"Scarba's Isle, whose tortured shore Still rings to Corrievreckin's roar, And lovely Colonsay; Scenes sung by him who sings no more: His bright and brief career is o'er, And mute his tuneful strains; Quenched is his lamp of varied lore, That loved the light of song to pour: A distant and a deadly shore Has Leyden's cold remains." His "Scenes of Infancy" is distinguished for the sweetness of its versification, and its pleasant pictures of the vale of Teviot. In strength and enthusiasm, it is much inferior to his ballads. The opening of "The Mermaid," has been praised by Sir Walter Scott "as exhibiting a power of numbers, which for mere melody of sound has rarely been excelled." On Jura's heath how sweetly swell The murmurs of the mountain bee! How softly, mourns the writh'd shell, Of Jura's shore, its parent sea. But softer, floating o'er the deep, The mermaid's sweet, sea-soothing lay, That charmed the dancing waves to sleep, Before the bark of Colonsay. But better known, and far more affecting, is Leyden's "Ode to an Indian Gold Coin," written in Cherical, Malabar, which in addition to its vigor and beauty, has a fine moral which it is not necessary to point out. Slave of the dark and dirty mine! What vanity has brought thee here? How can I love to see thee shine So bright, whom I have bought so dear? The tent-ropes flapping lone I hear, For twilight converse arm in arm; The jackal's shriek bursts on my ear, When mirth and music wont to cheer. By Cherical's dark wandering streams, Where cane-tufts shadow all the wild, Sweet visions haunt my waking dreams Of Teviot loved while still a child; Of castled rocks stupendous piled By Esk or Eden's classic wave, Where loves of youth and friendship smiled Uncursed by thee, vile yellow slave! Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memory fade! The perished bliss of youth's first prime, That once so bright on fancy played, Revives no more in after time. Far from my sacred natal clime I haste to an untimely grave; The daring thoughts that soared sublime Are sunk in ocean's southern wave. Slave of the mine, thy yellow light Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear. A gentle vision comes by night My lonely widowed heart to cheer. Her eyes are dim with many a tear, That once were guiding-stars to mine; Her fond heart throbs with many a fear! I cannot bear to see thee shine. For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave, I left a heart that loved me true! I crossed the tedious ocean wave, To roam in climes unkind and new. The cold wind of the stranger blew Chill on my withered heart; the grave Dark and untimely met my view-- And all for thee, vile yellow slave!