he Highlands
Thou hast left a glorious pledge,
To the honour of our native land,
In every coming age:
By thy royal voice that spoke
On the soil where springs the oak--
By the freedom of the land
That can never bear a slave--
The Breadalbane Oak shall stand
With the brave, with the brave!

EVENING.

Oh, how I love the evening hour,
Its calm and tranquil sky,
When the parting sun from a sea of gold
Is passing silently;
And the western clouds--bright robes of heaven--
Rest gently on the breast of even!

How calm, how gorgeous, and how pure,
How peaceful and serene!
There is a promise and a hope
Enthroned o'er all the scene;
While, blushing, with resplendent pride,
The bright sun lingers on the tide.

The zephyrs on the waveless sea
Are wrapt in silent sleep,
And there is not a breath to wake
The slumbers of the deep--
Peace sits on her imperial throne,
And sounds of sadness there are none!

Methinks I hear in distance harps
By heavenly seraphs strung,
And in the concave of the sky
The holy vespers sung!
Oh, thou great Source of light and power,
We bless thee for the evening hour!

MARY.

If there 's a word that whispers love
In gentlest tones to hearts of woe,
If there 's a name more prized above,
And loved with deeper love below,
'Tis Mary.

If there 's a healing sound beneath
To soothe the heart in sorrow's hour,
If there 's a name that angels breathe
In silence with a deeper power,
'Tis Mary.

It softly hangs on many a tongue
In ladies' bower and sacred fane,
The sweetest name by poets sung--
The high and consecrated strain--
Is Mary.

And Scotia's Bard--life's holiest dream
Was his, the silent heavens above,
When on the Bible o'er the stream
He vowed his early vows of love
To Mary.

Oh, with the sweet repose of even,
By forest lone, by fragrant lea,
And by thy beauties all, Loch Leven,
How dear shall the remembrance be
Of Mary!

Scotland and Mary are entwined
With blooming wreath of fadeless green,
And printed on the undying mind;
For, oh! her fai