And entered in the regions fair,
We see in blissful dreams?
Here our poet has left the logging-field and is enjoying the beauties of nature, while giving more attention to the rhythmic tone of the muse. We understand that Mr. McLachlan is now writing for Grip, and we have seen some lines of his entitled “May Song” which, as a lyric, is far in advance of his previous work. We give the first stanza:
Now morn is ascending from out the dark sea,
A light crimson veil hanging o’er her;
The lark leaves her nest on the bonny green lea,
And flutters aloft to adore her.
And, oh, how the living beams revel and leap!
In purple and gold to enfold her;
And how the wild cataract roused on the steep,