret nook,

And bore it in his arms.

And with the happy burthen hied,

And pushed it from Loch Leven's side,—
Stepped into it; and, without dread,

Following the fancies in his head,
He paddled up and down.

Awhile he stood upon his feet;

He felt the motion-took his seat;
And dallied thus, till from the shore
The tide, retreating more and more,
Had sucked, and sucked him in.

THE BLIND HIGHLAND BOY.

But when he was first seen, oh me,
What shrieking and what misery!

And quickly, with a silent crew,

A boat is ready to pursue;

And from the shore their course they take, And swiftly down the running lake

They follow the blind Boy.

And then, when he was brought to land,
Full sure they were a happy band,
Which, gathering round, did on the banks
Of that great water give God thanks,
And welcomed the poor Child.