f the mountain,
For brave is the chieftain your prowess who quells,
And dreadful your wrath as the foam-flashing fountain,
That calms its wild waves 'mid the Scottish blue-bells.

Then strike the loud harp to the land of the river,
The mountain, the valley, with all their wild spells,
And shout in the chorus for ever and ever--
The blue-bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue-bells.

Sublime are your hills when the young day is beaming,
And green are your groves with their cool crystal wells,
And bright are your broadswords, like morning dews gleaming
On blue-bells of Scotland, on Scottish blue-bells.

Awake! ye light fairies that trip o'er the heather,
Ye mermaids, arise from your coralline cells--
Come forth with your chorus, all chanting together--
The blue-bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue-bells.

Then strike the loud harp to the land of the river,
The mountain, the valley, with all their wild spells,
And shout in the chorus for ever and ever--
The blue-bells of Scotland, the Scottish blue-bells.

ROBERT MILLER.

Robert Miller, the author of the two following songs, was a native of
Glasgow, and was educated for the legal profession. He contributed
verses to the periodicals, but did not venture on any separate
publication. He died at Glasgow, in September 1834, at the early age of
twenty-four. His "Lay of the Hopeless" was written within a few days of
his decease.

WHERE ARE THEY?

The loved of early days!
Where are they?--where?
Not on the shining braes,
The mountains bare;--
Not where the regal streams
Their foam-bells cast--
Where childhood's time of dreams
And sunshine pass'd.

Some in the mart, and some
In stately halls,
With the ancestral gloom
Of ancient walls;
Some where the tempest sweeps
The desert waves;
Some where the myrtle weeps
On Roman graves.

And pale young faces gleam
With solemn eyes;
Like a remember'd dream
The dead arise;
In the red track of war
The restless sweep;
In sunlit graves afar
The loved ones sleep.

The braes are dight with flowers,
The mountain streams
Foam past me in the showers
Of sunny gleams;
But the light hearts that cast
A glory there,
In the rejoicing past,
Where are they?--wher