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If, yet, thy gentle spirit hover nigh
is consolation kuown, While solitary Friendship sighs alone.
A FRAGMENT. Waen, to their airy hall, my Fathers' voice Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice; When, poised upon the gale, my form shall ride, Or, dark in mist, descend the mountain's side ; Oh! may my shade behold no sculptured urns, To mark the spot where earth to earth returns: No leogthen'd scroll, no praise-encumber'd stone; My epitaph shall be my name alone : If that with honour fail to crown my clay, Oh! may no other fame my
That, only that, shall single out the spot, * By that remember'd, or with that forgot.
As he bends o'er the wave,
Which may soon be liis grave,
The soldier braves death,
For a fanciful wreath,
But le raises the foe,
When in battle laid low,
If, with high-bounding pride,
He return to his bride,
All his toils are repaid,
When embracing the maidFrom her eyelid he kisses the Tear.
Sweet scene of my youth,
Seat of Friendship and Truth,
Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd,
For a last look I turn'd, But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear.
Though my vows I can pour,
To my Mary no more,
In the shade of her bower,
I remember the hour,
By another possest;
May she live ever blest, ller name still my heart must revere;
With a sigli I resign,
What I once thought was mine, And forgive her deceit with a Tcar.
Ye friends of my heart,
Ere from you I depart,
If again we shall meet,
In this rural retreat,
When my soul wings her flight,
To the regions of night,
As ye pass by the tomb,
ashes consume, Oh! moisten their dust with a Tear.
May no marble bestow
The splendour of woe,
No fiction of fame
Shail blazon my name,
When Friendship or Love
Our sympathies move; When Truth in a glance should appear;
The lips may beguile,
With a dimple or smile,
Too oft is a smile
But the hypocrite's wile, To mask detestation or fear;
Give me the soft sigh,
Whilst the soul-telling eye
Mild Charity's glow,
To us mortals below,
Compassion will melt,
Where this virtue is felt,
The man doom'd to sail,
With the blast of the gale, Through billows Atlantic to steer;
AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE.
Delivered previous to the performance of « The Wheel
of Fortune,» at a private theatre.
Yet let not canker'd calumny assail,
Since, now, to please with purer scenes we seek,
and meet indulgence though she find not fame. 1 Sull, not for her alone we wish respect,
Others appear more conscious of defect;
To-night no veteran Roscii you behold,
No Cooke, no Kemble, can salute you here,
Each timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze; · Surely the last will some projection find
Sobe to the softer sex can prove unkind;
STANZAS TO A LADY.
With the Poems of Camoens. Tajs votive pledge of fond esteem,
Perhaps, dear girl! for me thou'lt prize ; It sings of Love's enchanting dream,
A theme we never can despise. Who blames it but the envious fool,
The old and disappointed maid ? Or pupil of the prudish school,
In single sorrow doom'd to fade. Then read, dear girl, with feeling read,
For thou wilt ne'er be one of those;
In pity for the Poet's woes.
His was no faint fictitious flame;
But not thy hapless fate the same.
ON THE DEATH OF MR FOX. The following illiberal Impromptu appeared in a
TO M* **.
With bright but mild affectiou shine;
Love more than mortal would be thine. For thou art form'd so heavenly fair,
Howe'er those orbs may wildly beam,
That fatal glance forbids esteem.
So much perfection in thee shone,
The skies might claim thee for their own. Therefore, to guard her dearest work,
Lest angels might dispute the prize, She bade a secret lightning lurk Within those once celestial
cyes. These might the boldest sylph appal,
When gleaming with meridian blaze; Thy beauty must enrapture all,
But who can dare thinc ardent gaze! "T is said, that Berenice's bair
In stars adorn the vault of heaven; But they would ne'er permit the there,
Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven. For, did those eyes as planets roll,
Thy sister lights would scarce appear; Een suns, which systems now control, Would twinkle dimly through their sphere.
Untutord by science, a stranger to fear,
And rude as the rocks where my infancy grew,
No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear, That all must love thee who behold thee,
Need I say, my sweet Mary, 't was centred in you?
Yet it could not be love, for I knew not the name;
What passion can dwell in the heart of a child ?
But, still, i perceive an emotion the same Ob Memory! thou choicest blessing,
As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-cover'd wild: When join'd with hope, when still possessing ;
Oue image alone op my bosom impress'd, But how much cursed by every lover,
I loved my bleak regions, nor pauled for new; When hope is fled, and passion 's over.
And few were my wants, for my wishes were blest,
And pure were my thoughts, for my soul was with you.
From mountain to mountain I bounded along,
I breasted" the billows of Dee'sa rushing ride, Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
And heard at a distance the Highlander's song: A beam from under hazel brows!
At eve, on my heath-cover'd couch of repose, How quick we credit every oath,
No dreams, save of Mary, were spread to my view, And hear her plight the willing troth!
And warm to the skies my devotions arose,
For the first of my prayers was a blessing on you.
I left my bleak home, and my visions are gone, « Woman! thy vows are traced in sand.»
The mountains are vanislid, my youth is no more;
And delight but in days I have witness'd before.
Ah! splendour has raised but embitler'd my lot,
More dear were the scenes which my infancy knew;
Though cold is my heart, still it lingers with you. For in visions alone your affection can live;
When I see some dark hill point its crest to the sky, I rise, and it leaves me to weep.
I think of the rocks that o'ershadow Colbleen; 3 Then, Morpheus! envelop my faculties fast,
When I see the soft blue of a love-speaking eye, Shed o'er me your languor benign;
I think of those eyes that endear'd the rude scene; Should the dream of 10-night but resemble the last, Wheo, laply, some light-waving locks I behold, What rapture celestial is mine!
That faintly resemble my Mary's in hue,
I think on tbe long tlowing ringlets of gold,
The locks that were sacred to beauty and you.
Yet the day may arrive, when the mountains once more
Shall rise to my sight, in their mantles of snow:
But while these soar above me, unchanged as before, Ah! frown not, sweet lady, unbend your
soft brow, Nor deem me too happy in this;
Will Mary be there to receive me? ah, no!
Adicu! then, ye bills, where my childhood was bred, If I sin in my dream, I alone for it now,
Thou sweet-flowing Dee, to thy waters adieu !
No home in the forest shall shelter my head;
Oh! think not my penance deficient;
slumbers beguile, To awake will be torture sufficient.
TO * *
On! yes, I will own we were dear to each other,
The friendships of childhood, though fleeting, are
Nor less the affection I cherish'd for you.
The attachment of years in a moment expires;
But glows not, like Love, with unqucnchable fires. is an expression frequently to be found in Ossian. 3 This will not appear extraordinary to those who have been ac
I. Breasting the lofty surge.»-SHAKSPEARE. castomed to the mountains: it is by no means uncommon on attaining the top of Ben e vis, Ben y bourd, etc., to perceive, between the
: The Dee is a beautiful river, which rises near Mar Lodge, and summit and the valley, clouds pouring down rain, and occasionally, falls into the sea at New Aberdeen. accompanied by lightning, while the spectator literally looks down 3 Colbleen in a mountain near the verge of the Highlands, not far on the storm, perfectly secure from its effects.
from the ruins of Dee Castle.
Full oft have we wandered through Ida together,
But winter's rude tempests are gathering now. In mind a slave to every vicious joy,
From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd,
In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend ;
Versed in hypocrisy, while yet a child,
Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild;
Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool, However, dear S--, for I still must esteem you, Old in the world, tho' scarcely broke from school: The few whom I love I can never upbraid,
Damætas ran through all the maze of sin, The chance, which has lost, may in future redeem you, And found the goal, when others just begin; Repentance will cancel the vow you have made.
Even still contlicting passions shake his soul, I will not complain, and though chill'd is affection,
And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl; With me no corroding resentment shall live; But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his former chain, My bosom is calm'd by the simple reflection,
And, what was once his bliss, appears his bane.
Marion! why that pensive brow?
What disgust to life hast thou ?
Change that discontented air;
Frowns become not one so fair.
'T is not love disturbs thy rest, Too late you may droop o'er the fond recollection, Love 's a stranger to thy breast; And sigh for the friend who was formerly yours.
He in dimpling smiles appears; For the present we part, I will hope not for
Or mourns in sweetly timid tears; ever,
Or bends the languid eyelid down, ; For time and regret will restore you at last ;
But shuns the cold forbidding frown.
Then resume thy former fire,
Some will love, and all admire;
While that icy aspect chills us,
Nought but cold indifference thrills us.
Wouldst thou wandering hearts beguile,
Smile, at least, or seem to smile;
Eyes like thine were never meant
To hide their orbs, in dark restraint ;
Spite of all, thou fain wouldst say,
Still in truant beams they play.
Thy lips, --but here my modest Muse
Her impulse chaste must needs refuse.
She blushes, curtsies, frowns,-in short she
Dreads, lest the subject should transport me; The lips, which made me Beauty's slave.
And tlying off, in search of reason, Here, I can trace---ah no! that
Brings prudence back in proper season.
All shall therefore say (whate'er
I think is neither here nor there),
Is that such lips, of looks endearing,
Were form'd for better things than sneering; But where's the beam so sweetly straying?
Of soothing compliments divested,
Advice at least 's disinterested ;
Such is my artless song to thee,
From all the flow of tlattery free;
Counsel, like mine, is as a brother's,
My heart is given to some others;
That is to say, unskill'd to cozen,
It shares itself amongst a dozen.
Marion, adieu! oh! prithee slight not
This warning, though it may delight not;
And, lest my precepts be displeasing
To those who think remonstrance teazing,
At once I'll tell thee our opinion,
Concerning woman's soft dominion : la life's last conflict 't will appear,
" In law, every person is an infant who has uot attained the age And meet my fond expiring gaze.
Howe'er we gaze with admiration
OSCAR OF ALVA.'
How sweetly shines, through azure skies,
The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore, Where Alva's hoary turrets rise,
And hear the din of arms no more. But often has yon rolling moon
On Alva's casques of silver play'd, And view d, at midnight's silent noon,
Her chiefs in gleaming mail array'd. And on the crimson'd rocks beneath,
Which scowl o'er ocean's sullen flow, Pale in the scatter'd ranks of death,
She saw the gasping warrior low. While many an eye, which ne'er again
Could mark the rising orb of day, Turn'd feebly from the gory plain,
Beheld in death her fading ray. Once, to those eyes the lamp of Love,
They blest her dear propitious light: But now, she glimmerd from above,
A sad funereal torch of night. Faded is Alva's noble race,
And grey her towers are seen afar; No more her heroes urge the clase,
Or roll the crimson tide of war. But who was last of Alva's clan?
Why grows the moss on Alva's stove?
They ccho to the gale alone.
A sound is heard in yonder hall,
And vibrates o'er the mouldering wall. Yes, when the eddying tempest sighs,
It shakes the shield of Oscar brave; But there no more his banners rise,
No more his plumes of sable wave. Fair shone the sun on Oscar's birth,
When Angus haild his eldest born; The vassals round their chieftain's hearth,
Crowd to applaud the happy morn.
upon the mountain deer, The Pibroch raised its piercing note; To gladden more their Highland cheer,
The strains in martial numbers float. And they who heard the war-notes wild,
Hoped that, one day, the Pibroch's strain Should play before the Hero's child,
While he should lead the Tartan train. Another
year is quickly past, And Angus hails another son; His natal day is like the last,
Nor soon the jocund feast was done.
Ou Alva's dusky hills of wind,
And left their hounds in speed behind.
They mingle in the ranks of war; They lightly wield the bright claymore,
And send the whistling arrow far. Dark was the flow of Oscar's hair,
Wildly it stream'd along the gale ; But Allan's locks were bright and fair,
And pensive seemd his cheek, and pale. But Oscar own'd a bero's soul,
His dark eye shone through beams of truth; Allau had early learn'd controul,
And smooth his words had been from youth. Both, both were brave; the Saxon spear,
Was sbiver'd oft beneath their steel ; And Oscar's bosom scorn'd to fear,
But Oscar's bosom knew to feel. While Allan's soul belied his form,
Unworthy with such charms to dwell; Keen as the lightning of the storm,
On foes his deadly vengeance fell.
Arrived a young and noble dame;
Glenalvon's blue-eyed daughter came :
And Angus on his Oscar smiled; It soothed the father's seudal pride,
Thus to obtain Glenalvon's child. Hark! to the Pibroch's pleasing nole,
Hark! to the swelling nuptial song; In joyous strains the voices float,
And still the choral peal prolong. See how the heroes' blood-red plumes,
Assembled wave in Alva's hall;
Attending on their chieftain's call.
peace; To Oscar's nuptials throng the bands,
Nor yet the sounds of pleasure cease. But where is Oscar ? sure 't is late :
Is this a bridegroom's ardent tlame? While thronging guests and ladies wait,
Nor Oscar nor his brother came.
• The catastrophe of this tale was sufgested by the story of « Jeronymo and Lorenzo, in the birst volume of The Armenian, or Ghost-Seer.. It also bears some resemblance to a scene in the third act of • Macbeth,