of varied lore,
That loved the light of song to pour;
A distant and a deadly shore
Has Leyden's cold remains."

[94] We lately visited the spot. Not a vestige of the cottage remains. A
wilder and more desolate locality hardly ever nourished the youthful
imagination of a poet.

[95] Leyden was assisted in his outfit for India by Sir Walter Scott and
Sydney Smith, the latter contributing forty pounds. (See "Memoir of the
Rev. Sydney Smith," by his daughter, Lady Holland, vol. i. p. 21.
London: 1855. 2 vols. 8vo.)

[96] Thomas Campbell was one of Leyden's early literary friends; they
had quarrelled, but continued to respect each other's talents. The
following anecdote is recorded by Sir Walter Scott in his diary:--"When
I repeated 'Hohenlinden' to Leyden, he said, 'Dash it, man, tell the
fellow that I hate him; but, dash him, he has written the finest verses
that have been published these fifty years.' I did mine errand as
faithful as one of Homer's messengers, and had for answer:--'Tell Leyden
that I detest him, but I know the value of his critical
approbation.'"--_Lockhart's Life of Scott._

ODE TO THE EVENING STAR.

How sweet thy modest light to view,
Fair star! to love and lovers dear;
While trembling on the falling dew,
Like beauty shining through a tear.

Or hanging o'er that mirror-stream,
To mark that image trembling there,
Thou seem'st to smile with softer gleam,
To see thy lovely face so fair.

Though, blazing o'er the arch of night,
The moon thy timid beams outshine
As far as thine each starry light,
Her rays can never vie with thine.

Thine are the soft, enchanting hours
When twilight lingers on the plain,
And whispers to the closing flowers
That soon the sun will rise again.

Thine is the breeze that, murmuring bland
As music, wafts the lover's sigh,
And bids the yielding heart expand
In love's delicious ecstasy.

Fair star! though I be doom'd to prove
That rapture's tears are mix'd with pain,
Ah, still I feel 'tis sweet to love--
But sweeter to be loved again.

THE RETURN AFTER ABSENCE.

Oh! the breeze of the mountain is soothing and sweet,
Warm breathing of love, and the friends we shall meet;
And the rocks of the desert, so rough when we roam,
Seem soft, soft as silk, on the dear path of home;
The white waves o