The sea--the deep, deep sea--
That awful mystery!
Was there a time of old ere it was born,
Or e'er the dawn of light,
Coeval with the night--
Say, slept it on, for ever and forlorn?

Till the Great Spirit's word
Its sullen waters heard,
And their wild voices, through the void profound,
Gave deep responsive roar;
But silent never more
Shall be their solemn, drear, and dirge-like sound!

Earth's echoes faint and die;
Sunk down into a sigh,
Scamander's voice scarce whispers on its way;
And desert silence reigns
Upon the mighty plains
Where battles' thunders peal'd--and where are they?

But still from age to age
Upon its pilgrimage,
When many a glorious strain the world hath flown;
And while her echoes sleep
In darkness, the great deep,
Unwearied and unchanged, goes sounding on.

ERSKINE CONOLLY.

Erskine Conolly was born at Crail, Fifeshire, on the 12th of June 1796.
At the burgh school of his native town, he received an ordinary
elementary education, and was afterwards apprenticed to Mr Cockburn,
bookseller in Anstruther. He subsequently commenced business as a
bookseller in the small town of Colinsburgh; but after a trial of
several years, not having succeeded according to his expectations, he
removed to Edinburgh, where he was employed as a clerk by Mr Thomas
Megget, writer to the signet. At a future period, he entered into
partnership with Mr James Gillon, writer and messenger in Edinburgh; and
after his partner's death, carried on the business on his own account.
He died at Edinburgh on the 7th January 1843. Of highly sociable
dispositions, and with talents of a superior order, Conolly was much
beloved among a wide circle of friends. Unambitious of fame as a poet,
though he frequently wrote verses, he never ventured on a publication.
His popular song of "Mary Macneil," appeared in the _Edinburgh
Intelligencer_ of the 23d December 1840; it is much to be remarked for
deep feeling and genuine tenderness.

MARY MACNEIL.

AIR--_"Kinloch of Kinloch."_

The last gleam o' sunset in ocean was sinkin',
Owre mountain an' meadowland glintin' fareweel;
An' thousands o' stars in the heavens were blinkin',
As bright as the een o' sweet Mary Macneil.
A' glowi