Rutherford; by marriage, Mrs Cockburn, wife of Mr Patrick Cockburn,
advocate. Mrs Cockburn was a person of highly superior accomplishments.
She associated with her learned contemporaries, by whom she was much
esteemed, and died at Edinburgh in 1794, at an advanced age. "The
forest" mentioned in the song comprehended the county of Selkirk, with
portions of Peeblesshire and Lanarkshire. This was a hunting-forest of
the Scottish kings.

THE SEASON COMES WHEN FIRST WE MET.

The season comes when first we met,
But you return no more;
Why cannot I the days forget,
Which time can ne'er restore?
O! days too sweet, too bright to last,
Are you, indeed, for ever past?

The fleeting shadows of delight,
In memory I trace;
In fancy stop their rapid flight,
And all the past replace;
But, ah! I wake to endless woes,
And tears the fading visions close!

OH, TUNEFUL VOICE! I STILL DEPLORE.

Oh, tuneful voice! I still deplore
Those accents which, though heard no more,
Still vibrate in my heart;
In echo's cave I long to dwell,
And still would hear the sad farewell,
When we were doom'd to part.

Bright eyes! O that the task were mine,
To guard the liquid fires that shine,
And round your orbits play--
To watch them with a vestal's care,
And feed with smiles a light so fair,
That it may ne'er decay!

DEAR TO MY HEART AS LIFE'S WARM STREAM.[5]

Dear to my heart as life's warm stream,
Which animates this mortal clay;
For thee I court the waking dream,
And deck with smiles the future day;
And thus beguile the present pain,
With hopes that we shall meet again!

Yet will it be as when the past
Twined every joy, and care, and thought,
And o'er our minds one mantle cast,
Of kind affections finely wrought.
Ah, no! the groundless hope were vain,
For so we ne'er can meet again!

May he who claims thy tender heart,
Deserve its love as I have done!
For, kind and gentle as thou art,
If so beloved, thou 'rt fairly won.
Bright may the sacred torch remain,
And cheer thee till we meet again!

[5] These lines were addressed by Mrs Hunter to her daughter, on the
occasion of her marriage.

THE LOT OF THOUSANDS.

When hope lies dead within the heart,
By secret sorrow close conceal'd,
We shr