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From heart sincere, and warm, and free,

Devoted to the lhade!
Ah, why does Fate his steps decoy,

In stormy paths to roam,
Remote from ali congenial joy?

O take the wanderec home.!

Thy lhades, thy silence, now be mine,

Thy charms my only theme; My haunt the hollow cliss, whofe piae

Waves o'er the gloomy stream; Whence the fcarM owl, on pinions grey,

Breaks from the rustling boughs,
And down the lone vale fails away,
/ To more profound repofe.
O while to thee the woodland pours

Its wildly warbling fong.
And balmy from the bank of flowers

The Zephyr breathes along.
Let no rude found invade from far,

No vagrant foot be nigh,
No ray from Grandeur's gilded car,

Flam on the startled eye!

But if fome pilgrim through the glade

Thy hallowed bow*rs explore,
O guard from harm this hoary head,

And listen to his lore;
For he of joys divine fhall tell,

That wean from earthly woe,
And triumph o'er the mighty fpell

That chains this heart below. For me no more the path invites

Ambition loves to tread;

No more I'll climb thofe toilfome heights

By guileful Hope mifled; » •

Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more

To Mirth's enliv'ning lirain; For prefent pleafure foon is o'erf

And all the past is vain.

THE HERMIT.

At the clofe of the day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the fweets of forgetfulnefs prove;

When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's fong in the grov%:

'Twas thus, by the cave ot a mountain afar,

While a harp rung fymphonious, a Hermit began

No more with himfelf, or with Nature at war,

He thought as a fage, though he felt as a man.

"Ah, why all abandon'd to darknefs and woe!

'* Why, lone Philomela! that languifhing fall? ,' For fpring shall return, and a lover bestow,

'* And forrow no longer thy bofom inthrall; "But if Pity infpire thee, renew the fad lay,

"Mourn, fweetest complainer; man calls thee te "mourn!

"O soothe him whofe pleafures, like thine, pafs away! "Full quickly they pafs—but they never retjrn!

"Now gliding remote, on the verge of the fley,

"The moon, half extinguiih'H. her crefcent difplays:

'' But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high

"She ihone, and the planets were lost iu her blast.

"Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladnefs purfue

u The path that conducts thee to fplendor agam: "But man's faded glory what change fhall renew!

"Ah, fool! to exult in a glory fo vain!

"'Tis night, and the landfcape is lovely no more; *• 1 mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, "PerfumM with freth fragrance, and glittering with

'4 Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn; [dew: "Kind Nature the embryo blossom will fave:

"But when shall fpring visit the mouldering urn? *' O when Avail tt dawn on the night of the grave

'Ttrai thus, by the glare of falfe fcience betray'd, 'That leads to bewilder; and dazzles, to blind;

'My thoughts wont to roam, from ihade onward to ihade: s Destruction before me, and Sorrow behind

M O pity, great Father of Light," then I cry'd,

1 Thy creature, who fain would not wander from "Thee!

*( Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquilh my pride:

'* From doubt and from darknefs thou only canst "free.''

* And darknefs and doubt are now slying away;

• No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn.

* So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray,

'The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. 'Sec Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph defcending,

* And Nature all glowing in Eden's sirst bloom!

* O'er the cold cheek of Death fmiles and rofes are

'blendmg,

'And beauty unmortal awakes from the tomb.' BURNS,

THE

COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT.

TO R. A—-x ESq.

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destioy obscure;

Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile,
The short and simple annals of the Poor. Gray.

My lov*d, my honour'd, much-refpected Friend!

No mercenary Bard his homage pays; With honest pride, I fcorn each felsilh end,

My dearest meed, a friend's esteem aud praife: To you I sing, in simple Scottish lays,

The lowly train in life's fecjuester'd fcene, The native feelings strong, the guilelefs ways,

What A-—- in a cottage would hare been; Ah! Iho' his worth unknown, far happier there, I weeoi November chill biaws loud wi' angry fugh;

The lhortening winter-day is near a clofe; The miry beasts retreating frae the pleugh;

The black'ning trains o' craws to their reposed The toil-worn Cotter frae his labor goes,

This night his weekly moil is at an end, Collects his fpades, his mattocks, and his hoes,

Hoping the morn in eafe and rest to fpend, [bend. And weary, o'er the moor, his courfe does hameuarti At length his lonely cot appears in view,

Beneath the iheKcr of a lonely tree;

Th' expectant wee-tbings, toddlin, stacher through To meet their Dad, wi' slichteriD noife and glee.

Hi* wee-bit ingle blinkui bonilie,

His clean hearth-flane, his thrifty Wine's fmile,

The lifping infant, prattling on his knee,
Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile,

And makes him quite forget his labor and his toil.

Belyvc, the elder bairns come drappin in,

At fervice out nmang the farmers roun';
Some ca' the pleugh, fome herd, fome tentie rhi

A cannie errand to a ncebor town:
Their eldest hope, their Jenny, woman grown,

In youthfu' bloom, love fparktin in her e'e, Comes imnie, perhaps, to lhew a braw new gown,

Or deposite her fair-won penny-fee, To help her Parents dear, if they in hardlhip be.

With joy unfeign'd, brothers and sisters meet,

And each for other's weelfare kindly fpiers: The focial hours fwift-wing'd, unnotie'd fleet;

Each tells the uncos that h« fees or hears. The Parent, partial, eve their hopeful years;

Anticipation forward points the view v The Mother, w? her needle and her theers,

Gars auld claes look amaist as weel's the new; The Father mixes a' wi' admonition due..

Their Master's and their Mistrefs's command,

The youngkers a' are warned to obey i And mind their labors wi' an e\dent hand,

And ne'er, tho' out o'sight, to jauk or play; "And O, be fure to fear the Lord alway!

"And mind jour dutv, duely, morn andnig'-.t!

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