That part's enough of beauty's type And tho' it touch me not when ripe, Life's a voyage, we all declare, WOMAN. WHEN life looks lone and dreary, And if man of heaven e'er dreameth, Let conquerors fight for glory,- Let patriots live in story,— Too often they die in vain. Give kingdoms to those who choose 'em, This world can offer to me No throne like Beauty's bosom, LORD GREGORY. AH! ope, Lord Gregory, thy door! Who comes with woe at this drear night— If she whose love did once delight, Alas! thou heard'st a pilgrim mourn, But should'st thou not poor Marian know, And think the storms that round me blow, Far kinder than thy heart. STREPHON AND LYDIA. ALL lovely on the sultry beach, No hand the cordial draught to reach, To catch thy fleeting breath, Far distant from the mournful scene, Thy Lydia rifles all the plain, Ill fated youth! by fault of friend, Thou fall'st, alas! thyself, thy kind, THE NEGRO GIRL. YON poor Negro girl, an exotic plant, Though Fatima's mistress be loving and kind, She thinks on her parents left weeping behind, She thinks on her Zadi, the youth of her heart, How he cried on the beach, when the ship did depart― 'Twas a sad everlasting adieu: The * In an interleaved copy of Johnson's Musical Museum, now in the possession of Miss Eliza Bayley of Manchester, the following account of the above song is given, in the hand-writing of ROBERT BURNS." The Strephon and Lydia, mentioned in this song, were perhaps the loveliest couple of their time. The gentleman was commonly known by the name of Beau Gibson. lady was the "Gentle Jean," celebrated in Mr. Hamilton of Bangour's poems. Having frequently met at public places, they had formed a reciprocal attachment, which their friends thought dangerous, as their resources were by no means adequate to their tastes and habits of life. To elude the bad consequences of such a connexion, Strephon was sent abroad with a commission, and perished in Admiral Vernon's expedition to Carthagena." The shell-woven gift which he bound round her arm, Nor left one sad relic her sorrows to charm, And now, all dejected, she wanders apart, THE LARK FROM EARTH DELIGHTED SPRINGS. THE lark from earth delighted springs, Beneath the moon's pale silver ray. With op'ning leaves, when Phoebus shines, Since ev'ry breath that fills the gale, Still echo love's delightful tale, And ev'ry zephyr whispers love. Then let us use the golden hour, THE RETURN OF SPRING. COME, join with me, ye rural swains, No more the furious, blust'ring sky, With dark'ning rage o'er yon rude Forth, Thick thro' the black'ning sky, Till o'er each hill and sullen vale, And deep beneath the snowy veil, The hoary tyrant now has fled, Young blooming spring our fields o'erspread, The stately grove and thick'ning wood, High waving in the air; While o'er the mountain's grassy steep, At once their joy and care. |