Helen D'Arcy Cranstoun, the second wife of the celebrated Professor Stewart, is entitled to a more ample notice in a work on Modern Scottish Song than the limited materials at our command enable us to supply. She was the third daughter of the Hon. George Cranstoun, youngest son of William, fifth Lord Cranstoun. She was born in the year 1765, and became the wife of Professor Dugald Stewart on the 26th July 1790. Having survived her husband ten years, she died at Warriston House, in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh, on the 28th of July 1838. She was the sister of the Countess Purgstall (the subject of Captain Basil Hall's "Schloss Hainfeld"), and of George Cranstoun, a senator of the College of Justice, by the title of Lord Corehouse. The following pieces from the pen of the accomplished author are replete with simple beauty and exquisite tenderness. THE TEARS I SHED MUST EVER FALL. TUNE--_"Ianthe the Lovely."_ The tears I shed must ever fall: I mourn not for an absent swain; For thoughts may past delights recall, And parted lovers meet again. I weep not for the silent dead: Their toils are past, their sorrows o'er; And those they loved their steps shall tread, And death shall join to part no more. Though boundless oceans roll'd between, If certain that his heart is near, A conscious transport glads each scene, Soft is the sigh and sweet the tear. E'en when by death's cold hand removed, We mourn the tenant of the tomb, To think that e'en in death he loved, Can gild the horrors of the gloom. But bitter, bitter are the tears Of her who slighted love bewails; No hope her dreary prospect cheers, No pleasing melancholy hails. Hers are the pangs of wounded pride, Of blasted hope, of wither'd joy; The flattering veil is rent aside, The flame of love burns to destroy. In vain does memory renew The hours once tinged in transport's dye; The sad reverse soon starts to view, And turns the past to agony. E'en time itself despairs to cure Those pangs to every feeling due: Ungenerous youth! thy boast how poor, To win a heart, and break it too! No cold approach, no alter'd mien, Just what would make suspicion start; No pause the dire extremes between-- He made me blest, and broke my heart:[39] From hope, the wretched's anchor, torn, Neglected and neglecting all; Friendless, forsaken, and forlorn, The tears I shed must ever fall. [39] The four first lines of the last stanza are by Burns. RETURNING SPRING, WITH GLADSOME RAY.[40] Returning spring, with gladsome ray, Adorns the earth and smoothes the deep: All nature smiles, serene and gay, It smiles, and yet, alas! I weep.