little glen is sometimes scoop'd, a plat
With greensward gay, and flowers that strangers seem
Amid the heathery wild, that all around
Fatigues the eye: in solitudes like these,
Thy persecuted children, Scotia, foil'd
A tyrant's and a bigot's bloody laws.
There, leaning on his spear (one of the array
Whose gleam, in former days, had scathed the rose
On England's banner, and had powerless struck
The infatuate monarch, and his wavering host!)
The lyart veteran heard the word of God
By Cameron thunder'd, or by Renwick pour'd
In gentle stream; then rose the song, the loud
Acclaim of praise. The wheeling plover ceased
Her plaint; the solitary place was glad;
And on the distant cairn the watcher's ear
Caught doubtfully at times the breeze-borne note.
But years more gloomy follow'd; and no more
The assembled people dared, in face of day,
To worship God, or even at the dead
Of night, save when the wintry storm raved fierce,
And thunder-peals compell'd the men of blood
To couch within their dens; then dauntlessly
The scatter'd few would meet, in some deep dell
By rocks o'ercanopied, to hear the voice,
Their faithful pastor's voice. He by the gleam
Of sheeted lightning oped the sacred book,
And words of comfort spake; over their souls
His accents soothing came, as to her young
The heathfowl's plumes, when, at the close of eve,
She gathers in, mournful, her brood dispersed
By murderous sport, and o'er the remnant spreads
Fondly her wings; close nestling 'neath her breast
They cherish'd cower amid the purple bloom."

Not a few other sweet singers or strong, native to this nook of our
isle, might we now in these humble pages lovingly commemorate; and "four
shall we mention, dearer than the rest," for sake of that virtue, among
many virtues, which we have been lauding all along, their
nationality;--These are AIRD and MOTHERWELL (of whom another hour), MOIR
and POLLOK.

Of Moir, our own "delightful Delta," as we love to call him--and the
epithet now by right appertains to his name--we shall now say simply
this, that he has produced many original pieces which will possess a
permanent place in the poetry of Scotland. Delicacy and grace
characterise his happiest compositions; some of them are beautiful in a
cheerful spirit that has only to look on nature to be happy; and others
breathe the simples