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Their prophet-mantles rolled in blood,
By tribulation riven,

From Scotland's ark, drove back the flood, "That chased them up to heaven."

Where Peden bold, by flood and fold,
On mountain, moor, or glen,
All seer-like, bore salvation's cup
To fainting martyr-men;

When heaven's brooding wing of love,
Like Israel's pillar-cloud,

Them lapped in Nature's misty tent-
A prayer-woven shroud.

Their home was oft the mountain cave,
Their couch the waving fern,
Their pillow oft the grey moss stone,
In moorlands dark and stern.

'Mid bleatings of the mountain lamb,
The melody of rills,

The moss-hag, 'mid the purple blooms,
Deep in the heathy hills;

The auld cairn, where the plover wails,
And fern and thistle waves,

'Mid green spots in the wilderness-
There, seek the martyrs' graves.

THE E'ENIN' FA'.

The bee has left the closin' flow'r,
The lark the downy air;
An' saftly fa's the dewy hour,
That woos the heart frae care:

The choral sang o' joyfu' day,
In murmurs die awa';

The gowden blush on burn an' brae
Melts in our e'enin' fa'.

The e'enin' star blinks bonnilie,
To wyle the day awa';

Hope whispers in its sparkling e'e
O' rest at e'enin' fa';

Of hames afar o' peace an' light,
Where tempests never blaw,
Nor gatherin' shadows tell o' night,
Where comes nae e'enin' fa'.

Noo mithers seek the wander'd wean,

An' berds their roamin' sheep,

Pale sorrow dauners oot alane,

O'er hapless waes to weep;

F

Amang the shades o' brighter days,
Weird memory melts awa',

And trims his lamp wi' faded rays,
Alane at e'enin' fa'.

Frae burn an' brae the weary bairns,
Wi' wild flow'rs busket braw,
Cower cannily by haunted cairns,
Chased hame by e'enin' fa';
The corn-craik chirmeth eerilie,
Where Nature's tear-draps fa';
An' gowans shut their dewy e'e,
To sleep at e'enin' fa'.

Noo plovers sing their wail-a-day,
Where heather blossoms blaw;
An' downy mists row doun the brae,
To hap the e'enin' fa'.

Noo slowly comes the hush divine,
O'er dusky glen an' shaw,

Sae like to heaven's walking time-
The holy e'enin' fa'.

The gudewife plies her e'enin' fire,
The bairns around it draw,
To welcome hame the weary sire,
Just at the e'enin fa'.

The langest day wears to an end,
Earth's darkest night awa'-
To weary hearts and weary men,
How sweet the e'enin' fa'!

But, O there's no a bonnier sight,
'Mang Scotland's hearths ava,
Than when, aneath the blinkin' light,
They kneel at e'enin' fa'.

For auld an' young maun bend the knee-
The servant, sire an' a',

Pour forth the holy psalmody

A' ane at e'enin' fa'!

An' weel I lo'e the e'enin' fire,

Where kind hearts gather a’;

The blending tones o' voice an' lyre-
How sweet at e'enin' fa'!

To read auld stories o' the past,

O' friends noo far awa';

The faces cover'd wi' Time's blast
We miss at e'enin' fa'.

Kind pity shield the beggar lane,
An' wash his weary feet;

O! sweep for him the warm hearth-stane,
Wha sorrow's crumbs maun eat;

The wand'rer, wha sair burdened ben's
'Mang poortith's drifting snaw—
The feckless, wha naebody kens-
Hameless, at e'enin' fa'!

O! when our sun gaes to its bed,
An' daylight creeps awa',

May Hope's pure star its glory shed,
Aroun' our e'enin' fa';

A friendly hand to close my e'e,
Night's curtains round me draw,
An' drap a burning tear o'er me,
Unseen, at e'enin' fa'.

T

EBENEZER SMITH,

'HE author of three volumes of "Verses," (for thus he modestly designates the offspring of his Muse) was born in "the auld toun o' Ayr" in 1835, where his fathers dwelt for generations. Like many men of note, Mr Smith received the first part of his education at a dame's school; it was completed, however, at the Wallacetown Academy. The teacher occasionally gave the boys a subject on which they had to write an essay in verse; and so early as his twelfth year our young bard wrote a poem on Burns' Monument. At the age of thirteen he was put to learn the shoemaking trade, and in course of time succeeded to the business which had been carried on by his grandfather, and was most successful, until he became indifferent, and forsook it for the com

pany of the convivial. His business was ultimately taken out of his hands, and since then he has been working as journeyman, greatly respected by the head of the large firm by which he is employed. It is pleasing also to learn that, from his family connections with the incorporation of the Ayr Shoe

makers, to whom the Burns cottage at Alloway belonged, and which was recently sold, Mr Smith has now had secured to him a moderate competency for life.

Mr Smith began "to lisp in numbers" at the early age of twelve years, and he has, he says, "at longer or shorter intervals, scribbled ever since." In 1870 he published his first volume; in 1874 he brought out a second; and at the close of 1880, a third.

Mr Smith disclaims all pretensions to the name of poet, and chooses to speak of himself only as a writer of "verses." When authors talk too frequently of their productions in this style, we are inclined to think that it is only a sort of mock humility, and a covert way of courting praise. If they really consider their productions devoid of merit, why obtrude them upon the public. He, however, is a poet, though we believe that he prides himself more on his facility of verse-making, than on his merit as a poet. That he has very great facility in this respect is certain, but we are almost disposed to call it a "fatal facility"; and by allowing his rhymes

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come skelpin' rank an' file," he does himself great injustice, for were he to compose his poems more leisurely, and throw more study into the work, he has latent powers within him which would enable him to rise to a far loftier flight than he has ever yet attained.

THE EVEN-SONG.

The day is declining, and nature is weary,
And sighs itself softly to slumber and rest;
And into the shade the sky-lark so cheery,

Has sunk with the sunbeam that gilded its breast!

Brave bird! it soared high as its pinions could bear it,
To catch the last ray of the light it adored;
And lost in the cloud, whence I hardly could hear it,
Its anthem of praise on the evening outpoured!

Its hymn of delight and of thankfulness ended,
In love's lowly dwelling-place now it is blest!

The service with which unto heaven it ascended,
On earth is rewarded with rapturous rest!

Oh, man! if thy mind have a spark of emotion-
If aught from the clod thy affection can raise-
Look up to the lark's lovely act of devotion,

And follow its flight with like chorus of praise !

At eve, when the beam that hath bless'd thee declineth,
Sing thanks unto Him who its glory hath given ;
Then sink into darkness, rememb'ring he shineth,
And find in the grave but the gateway to Heaven!
BONNIE AYR.

Far be the hour that bids me quit
This sacred spot of earth,

To me as dear as ever yet

To man was place of birth!

Oh Death! do not, I humbly pray,
My heart's strong tendrils tear:
Let them decay, and drop away,
And die embracing Ayr!

For ever-as the tide returns,
To fondle shore and shell;

Or evening cloud, when sunset burns
To rest on grey Goatfell-

My heart, when haply I have stray'd,
Whilst other scenes were spurned,
To Ayr's unrivalled classic shade,
With rapture has returned.

As constant as the vale's sweet stream
Is to its lowly bed,

Through which, as in a songful dream,

Slow winds its silver thread;

Or as the oak is to the glade

In which the acorn grew;

My heart, through sunshine and through shade,
Auld Ayr, has been to you!

As closely as the flowers infold

Their first sweet drop of dew;

Or buds, the quick'ning beams of gold
With which life's breath thy drew-

As closely as the woodbine's arms
Enclose the bending tree-

Auld Ayr unrivalled in thy charms,
My heart encloses thee!

Far be the hour that bids me quit

This sacred spot of earth

As dear to me as ever yet
To man was place of birth!

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