for elegance of versification,
perspicuity of sentiment, and deep and generous feeling. A thorough
patriot, some of his best songs on subjects connected with Scottish
scenery were written on the plains of Africa. Beneficent in disposition,
and conciliatory in private intercourse, he was especially
uncompromising in the maintenance of his political opinions; and to this
peculiarity may be traceable some of his earlier misfortunes. In person
he was under the middle height; his countenance was open and benignant,
with a well developed forehead. He was much influenced by sincere
religious convictions. His poetical works, with a memoir by Mr Leitch
Ritchie, have been published by Mr Moxon for the benefit of his widow.

FAREWELL TO BONNIE TEVIOTDALE.

Our native land--our native vale--
A long, a last adieu;
Farewell to bonnie Teviotdale,
And Cheviot's mountains blue!

Farewell, ye hills of glorious deeds,
Ye streams renown'd in song;
Farewell, ye braes and blossom'd meads,
Our hearts have loved so long!

Farewell, the blithsome broomy knowes,
Where thyme and harebells grow;
Farewell, the hoary, haunted howes,
O'erhung with birk and sloe!

The mossy cave and mouldering tower,
That skirt our native dells;
The martyr's grave and lover's bower,
We bid a sad farewell!

Home of our love--our fathers' home--
Land of the brave and free--
The sail is flapping on the foam
That bears us far from thee!

We seek a wild and distant shore,
Beyond the western main;
We leave thee to return no more,
Nor view thy cliffs again!

Our native land--our native vale--
A long, a last adieu!
Farewell to bonnie Teviotdale,
And Scotland's mountains blue!

THE EXILE'S LAMENT.

By the lone Mankayana's margin gray
A Scottish maiden sung;
And mournfully pour'd her melting lay
In Teviot's border-tongue:
O bonnie grows the broom on Blaiklaw knowes,
And the birk in Clifton dale;
And green are the hills o' the milk-white ewes,
By the briery banks o' Cayle!

Here bright are the skies; and these valleys of bloom
May enchant the traveller's eye;
But all seems dress'd in death-like gloom,
To the exile who comes to die!
O bonnie grows the broom, &c.

Far round and round spreads the howling waste,