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And the hectic spot is spreading now, O’er her wan cheek of woe.

'Tis night, fond ones bend o’er her, With kind affcetion’s fears ; As though they could restore her By their anguish and their tears ; No hope their hearts need borrow, For the watchdog’s doeful cries, Tell the painful tale of sorrow, Ere morning’s light she dies.

She gazes round her wildly, When that sad sound is heard, Then greets her lov’d ones mildly, With a parting soul’s regard ; But ere the morning’s sun has shone, That fair one breathes no more, And the faithful watchdog’s warning moan Is also hush’d and o’er.

THE HEATHER BELL.

Oh! deek thy hair wi’ the heather bell, The heather bell alone ; Leave roses to the Lowland maid, The Lowland maid alone. I’ve seen thee wi’ the gay, gay rose, And wi’ the heather bell,— I love you much with both, fair maid ; But, wear the heather bell.