Soon as his light has warmed the seas, From the parting cloud fresh blows the breeze; O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm, 'Mid the deep darkness white as snow! Her keel hath struck on a hidden rock, And down come her masts with a reeling shock, And a hideous crash like thunder. Her sails are draggled in the brine, That gladdened like the skies, And her pendant, that kissed the fair moonshine, Down many a fathom lies. Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow hues Gleamed softly from below, And flung a warm and sunny flush O'er the wreaths of murmuring snow, A SLEEPING CHILD. ART thou a thing of mortal birth, Those features to the grave be sent Oh! that my spirit's eye could see William Tennant. Born 1785. Died 1848. Was born at East Anstruther, in Fife, in 1785. In 1812 he published "Anster Fair" in his own little village. It was some time before the poem became known to the literary world, but in 1814 a favourable notice appeared in the " Edinburgh Review," which brought it into notice. Although much of it is coarse, there are many pieces of considerable beauty. He published some other pieces of little note. Tennant, by great industry, had acquired a good knowledge of Latin, Greek, Arabic, Syriac, and Persian; and after being for some time classical teacher in Dollar Academy, he was appointed Professor of Oriental Languages in the University of St Andrews. He died in 1848. FROM "ANSTER FAIR." HER form was as the Morning's blithesome star, New-washed, and doubly fulgent from the streams— The Chaldee shepherd eyes her light afar, And on his knees adores her as she gleams; So shone the stately form of Maggie Lauder, And so the admiring crowds pay homage and applaud her. Each little step her trembling palfrey took, And as at times bis glossy sides she strook Had power a brutish lout to unbrutify and charm! The blockhead's heart was ice thrice baked beneath the Pole. Lay on her lily temples, fairly dangling, The tresses in their arms so slim and tangling, A choir of lightsome Graces frisk and dance; Did the dear witchery of her eye elance! 'Twas such a thrilling, killing, keen regard— May Heaven from such a look preserve each tender bard! Mrs Southey. Born 1787. Died 1854. CAROLINE ANNE BOWLES was the only child of Captain Bowles of Buckland, near Lymington, Hants. She was born in 1787. Having while very young lost both her parents, she spent much of her early life in retirement. For many years she contributed to the magazines poems which were greatly admired. In 1820 she published "Ellen FitzArthur," a poem, and her name as the author was then given to the world. "Widow's Tale," "Solitary Hours," "Chapters on Churchyards," &c., followed, and obtained for the author a high place among the roll of poetesses. In 1839 she married Robert Southey the poet, with whom she The had for many years been intimate, evidently to cheer and take care of him in his declining years. From the state of Southey's mind soon after, this task was one of great difficulty, and required the utmost selfsacrifice. On his death, Mrs Southey was left nearly destitute, which, in her then state of health, was very trying; but she was relieved from this distress by a pension from Government of L.200 a-year. Her last volume of poetry was published in 1847. She died in 1854. MARINER'S HYMN. LAUNCH thy bark, mariner! Look to the weather-bow, "What of the night, watchman! No land yet-all's right." Danger may be At an hour when all seemeth Securest to thee. How! gains the leak so fast? Clean out the hold- Lo! the red lights! Slacken not sail yet At inlet or island; Lord Byron. Born 1788. Died 1824. GEORGE GORDON BYRON was by the father's side English, and by the mother's side Scotch; he was born in London, on the 22d January 1788. When he was two years old his parents removed to Aberdeen for economy's sake, and in due time placed Byron at a day-school there, where he remained till he was ten years old. In 1798, by the death of a grand-uncle, Byron became heir to an English peerage, and removed with his mother to the family seat of Newstead Abbey. Two years after he was sent to Harrow, where he remained till 1805. It does not appear that he gave any indications there of the wonderful genius he afterwards displayed. On leaving Harrow he entered Trinity College, Cambridge, and here his muse began to plume her wings. His pieces were at first handed about in MS., and at last, in 1807, was published "The Hours of Idleness." Fortunately for the world, the "Edinburgh Review" made a fierce and undeserved onslaught on the noble author. Till that moment Byron was unconscious of his powers; but the critique stung him to the quick, and he resolved on revenge. Before the year was out, "English Bards and Scotch Reviewers" burst upon the literary world, a satire as scathing as he himself could desire. While his name was thus filling the public ear, he took his seat in the House of Lords, and shortly after sailed for the Mediterranean. On his return to England in 1812, he published the first two cantos of "Childe Harold," the first fruits of his wanderings. The result was, as he himself expresses it, "he awoke one morning and found himself famous." A series of Eastern tales followed-"The Giaour, "Bride of Abydos," "The Corsair," and "Lara." Byron was now the idol of the gay circles of London. Apparently at last satiated with its enjoyment, he, without any real attachment, proposed to Miss Milbanke, a northern heiress, and was accepted. The marriage was an unhappy one, and in a year after Lady Byron sought a refuge in her father's house from her troubles, carrying with her their only child, Ada, afterwards Countess of Lovelace. Byron never saw them again. Embarrassed with debt, reckless, and yet conscious of his high powers, Byron again set out for the continent, never again to set foot on his native land. Some of his finest pieces were written during this period-" The Prisoner of Chillon," "Manfred," the remaining cantos of "Childe Harold," &c. In 1821 the Greek war of Independence broke out. Byron's heart sympathised deeply in their struggle for freedom, and the world saw with joy the poet forsake his life of indolent vice, and join in a noble |