"Duty," our maxim is "Through!"
Winter and storm only nerve us the more,
And chill not the heart, if they creep through the door:
Strong shall we be
In our isle of the sea,
The home of the brave and the boast of the free!
Firm as the rocks when the storm flashes forth,
We 'll stand in our courage--the Men of the North!

Sunbeams that ripen the olive and vine,
In the face of the slave and the coward may shine;
Roses may blossom where Freedom decays,
And crime be a growth of the Sun's brightest rays.
Scant though the harvest we reap from the soil,
Yet Virtue and Health are the children of Toil:
Proud let us be
Of our isle of the sea,
The home of the brave and the boast of the free!
Men with true hearts--let our fame echo forth--
Oh, these are the fruit that we grow in the North!

THE LOVER'S DREAM OF THE WIND.

I dream'd thou wert a fairy harp
Untouch'd by mortal hand,
And I the voiceless, sweet west wind,
A roamer through the land.
I touch'd, I kiss'd thy trembling strings,
And lo! my common air,
Throbb'd with emotion caught from thee,
And turn'd to music rare.

I dream'd thou wert a rose in bloom,
And I the gale of spring,
That sought the odours of thy breath,
And bore them on my wing.
No poorer thou, but richer I--
So rich, that far at sea,
The grateful mariners were glad,
And bless'd both thee and me.

I dream'd thou wert the evening star,
And I a lake at rest,
That saw thine image all the night
Reflected on my breast.
Too far!--too far!--come dwell on Earth!
Be Harp and Rose of May;--
I need thy music in my heart,
Thy fragrance on my way.

ARCHIBALD CRAWFORD.

Archibald Crawford, a writer of prose and poetry of considerable merit,
was born at Ayr in 1785. In his ninth year, left an orphan, he was
placed under the care of a brother-in-law, a baker in London. With no
greater advantages than the somewhat limited school education then given
to the sons of burgesses of small provincial towns, his ardent love of
literature and powerful memory enabled him to become conversant with the
works of the more distinguished British authors, as well as the best
translations of the classics. At the expiry of eight years he returned
to Ayr, and