hy faithful love,
Whose heart will entwine thee, fond, joyous, and free;
From danger's alarms
Speed to her open arms,
O Dermot, dear loved one! return back to me.

JOHN IMLAH.

John Imlah, one of the sweetest and most patriotic of Scottish
song-writers, was born in North Street, Aberdeen, about the close of the
year 1799. His progenitors were farmers in the parish of Fyvie, but his
father followed the profession of an innkeeper. Of seven sons, born in
succession to his parents, the poet was the youngest. On completing an
ordinary education at the grammar-school, he was apprenticed to a
pianoforte maker in Aberdeen. Excelling as a piano-tuner he, in this
capacity, sought employment in London, and was fortunate in procuring an
engagement from the Messrs Broadwood. For the first six months of the
year he performed the duties of a tuner in the metropolis, and during
the remaining six months prosecuted his vocation in Scotland. Attached
to his native country, he took delight in celebrating her strains. He
composed songs from his boyhood. In 1827, he published "May Flowers," a
duodecimo volume of lyrics, chiefly in the Scottish dialect, which he
followed by a second volume of "Poems and Songs" in 1841. He contributed
to Macleod's "National Melodies" and the _Edinburgh Literary Journal_.
On the 9th January 1846, his death took place at Jamaica, whither he had
gone on a visit to one of his brothers.

Imlah was a person of amiable dispositions and agreeable manners. Of his
numerous lyrics, each is distinguished by a rich fancy, and several of
his songs will maintain a lasting place in the national minstrelsy.

KATHLEEN.

AIR--_"The Humours of Glen."_

O distant but dear is that sweet island, wherein
My hopes with my Kathleen and kindred abide;
And far though I wander from thee, emerald Erin!
No space can the links of my love-chain divide.
Fairest spot of the earth! brightest gem of the ocean!
How oft have I waken'd my wild harp in thee!
While, with eye of expression, and heart of emotion,
Listen'd, Kathleen mavourneen, cuishlih ma chree!

The bloom of the moss-rose, the blush of the morning,
The soft cheek of Kathleen discloses their dye;
What ruby can rival the lip of mavourneen?
What sight-dazzling diamond can equal her eye?
Her silken hair vies with the sunbeam in brightness,
And white is her bro