THE RETURN AFTER ABSENCE.

OH! the breeze of the mountain is soothing and sweet, Warm breathing of love, and the friends we shall meet; And the rocks of the desert, so rough when we roam, Seem soft, soft as silk, on the dear path of home;

The white waves of the Jeikon, that foam through their speed,

Seem scarcely to reach to the girth of my steed.

Rejoice, O Bokhara, and flourish for aye!

Thy King comes to meet thee, and long shall he stay.
Our King is our moon, and Bokhara our skies,
Where soon that fair light of the heavens shall arise—
Bokhara our orchard, the cypress our king,

In Bokhara's fair orchard soon destined to spring.

LAMENT FOR RAMA.

FROM THE BENGALI.

I WARN you, fair maidens, to wail and to sigh,
For Rama, our Rama, to greenwood must fly;
Then hasten, come hasten, to' see his array,
Ayud'hya is dark when our chief goes away.

All the people are flocking to see him pass by;
They are silent and sad, with the tear in their eye:
From the fish in the streamlets a broken sigh heaves,
And the birds of the forest lament from the leaves.

His fine locks are matted, no raiment has he
For the wood, save a girdle of bark from the tree;
And of all his gay splendour, you nought may behold,
Save his bow and his quiver, and ear-rings of gold.

Oh! we thought to have seen him in royal array
Before his proud squadrons his banners display,
And the voice of the people exulting to own
Their sovereign assuming the purple and crown;
But the time has gone by, my hope is despair,-
One maiden perfidious has wrought all my care.

Our light is departing, and darkness returns,
Like a lamp half-extinguished, and lonely it burns ;
Faith fades from the age, nor can honour remain,
And fame is delusive, and glory is vain.

JAMES SCADLOCK.

JAMES SCADLOCK, a poet of considerable power, and an associate of Tannahill, was born at Paisley on the 7th October 1775. His father, an operative weaver, was a person of considerable shrewdness; and the poet M'Laren, who became his biographer, was his uterine brother. Apprenticed to the loom, he renounced weaving in the course of a year, and thereafter was employed in the establishment of a bookbinder. At the age of nineteen he entered on an indenture of seven years to a firm of copperplate engravers at Ferenize. He had early been inclined to verse-making, and, having formed the acquaintance of Tannahill, he was led to cultivate with ardour his native predilection. He likewise stimulated his ingenious friend to higher and more ambitious efforts in poetry. Accomplished in the elegant arts of drawing and painting, Scadlock began the study of classical literature and the modern languages. A general stagnation of trade, which threw him out of employment, checked his aspirations in learning. After an interval attended with some privations, he heard of a professional opening at Perth, which he proceeded to occupy. He returned to Paisley, after the absence of one year; and having married in 1808, his attention became more concentrated in domestic concerns. He died of fever on the 4th July 1818, leaving a family of four children.

Scadlock was an upright member of society, a sincere friend, a benevolent neighbour, and an intelligent companion. In the performance of his religious duties he was regular and exemplary. Desirious of excelling in conversation, he was prone to evince an undue formality of expression. His poetry, occasionally deficient in power, is uniformly distinguished for smoothness of versification.

ALONG BY LEVERN STREAM SO CLEAR.*

ALONG by Levern stream so clear,
When Spring adorns the infant year,
And music charms the list'ning ear,
I'll wander with my Mary,
My bonny blooming Mary;

Not Spring itself to me is dear,

When absent from my Mary.

When Summer's sun pours on my head
His sultry rays, I'll seek the shade,
Unseen upon a primrose bed
I'll sit with little Mary,

My bonny blooming Mary,

Where fragrant flowers around are spread,
To charm my little Mary.

She's mild's the sun through April shower
That glances on the leafy bower,

She's sweet as Flora's fav'rite flower,
My bonny little Mary,

My blooming little Mary;

Give me but her, no other dower
I'll ask with little Mary.

Should fickle fortune frown on me,
And leave me bare's the naked tree,
Possess'd of her, how rich I'd be,
My lovely little Mary,

My bonny blooming Mary;

From gloomy care and sorrow free,
I'd ever keep my Mary.

* Set to music by R. A. Smith.