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: E'en day, all-bitter, brings relief From such a horror-breathing night. O thou bright queen, who o'er th' expanse Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway! Oft has thy silent-marking glance Observed us, fondly-wandering, stray! The time, unheeded, sped away, While Love's luxurious pulse beat high, Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray, To mark the mutual kindling eye. O! scenes in strong remembrance set! ON THE BIRTH OF A POSTHUMOUS CHILD, Born in peculiar Circumstances of Family Distress. SWEET floweret, pledge o' meikle love, November hirples o'er the lea, May He who gives the rain to pour, May He, the friend of woe and want, But late she flourish'd, rooted fast, Bless'd be thy bloom, thou lovely gem, And from thee many a parent stem A BARD'S EPITAPH. Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, Let him draw near; And owre this grassy heap sing dool, And drap a tear. Is there a bard of rustic song, Who, noteless, steals the crowds among, O, pass not by! But, with a frater-feeling strong, Here heave a sigh. Is there a man, whose judgment clear Can others teach the course to steer, Yet runs, himself, life's mad carcer, Wild as the wave; Here pause-and, through the starting tear, Survey this grave. The poor inhabitant below Was quick to learn, and wise to know, And keenly felt the friendly glow, And softer flame; But thoughtless follies laid him low, And stain'd his name! Reader, attend-whether thy soul Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, In low pursuit; Know, prudent, cautious, self-control, Is wisdom's root. TO MARY IN HEAVEN. THOU lingering star, with lessening ray, My Mary from my soul was torn. Where is thy place of blissful rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? That sacred hour can I forget, Can I forget the hallow'd grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love? Eternity will not efface Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace; Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! Ayr gurgling kiss'd his pebbled shore, O'erhung with wild woods, thickening, green ; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, Twined amorous round the raptured scene. The flowers sprang wanton to be press'd, The birds sang love on every spray, Till too, too soon, the glowing west Proclaim'd the speed of winged day. Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes, And fondly broods with miser care! Time but the impression deeper makes, As streams their channels deeper wear. My Mary, dear departed shade! Where is thy blissful place of rest? Seest thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? |