broad meads--these hoary woods are grand;
But we are exiles from our fathers' land!

From the lone shieling of the misty island
Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas;
Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland,
And we in dreams behold the Hebrides.

We ne'er shall tread the fancy-haunted valley,
Where, 'tween the dark hills, creeps the small clear stream,
In arms around the patriach-banner rally,
Nor see the moon on royal tombstones gleam.

* * * * *

Come, foreign rage!--let discord burst in slaughter!
Oh then for clansman true, and stern claymore!
The hearts that would have given their blood like water
Beat heavily beyond the Atlantic roar!
Fair these broad meads--these hoary woods are grand;
But we are exiles from our fathers' land!

[45] This simple and interesting lyric appears in No. XLVI. of the
"Noctes Ambrosianae," and has, we believe, on sufficient grounds, been
attributed to Lockhart.

THOMAS MATHERS.

Thomas Mathers, the fisherman poet, was born at St Monance, Fifeshire,
in 1794. Receiving an education at school confined to the simplest
branches, he chose the seafaring life, and connected himself with the
merchant service. At Venice, he had a casual rencounter with Lord
Byron,--a circumstance which he was in the habit of narrating with
enthusiasm. Leaving the merchant service, he married, and became a
fisherman and pilot, fixing his residence in his native village. His
future life was a career of incessant toil and frequent penury, much
alleviated, however, by the invocation of the muse. He contributed
verses for a series of years to several of the public journals; and his
compositions gained him a wide circle of admirers. He long cherished the
ambition of publishing a volume of poems; and the desire at length was
gratified through the subscriptions of his friends. In 1851, he printed
a duodecimo volume, entitled, "Musings in Verse, by Sea and Shore,"
which, however, had only been put into shape when the author was called
to his rest. He died of a short illness, at St Monance, on the 25th
September 1851, leaving a widow and several young children. His poetry
is chiefly remarkable for depth of feeling. Of his powers as a
song-writer, the following lyric, entitled "Early Love," is a favourable
specimen.

EARLY LOVE.

There 's nae love like ea