sky,

I think of the rocks that o'ershadow Colbleen; • When I see the soft blue of a love-speaking eye, I think on those eyes that endear'd the rude scene: When, haply, some light-waving locks I behold, That faintly resemble my Mary's in hue, I think of the long-flowing ringlets of gold,

The locks that were sacred to beauty and you.

Yet the day may arrive when the mountains once

more

Shall rise to my sight in their mantles of snow: But while these soar above me unchanged as before, Will Mary be there to receive me? ah, no! Adieu, then, ye hills, where my childhood was bred! Thou sweet flowing Dee, to thy waters adieu ! No home in the forest shall shelter my head, Ah! Mary, what home could be mine but with you?

ΤΟ

OH! yes, I will own we were dear to each other; The friendships of childhood, though fleeting, are

true;

The love which you felt was the love of a brother, Nor less the affection I cherish'd for you.

But friendship can vary her gentle dominion,

The attachment of years in a moment expires; Like love, too, she moves on a swift-waving pinion, But glows not, like love, with unquenchable fires.

Full oft have we wander'd through Ida together,

And blest were the scenes of our youth, I allow; In the spring of our life, how serene is the weather, But winter's rude tempests are gathering now.

No more with affection shall memory blending
The wonted delights of our childhood retrace:
When pride steels the bosom, the heart is unbending,
And what would be justice appears a disgrace.

However, dear S-, for i still must esteem you—
The few whom I love I can never upbraid-
The chance which has lost may in future redeem you,
Repentance will cancel the vow you have made.

• Colbleen is a mountain near the verge of the Highlands, not far from The ruins of Dee Castle.

⚫ 'This poem was first published in the Hours of Idleness.

For time and regret will restore you at last; To forget our dissension we both should endeavor, I ask no atonement but days like the past.

Sweet lady! why thus doth a tear steal its way Down a cheek which outrivals thy bosom in hue? Yet why do I ask ?-to distraction a prey,

Thy reason has perish'd with love's last adieu!

Oh! who is yon misanthrope, shunning mankind?
From cities to caves of the forest he flew :
There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind;
The mountains reverberate love's last adieu!

Now hate rules a heart which in love's easy chains
Once passion's tumultuous blandishments knew;
Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins;
He ponders in frenzy on love's last adieu !

How he envies the wretch with a soul wrapt in steel!
His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few,
Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel,
And dreads not the anguish of love's last adieu!

Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o'ercast;

No more with love's former devotion we sue : He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast! The shroud of affection is love's last adieu!

In this life of probation for rapture divine,

Astrea declares that some penance is due; From him who has worshipp'd at love's gentle shrine The atonement is ample in love's last adieu !

Who kneels to the god on his altar of light, Must myrtle and cypress alteruately strew: His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight;

His cypress, the garland of love's last adieu !

DAMÆTAS.

IN law an infant,† and in years a boy,
In mind a slave to every vicious joy;

From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd;

In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend;
Versed in hypocrisy while yet a child;
Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild;
Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool;

Old in the world, though scarcely broke from school;
Damætas ran through all the maze of sin,
And found the goal when others just begin:
Even still conflicting passions shake his soul,
And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl;
But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his former chair,
And what was once his bliss appears his bane.

'Tis not love disturbs thy rest,
Love's a stranger to thy breast;
He in dimpling smiles appears,
Or mourns in sweetly timid tears,
Or bends the languid eyelid down,
But shuns the cold forbidding frown.
Then resume thy former fire,
Some will love, and all admire;
While that icy aspect chills us,
Nought but cool indifference thrills us.
Wouldst thou wandering hearts beguile,
Smile at least, or seem to smile.
Eyes like thine were never meant
To hide their orbs in dark restraint;
Spite of all thou fain wouldst say,
Still in truant beams they play.
Thy lips-but here my modest Muse
Her impulse chaste must needs refuse:
She blushes, curt'sies, frowns,-in short, she
Dreads lest the subject should transport me;
And flying off in search of reason,

Brings prudence back in proper season.
All I shall therefore say (whate'er

I think, is neither here, nor there)

Is, that such lips, of locks endearing,

Were form'd for better things than sneering:
Of soothing compliments divested.
Advice at least's disinterested;
Such is my artless song to thee,
From all the flow of flattery free;
Counsel like mine is as a brother's,
My heart is given to some others;
That is to say, unskill'd to cozen,
It shares itself among a dozen.
Marion, adieu! oh! pr'ythee slight not
This warning, though it may delight not;
And, lest my precepts be displeasing

To those who think remonstrance teasing,
At once I'll tell thee our opinion
Concerning woman's soft dominion
Howe'er we gaze with admiration
On eyes of blue or lips carnation,
Howe'er the flowing locks attract us,
Howe'er those beauties may distract us,
Still fickle, we are prone to rove,
These cannot fix our souls to love!
It is not too severe a stricture
To say they form a pretty picture:
But wouldst thou see the secret chain,
Which binds us to your humble train,
To hail you queens of all creation,
Know, in a word, 'tis ANIMATION

TO MARION.

MARION! why that pensive brow? What disgust to life hast thou? Change that discontented air:

Frowns become not one so fair.

• The Goddess of Justice.

OSCAR OF ALVA.*

A TALE.+

How sweetly shines, through azure skies, The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore;

Where Alva's hoary turrets rise,

And hear the din of arms no more.

also hears some resemblance to a scene in the third act of "Macheth."

Slow roll'd the moons, but blest at last,
Arrived the dearly destined morn;
The year of anxious trembling past,
What smiles the lover's cheeks adorn'
Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note!
Hark to the swelling nuptial song!
In joyous strains the voices float,
And still the choral peal prolong.

Again the clan, in festive crowd,
Throng through the gate of Alva's hall
The songs of mirth reêcho loud,
And all their former joy recall.

But who is he, whose darken'd brow

Glooms in the midst of general mirth? Before his eye's far fiercer glow

The blue flames curdle o'er the hearth.

Dark is the robe which wraps his form,
And tall his plume of gory red;
His voice is like the rising storm,
But light and trackless is his tread.

"Tis noon of night, the pledge goes round, The bridegroom's health is deeply quaff'd; With shouts the vaulted roofs resound,

And all combine to hail the draught.

Sudden the stranger-chief arose,

And all the clamorous crowd are hush'd And Angus' cheek with wonder glows, And Mora's tender bosom blush'd

"Old man!" he cried, "this pledge is done Thou saw'st 'twas duly drank by me;

It hail'd the nuptials of thy son:
Now will I claim a pledge from thee.

"While all around is mirth and joy,
To bless thy Allan's happy lot,
Say, had'st thou ne'er another boy?
Say, why should Oscar be forgot?
"Alas!" the hapless sire replied,

The big tear starting as he spoke, "When Oscar left my hall, or died, This aged heart was almost broke.

"

"Thrice has the earth revolved her course Since Oscar's form has bless'd my sight; And Allan is my last resource,

Since martial Oscar's death or flight."

"Tis well," replied the stranger stern, And fiercely flash'd his rolling eye; "Thy Oscar's fate I fain would learn; Perhaps the hero did not die.

"Perchance, if those whom he most loved,
Would call, thy Oscar might return;
Perchance the chief has only roved;
For him thy Beltane yet may burn

"Fill high the bowl the table round,

We will not claim the pledge by stealth;

• Beltane Tree, a Highland festival ɔn the first of May, held newz Året lighted for the occasion.