HIGHLAND MARY.

BY ROBERT BURNS.

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around
The castle o' Montgomery,

Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie!
There simmer first unfauld her robes,

And there the langest tarry!

For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom,

As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasped her to my bosom!

The golden hours on angel wings
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me as light and life
Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' monie a vow and locked embrace
Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore ourselves asunder;
But O! fell death's untimely frost,

That nipped my flower sae early!
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,
That wraps my Highland Mary.

O pale, pale now those rosy lips
I aft hae kissed sae fondly!

And closed for aye the sparkling glance
That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mould'ring now in silent dust
That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core
Shall live my Highland Mary.

THE LAMB.

BY WILLIAM BLAKE.

In speaking of William Blake's "Songs of Innocence," Swinburne says: "These poems are really unequaled of their kind. Such verse was never written for children since verse writing began.

Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life and bade thee feed
By the stream and o'er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,

PSALM XXIV.

The earth is the Lord's, and the fullness thereof;

The world and they that dwell therein.

For he hath founded it upon the seas,

And established it upon the floods.

Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord?

Or who shall stand in his holy place?

He that hath clean hands,

And a pure heart;

Who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity,
Nor sworn deceitfully.

He shall receive the blessing from the Lord,

And righteousness from the God of his salvation.
This is the generation of them that seek him,
That seek thy face, O Jacob.

Lift up your heads, O ye gates;

And be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory

shall come in.

Who is this King of glory?

The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle.

Lift up your heads, O ye gates;

Even lift them up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory

From the intense, clear, star sown vault of heaven,
O'er the lit sea's unquiet way,

In the rustling night air came the answer-
"Wouldst thou be as these are? Live as they.