;
Their state by thee our fathers free,
O Genius, founded deep and wide,
Majestic towers the fabric ours,
And awes the world from side to side.

Mart of the ties of blood,
Mart of the souls of men!
O Christ! to see thy Brotherhood
Bought to be sold again,
Front of hell, to trade therein.
Genius face the giant sin;
Shafts of thought, truth-headed clear,
Temper'd all in Pity's tear,
Every point and every tip,
In the blood of Jesus dip;
Pierce till the monster reel and cry,
Pierce him till he fall and die.
Yet cease not, rest not, onward quell,
Power divine and terrible!
See where yon bastion'd Midnight stands,
On half the sunken central lands;
Shoot! let thy arrow heads of flame
Sing as they pierce the blot of shame,
Till all the dark economies
Become the light of blessed skies.
For this, above in wondering love,
To Genius shall it first be given,
To trace the lines of past designs,
All confluent to the finish'd Heaven.

ROBERT WHITE.

Robert White, an indefatigable antiquary, and pleasing writer of lyric
poetry, is a native of Roxburghshire. His youth and early manhood were
spent at Otterburn, in Redesdale, where his father rented a farm.
Possessed of an ardent love of reading, he early became familiar with
the English poets, and himself tried metrical composition. While still a
young man, he ranked among the poetical contributors to the _Newcastle
Magazine_. In 1825 he accepted a situation as clerk to a respectable
tradesman in Newcastle, which he retained upwards of twenty years.
Latterly he has occupied a post of respectable emolument, and with
sufficient leisure for the improvement of his literary tastes.

Besides contributing both in prose and verse to the local journals, and
some of the periodicals, Mr White is the author of several publications.
In 1829 appeared from his pen "The Tynemouth Nun," an elegantly
versified tale; in 1853, "The Wind," a poem; and in 1856, "England," a
poem. He has contributed songs to "Whistle Binkie," and "The Book of
Scottish Song." At present he has in the press a "History of the Battle
of Otterburn," prepared from original sources of information.

MY NATIVE LAND.

Fair Scotland! dear as life to me
Are thy majestic hills;
And sweet as purest melody
The music of thy rills.
The wildest cairn, the darkest dell,