There is a voice among the trees That mingles with the groaning oak— That mingles with the stormy breeze, And the lake-waves dashing against the rock;- There is a voice within the wood, The voice of the Bard in fitful mood, His song was louder than the blast, As the Bard of Glenmore through the forest past. "Wake ye from your sleep of death, * Written under the threat of invasion, in the autumn of 1804. "The spectre with his bloody hand,* "Is wandering through the wild woodland; "Souls of the mighty! wake and say, "To what high strain your harps were strung, * The forest of Glenmore is haunted by a spirit called Lhamdearg, or Redhand. Where the Norwegian invader of Scotland received two bloody defeats. "When targets clash'd, and bugles rung, "And hymn'd the joys of Liberty !" TO A LADY, WITH FLOWERS FROM A ROMAN WALL.-Walter Scott. THE NYMPH OF THE MOUNTAIN STREAM.-MRS HUNter. NYMPH of the mountain-stream, thy foaming urn No plant can flourish and no flow'r can blow; 1. Yet not in vain thy murm'ring fountain flows, And when far distant from the glowing scene Of castles, winding straths, and tufted woods, To meet thee, lonely Nymph! beside thy mountain-stream, TO THE EVENING PRIMROSE.-MRS HUNTER, THE Sun declines, his parting ray Soft melancholy bloom, to thee They sink beneath the tomb. By thee I'll sit, and inly muse, |