Joined to thine eye's dark witchcraft, drew
My spell-bound steps to Ben-venue,
In dangerous hour, and all but gave
Thy Monarch's life to mountain glaive!
Aloud he spoke :-"Thou still dost hold
That little talisman of gold,

Pledge of my faith, Fitz-James's ring-
What seeks fair Ellen of the King?"
Full well the conscious maiden guessed,
He probed the weakness of her breast;
But, with that consciousness, there came
A lightening of her fears for Græme,
And more she deemed the Monarch's ire,
Kindled 'gainst him, who, for her sire,
Rebellious broad-sword boldly drew;
And, to her generous feeling true,
She craved the grace of Roderick Dhu.
"Forbear thy suit:-the King of Kings
Alone can stay life's parting wings.
I know his heart, I know his hand,
Have shared his cheer, and proved his brand;-
My fairest earldom would I give

To bid Clan-Alpine's Chieftain live!
Hast thou no other boon to crave ?-
No other captive friend to save?"
Blushing, she turned her from the King,
And to the Douglas gave the ring,
As if she wished her sire to speak
The suit that stained her glowing cheek.
Nay, then, my pledge has lost its force,
And stubborn justice holds her course.
Malcolm, come forth!"-And, at the word,
Down kneeled the Græme to Scotland's Lord.
"For thee, rash youth, no suppliant sues,
From thee may Vengeance claim her dues,
Who, nurtured underneath our smile,
Hast paid our care by treacherous wile,
And sought amid thy faithful clan,
A refuge for an outlawed man,
Dishonouring thus thy loyal name.
Fetters and warder for the Græme!"
His chain of gold the King unstrung,
The links o'er Malcolm's neck he flung,
Then gently drew the glittering band,
And laid the clasp on Ellen's hand.

F

THE SKYLARK.

It would be a difficult matter to find any one resident in England who has not, some time or other, heard that sweet songster-the skylark. Even those who continually reside in large, busy cities like London and Manchester, and who have not the enjoyment of listening to its music in the open country as it soars heavenward, winging its way through the deep blue sky, may often hear it pour out its song-merry still, if the captive be tended with affectionate care-from its patch of greensward at the bottom of a cage a foot square. Generally the little prisoner is a great favourite with its master and mistress, cheering them with its lively notes, and showing evident signs of pleasure whenever they are near, and in every way appearing as happy as it possibly can be in its state of captivity.

'To be up with the lark' has long ago passed into a proverb for early rising; and heard as this bird may be any fine morning in spring, when the first faint streaks of light tinge the eastern sky, it is truly the bard of the blushing dawn;

or, as Thomson expresses it,

-the messenger of morn,

Ere yet the shadows fly, he mounted sings

Amid the dawning clouds, and from their haunts
Calls up the tuneful nations.

And our great poet Milton mentions that one of the
pleasing incidents which accompany daybreak, is
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull night;
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
Then to come in spite of sorrow

And at my window bid good-morrow.

But one of our comic writers takes a different view.

Listen to what he says:

Let others talk, upon a morning breezy,

How well to rise while night and larks are flying

For my part, getting up seems not as easy

By half as lying.

What if the lark does carol in the sky,

Soaring beyond the reach of sight to find him out—
Wherefore am I to rise at such a fly?

I'm not a trout!

Talk not to me of bees and such like hums,
The smell of sweet herbs at the morning prime-
Only lie long enough, and bed becomes

A bed of time.

Why from a comfortable pillow start,
To see faint flushes in the East awaken?—
A fig, say I, for any streaky part,

Excepting bacon!

It is to be feared there are many who practise what is thus jocularly expressed; but it should never be forgotten-and especially by the young-that those who have succeeded most in life-those who have been healthy, wealthy, and wise-have imitated the lark and other birds, in their habit of early to bed and early to rise.'

Several kinds of larks are found in Europe, of which but four are to be met with in Great Britain. Of these the skylark and woodlark are the most admired. The skylark is one of the most, if not the most, common of our native songsters: and many, very many of our poets have written verses in its praise, and drawn useful lessons from its life and habits. Except when soaring, its abode is on the earth, and very rarely does it alight on a tree, hedge, or bush. Its roosting place is the ground, where too it builds its nest. It does not hop, like most of the smaller birds, but runs along with great rapidity. It is very fond of rolling itself in the dust, like our common fowl, for the purpose of cleansing its plumage; hence those who keep a lark ought to provide the captive with a constant and plentiful supply of fresh river sand.

Though so lowly a bird in the choice of its abode, on the other hand, its flight is indeed a lofty one. It soars higher and higher, becoming by degrees such a tiny speck in the bright blue sky, that the eye is weary with looking at it, till at last it disappears alto

gether to the sight, though we still hear its minstrel strains. It is then that we may truly say,

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings.

The contrast between its humble dwelling-place and its lofty upward soaring is thus beautifully given by Charles Swain :—

Wherefore is thy song so gay?

Wherefore is thy flight so free?
Singing soaring-day by day;
Thou'rt a bird of low degree!
Tirral-la!

Scarcely sheltered from the mould,
We thy humble nest can see;
Wherefore is thy song so bold,
Little bird of low degree?

Tirral-la! Tirral-la!

Humbly though my dwelling lie,
Next door neighbour to the earth;
Rank, though lifted ne'er so high,
Cannot soar like humble worth:
Tirral-la!

Shall I silently repine,

When these birds of loftier airs

Say no parent race of mine

Built a nest as high as theirs?
Tirral-la! Tirral-la!

Give me but a summer morn,

Sweet with dew and golden light,

And the richest plumage born
Well may envy me my flight!
Tirral-la!

Through the azure halls of day,

Where the path of freedom lies,

Tirral-la! is still my lay

Onward, upward to the skies!
Tirral-la! Tirral-la!

The oft-repeated 'Tirral-la' is one of the common notes of this bird.

And what a beautiful song that of the skylark is, as he soars aloft, singing to cheer his mate as she sits below on her eggs or broods o'er her young! What

powerful notes! When he is but as a speck, or even lost to our tired gaze, his music comes ringing to our ears, so clearly and distinctly, that we wonder how so small a thing can utter it. The poet Shelley, in one of the most beautiful pieces of poetry ever written, has thus celebrated the song of the bird:

Hail to thee, blithe spirit!
Bird thou never wert,

That from heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart

In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Higher still, and higher,

From the earth thou springest

Like a cloud of fire;

The deep blue thou wingest,

And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever, singest.

All the earth and air
With thy voice is loud,

As, when night is bare,
From one lonely cloud

The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed.

Like a glow-worm golden

In a dell of dew,

Scattering unbeholden

Its aërial hue

Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view.

Sounds of vernal showers

On the twinkling grass,
Rain-awakened flowers,

All that ever was

Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass.

Teach me half the gladness
That thy brain must know,
Such harmonious madness
From my lips would flow,

The world should listen then, as I am listening now.

It is said that a person accustomed to the varied song, can tell by the notes and method of singing whether the bird is ascending, is stationary in the air, or is descending, without seeing it.