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Anchor now, or turn in time, 

 Ere within the torrid clime 

 Which the tropic fender bounds, 

 And with brazen zone surrounds ; 

 Turn thee, weary little vessel, 

 Nor with further perils wrestle ; 

 Turn thee, to refit awhile 

 In the sweetly sheltering smile 

 Of thine own Maternal Isle — 

 In the haven of dear rest 

 Proffered by the doating breast 

 And the ever ready knee 

 Ol a mother true to thee 

 As the best of mothers be ! 



Nay ! adventurous little ship ! 

 If thine anchor's still a-trip, 

 And, instead of port you choose 

 Such another toilsome cruise, 

 Wheresoe'r the whim may lead thee, 

 On ! my treasure ! and G od speed thee ! 

 Hackneyed as, perchance, they be, 

 Solemn words are these to me. 

 Nor from an irreverent lip 

 Heedlessly or lightly slip : 

 Even He whose name I take 

 Thus, my dear one, for thy sake, 

 In this seeming idle strain, 

 Knows I take it not " in vain,' 

 But as in a parent's prayer 

 Unto Him, to bless and spare ! 



He also quoted, paying a high and deserved compliment to 

 Dr. Brown, the able and experienced Physician to the Crichton 

 Lunatic Asylum, in Dumfriesshire, two Sonnets from a little 

 publication called " The New Moon," published for, and solely 

 contributed to by, the inmates of that excellent institution : — 



SONNET. 



The tide that falls on Ocean's breast 

 Again may reach the shore ; 



The gallant ship that has been wrecked 

 May put to sea once more. 



