Old Scottish
Village," a collection of tales and sketches of Scottish scenery,
character, and life. In 1848 he collected and published his poems. In
1852 he wrote a memoir of his friend, David Macbeth Moir (the well-known
"Delta" of _Blackwood's Magazine_), and prefixed it to an edition of
Moir's poems, which he edited for behoof of the poet's family, under the
generous instructions of the Messrs Blackwood. In 1856 a new edition of
Mr Aird's poems appeared, with many fresh pieces, and the old carefully
revised; Messrs Blackwood being the publishers.

THE SWALLOW.

The little comer 's coming, the comer o'er the sea,
The comer of the summer, all the sunny days to be;
How pleasant, through the pleasant sleep, thy early twitter heard--
Oh, swallow by the lattice! glad days be thy reward!

Thine be sweet morning, with the bee that 's out for honey-dew,
And glowing be the noontide, for the grasshopper and you;
And mellow shine, o'er days' decline, the sun to light thee home--
What can molest thy airy nest? Sleep till the morrow come.

The river blue, that lapses through the valley, hears thee sing,
And murmurs much beneath the touch of thy light-dipping wing;
The thunder-cloud, over us bow'd, in deeper gloom is seen,
When quick relieved it glances to thy bosom's silvery sheen.

The silent power that brings thee back, with leading-strings of love,
To haunts where first the summer sun fell on thee from above,
Shall bind thee more to come aye to the music of our leaves,
For here thy young, where thou hast sprung, shall glad thee in our eaves.

GENIUS.

Eye of the brain and heart,
O Genius, inner sight,
Wonders from thee familiar start,
In thy decisive light.
Wide and deep the eye must go,
The process of our world to know.
Old mountains grated to the sea,
Sow the young seed of isles to be.
States dissolve, that Nature's plan
May bear the broadening type of man.
Passes ne'er the Past away;
Child of the ages springs to-day.
Life, death, and life! but circling change,
Still working to a higher range!
Make thee all science, Genius, clear
Our world; all Muses, grace and cheer.
And may the ideal thou hast shewn,
With joy peculiar be thine own;
For thee the starry belts of time,
The inner laws, the heavenly chime;
Thine storm and rack--the forests crack,