issued under the name of Logan. We have already declined to enter on the controversy about 'The Cuckoo,' intimating, however, our belief, founded partly upon Logan's unscrupulous character and partly on internal evidence, that it was originally written by Bruce, but probably polished to its present perfection by Logan, whose other writings give us rather the impression of a man of varied accomplishments and excellent taste, than of deep feeling or original genius. If Logan were not the author of 'The Cuckoo,' there was a special baseness connected with the fact, that when Burke sought him out in Edinburgh, solely from his admiration of that poem, he owned the soft and false impeachment, and rolled as a sweet morsel praise from the greatest man of the age, which he knew was the rightful due of another. THE LOVERS. 1 _Har_. 'Tis midnight dark: 'tis silence deep, My father's house is hushed in sleep; In dreams the lover meets his bride, She sees her lover at her side; The mourner's voice is now suppressed, A while the weary are at rest: 'Tis midnight dark; 'tis silence deep; I only wake, and wake to weep. 2 The window's drawn, the ladder waits, I spy no watchman at the gates; No tread re-echoes through the hall, No shadow moves along the wall. I am alone. 'Tis dreary night, Oh, come, thou partner of my flight! Shield me from darkness, from alarms; Oh, take me trembling to thine arms! 3 The dog howls dismal in the heath, The raven croaks the dirge of death; Ah me! disaster's in the sound! The terrors of the night are round; A sad mischance my fears forebode, The demon of the dark's abroad, And lures, with apparition dire, The night-struck man through flood and fire. 4 The owlet screams ill-boding sounds, The spirit walks unholy rounds; The wizard's hour eclipsing rolls; The shades of hell usurp the poles; The moon retires; the heaven departs. From opening earth a spectre starts: My spirit dies--Away, my fears! My love, my life, my lord, appears! 5 _Hen_. I come, I come, my love! my life! And, nature's dearest name, my wife! Long have I loved thee; long have sought: And dangers braved, and battles fought; In this embrace our evils end; From this our better days ascend; The year of suffering now is o'er, At last we meet to part no more! 6 My lovely bride! my consort, come! The rapid chariot rolls thee home. _Har_. I fear to go----I dare not stay. Look back.----I dare not look that way. _Hen_. No evil ever shall betide My love, while I am at her side. Lo! thy protector and thy friend, The arms that fold thee will defend.