eroes of yore,
Each under his own gray stone.

The chiefs that were foremost of old,
Macdonald and brave Lochiel,
The Gordon, the Murray, and the Graham,
With their clansmen true as steel;
Who follow'd and fought with Montrose,
Glencairn, and bold Dundee;
Who to Charlie gave their swords and their all,
And would aye rather fa' than flee.
Och on a rie, &c.

The hills that our brave fathers trod
Are now to the stranger a store;
The voice of the pipe and the bard
Shall awaken never more.
Such things it is sad to think on--
They come like the mist by day--
And I wish I had less in this world to leave,
And be with them that are away.
Och on a rie, &c.

THOMAS AIRD.

Thomas Aird, one of the most distinguished of the living Scottish poets,
was born in the parish of Bowden, Roxburghshire, in 1802. He received
the rudiments of his education at Bowden and Melrose parish schools; and
went through a course of literary and philosophical study at the
University of Edinburgh. In 1827 he published a little treatise,
entitled "Religious Characteristics." After a residence of some years in
Edinburgh, in the course of which he contributed occasionally to
_Blackwood's Magazine_, and other periodicals, he was, in 1835, on the
recommendation of his steadfast friend Professor Wilson, appointed
editor of the _Dumfries Herald_, a conservative journal newly started in
Dumfries. The paper has prospered under his management, and he is editor
still. In 1845 he published "The Old Bachelor in the Old Scottish
Village," a collection of tales and sketches of Scottish scenery,
character, and life. In 1848 he collected and published his poems. In
1852 he wrote a memoir of his friend, David Macbeth Moir (the well-known
"Delta" of _Blackwood's Magazine_), and prefixed it to an edition of
Moir's poems, which he edited for behoof of the poet's family, under the
generous instructions of the Messrs Blackwood. In 1856 a new edition of
Mr Aird's poems appeared, with many fresh pieces, and the old carefully
revised; Messrs Blackwood being the publishers.

THE SWALLOW.

The little comer 's coming, the comer o'er the sea,
The comer of the summer, all the sunny days to be;
How pleasant, through the pleasant sleep, thy early twitter heard--
Oh, swallow by the lattice! glad days be thy reward!

Thine