POETRY. 929 



And whatsoe'er the happiest muse 



Can fancy in the name of — "■ home.'^ 



■ Whate'er the aood and wise would chusc,— 

 Whatis hop'd by all, and given to some, 



Be yours! — and may your scholars learn 

 That oft with 'sociates to your mind, 



You eye with glee their trim — " Epeugne j" 

 And think of Pickles left behind. 



You, in return, once more indite 



A lesson fair, as sure you can ; 

 And as you've taught the boy to write ; 



Now write yourself, — and teach the man. 



BALLAD. 



BY THOMAS CAMPBELL. 



(Noxo first published.) 



A CHIEFTAIN to the Highlands bound, 

 Cries, " boatman ! do not tarry, 

 And I'll give thee a silver pound ;: 



To row us o'er the ferry." 



*' Now who be ye. would cross'Lochgyle, 



This dark and stormy water ?'' 

 " Oh ! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle, « 



And this lord Ullin's daughter. 



" And fast before her father's men, 



Three days we've fled together ; 

 For if he find us in the glen, 



My blood will stain the heather. 



*' His horsemen hard behind us ride; 



Should they our steps discover, 

 Then who will cheer my bonny bridej 



When they have slain her lover." 



Out spoke the hardy Highland wight, 



" I'll go my chief, I'm ready : 

 It is not for your silver bright, 



But for your winsome lady. 



* 



Vol. XLVI. 3 O And 



