Some coarser substance, unrefin'd,

Plac'd for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below. 'Where, where is Love's fond, tender throe, With lordly Honour's lofty brow,

The pow'rs you proudly own?
Is there, beneath Love's noble name,
Can harbour, dark, the selfish aim,
To bless himself alone!
Mark maiden-innocence a prey
To love-pretending snares,
This boasted Honour turns away,
Shunning soft Pity's rising sway,

[prayers!

Regardless of her tears, and unavailing Perhaps, this hour, in misery's squalid nest, She strains your infant to her joyless breast, And with a mother's fears shrinks at the rocking blast!

'O ye! who, sunk in beds of down, Feel not a want but what yourselves create, Think for a moment on his wretched fate,

Whom friends and fortune quite disown' Ill-satisfy'd keen nature's clam'rous call,

Stretch'd on his straw, he lays himself to sleep,
While thro' the ragged roof and chinky wall,
Chill o'er his slumbers piles the drifty heap!
'Think on the dungeon's grim confine,
Where guilt and poor misfortune pine!
Guilt, erring man, relenting, view.
But shall thy legal rage pursue
The wretch, already crushed low
By cruel Fortune's undeserved blow?

Affliction's sons are brothers in distress,
A brother to relieve, how exquisite the bliss!'
I heard nae mair, for chanticleer
Shook off the pouthery snaw,"

w Flaky snow.

And hail'd the morning with a cheer,

A cottage-rousing craw.

But deep this truth impress'd my mind--
Thro' all his works abroad,

The heart, benevolent and kind,
The most resembles God.

THE LAMENT,

Occasioned by the unfortunate issue of a Friend's Amour.

Alas! how oft does Goodness wound itself,

And sweet Affection prove the spring of woe!-Home.
THOU pale orb, that silent shines,
While care-untroubled mortals sleep!
Thou seest a wretch that inly pines,
And wanders here to wail and weep!
With woe I nightly vigils keep,

Beneath thy wan unwarming beam;
And mourn in lamentation deep,
How life and love are all a dream.

I joyless view thy rays adorn
The faintly-marked distant hill :
I joyless view thy trembling horn,
Reflected in the gurgling rill:
My fondly-fluttering heart, be still!

Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, cease!

Ah! must the agonizing thrill

For ever bar returning peace!

No idly-feign'd poetic pains,

My sad love-lorn lamentings claim:
No shepherd's pipe-Arcadian strains;
No fabled tortures, quaint and tame:
The plighted faith; the mutual flame;
The oft attested Powers above;
The promis'd father's tender name-
These were the pledges of my love!

Encircled in her clasping arms,

How have the raptur'd moments flown How have I wish'd for Fortune's charms,

For her dear sake, and hers alone!
And must I think it! Is she gone,
My secret heart's exulting boast?
And does she heedless hear my groan?
And is she ever, ever lost?

O can she bear so base a heart
So lost to honour, lost to truth,
As from the fondest lover part,

The plighted husband of her youth!
Alas! life's path may be unsmooth!

Her way may lie through rough distress! Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, Her sorrows share, and make them less?

Ye winged hours that o'er us past,

Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd, Your dear remembrance in my breast, My fondly treasur'd thoughts employ'd. That breast, how dreary now, and void, For her too scanty once of room! Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd, And not a wish to gild the gloom! The morn that warns th' approaching day, Awakes me up to toil and woe: I see the hours in long array,

That I must suffer, lingering, slow. Full many a pang, and many a throe, Keen recollection's direful train, Must wing my soul, ere Phoebus, low, Shall kiss the distant western main.

And when my nightly couch I try,

Sore harass'd out with care and grief, My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye, Keep watchings with the nightly thief:

Or, if I slumber, Fancy, chief,
Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright:
Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief

From such a horror-breathing night!

O thou bright queen, who o'er the expanse Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway! Oft has thy silent-marking glance

Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray!
The time, unheeded, sped away,

While love's luxurious pulse beat high,
Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray,
To mark the mutual-kindling eye.
Oh! scenes in strong remembrance set!
Scenes, never, never, to return!
Scenes, if, in stupor, I forget,
Again I feel, again I burn:
From every joy and pleasure torn,
Life's weary vale I'll wander thro';
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn
A faithless woman's broken vow.x

LAMENT,

Written when the Author was about to leave his native country. C'ER the mist-shrouded cliffs of the lone mountain

straying,

Where the wild winds of winter incessantly rave, What woes wring my heart while intently sur

veying

[wave.

The storm's gloomy path on the breast of the

Ye foam-crested billows, allow me to wail,

Ere ye toss me afar from my lov'd native shore; Where the flower which bloom'❜d sweetest in Coila's

green vale,

The pride o' my bosom, my Mary's no more.

A detail of the circumstance on which this affecting Poem was composed will be found in Lockhart's Life of the Poet, p. 85. First published in the Dunifrics Weekly Journal, July 5th,

1813

No more by the banks of the streamlet we 'll

wander, [wave; And smile at the moon's rimpled face in the No more shall my arms cling with fondness around

her [grave. For the dew-drops of morning fall cold on her No more shall the soft thrill of love warm my

breast,

I haste with the storm to a far distant shore ; Where, unknown, unlamented, my ashes shall rest, And joy shall revisit my bosom no more.

LAMENT,

FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN.

THE wind blew hollow fraez the hills,
By fits the sun's departing beam
Look'd on the fading yellow woods
That wav'd o'er Lugar's winding stream
Beneath a craigy steep, a Bard,

Laden with years and meiklea pain,
In loud lament bewail'd his lord,

Whom death had all untimely taen.b

He lean'd him to an ancient aik,c

Whose trunk was mould'ring down with years; His locks were bleached white wi' time,

His hoary cheek was wet wi' tears!
And as he touch'd his trembling harp,
And as he tun'd his doleful sang,
The winds, lamenting thro' their caves,
To echo bore the notes alang.

'Ye scatter'd birds that faintly sing,
The reliques of the vernal choir!
Ye woods that shed on a' the winds
The honours of the aged year!

2 From

a Much.

b Taken.

Oak.

H