Land of my sires! what mortal hand Can e'er untie the filial band That knits me to thy rugged strand!

Profan'd the God-given strength, and marr'd the lofty line.

Nothing is more completely the child of art than a garden.

To all, to each, a fair good-night, and pleasing dreams, and slumbers light.

He turn'd his charger as he spake, Upon the river shore, He gave his bridle reins a shake, Said, "Adieu for evermore, my love, And adieu for evermore."

It was in the beginning of the month of November, 17--, when a young English gentleman, who had just left the university of Oxford, made use of the liberty afforded him, to visit some parts of the north of England; and curiosity extended his tour into the adjacent frontier of the sister country.

And love is loveliest when embalm'd in tears.