al review.

THOMAS ELLIOTT.

The author of a small volume of very meritorious poems and lyrics,
Thomas Elliott is descended from a branch of the old Border family of
that name, which settled in the north of Ireland subsequent to the
Revolution. His father was a shoemaker at Bally-ho-bridge, a hamlet in
county Fermanagh, province of Ulster, where the poet was born on the 22d
December 1820. Entering school at the age of five years, he was not
removed till he had acquired a considerable acquaintance with the
ordinary branches of popular education. In his fifteenth year he
apprenticed himself to his father. The family removed to Belfast in
1836, and there he had opportunities of occupying his leisure hours in
extensive and varied reading. After a few years of somewhat desultory
employment, he visited Glasgow in 1847, and there, following his
original trade, he has continued to reside.

Elliott assigns the commencement of his poetical efforts to the year
1842, when he was led to satirise a pedagogue teacher of music, who had
given him offence. His poetical volume, entitled "Doric Lays and Attic
Chimes," appeared in 1856, and has been well received. Several of his
lyrics have been published with music in "The Lyric Gems of Scotland," a
collection of songs published at Glasgow.

UP WITH THE DAWN.

Up with the dawn, ye sons of toil,
And bare the brawny arm,
To drive the harness'd team afield,
And till the fruitful farm;
To dig the mine for hidden wealth,
Or make the woods to ring
With swinging axe and sturdy stroke,
To fell the forest king.

With ocean car and iron steed
Traverse the land and sea,
And spread our commerce round the globe
As winds that wander free.
Subdue the earth, and conquer fate,
Outspeed the flight of time;
Old earth is rich, and man is young,
Nor near his jocund prime.

Work, and the clouds of care will fly,
Pale want will pass away;
Work, and the leprosy of crime
And tyrants must decay.
Leave the dead ages in their urns;
The present time be ours,
To grapple bravely with our lot,
And strew our path with flowers.

CLYDE BOAT SONG.

_Music by A. Hume._

Leave the city's busy throng--
Dip the oar, and wake the song,
While on Cathkin Braes the moon
Rises with a star aboon:
Hark! the boom of evening bells
Trembles through