Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, But nought can glad the weary wight Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn The merle, in his noontide bow'r, Now blooms the lily by the bank, I was the Queen o' bonie France, And never-ending care. But as for thee, thou false woman, My sister and my fae, Grim Vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword That thro' thy soul shall gae; The weeping blood in woman's breast Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of wo My son my son! may kinder stars And may those pleasures gild thy reign, God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, Or turn their hearts to thee; And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, Remember him for me! O! soon, to me, may summer-suns And, in the narrow house o' death, And the next flowers that deck the spring, THE LAMENT, OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORtunate issue of a frienD'S AMOUR. Alas! how oft does Goodness wound itself, HOME. 1. O THоU pale orb, that silent shines, Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam; 11. I joyless view thy rays adorn Ah! must the agonizing thrill For ever bar returning peace! No idly-feign'd poetic pains, My sad love-lorn lamentings claim; No fabled tortures, quaint and tame, IV. Encircled in her clasping arms, How have the raptur'd moments flown! My secret heart's exulting boast? V. Oh! can she bear so base a heart, The plighted husband of her youth? Her way may lie thro' rough distress; Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, Her sorrows share, and make thein less? VI. 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. Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd, VII. The morn that warns th' approaching day, I see the hours, in long array, That I must suffer, ling'ring slow: Full many a pang, and many a throe, Keen recollection's direful train, Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low, Shall kiss the distant western main. VIII. And when my nightly couch I try, Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright; IX. O! thou bright queen, who o'er th' 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. X. Oh! scenes in strong remembrance set! Scenes, if in stupor I forget, Again I feel, again I burn; |