Well may the tear-drops dim thine eye;
Aurelia! Teviot's loveliest maid *,
For whom he breath'd th' impassion'd sigh,
And languish'd in Mysura's shade.
And well may they whom classic lore
Has given to grace EDINA's halls,
Lament thy fate; for thou no more
Where Learning lifts her attic walls,
Enthusiast youth! shalt fondly bring,
Prometheus like, thine orient beam,
And flowers in sunnier glades that spring,
To deck her sounding Academe.
But what shall soothe a parent's grief,
Whose hope is sunk in dark despair?
Has Heaven a cup of sweet relief,
For such a pang, then pour it there.
Departed youth! departed year!
Thy cherish'd memory cannot fade,
For ever lost-for ever dear,
Tho' number'd with the silent dead,
Edinburgh,
January 18, 1812,
* See "Scenes of Infancy, descriptive of Teviot Dale," a poem of great beauty, by Dr. Leyden.
Α ρατε με δεμας ὅρθετε κάρα.
Λελύμαι μελέων σύνδεσμα.
Ο δ ̓ ολβιος ὅν με συ θύμω
Προφρων τιμήσεις τω δ' αφθονα παντα πόρεσι, HOMER.
HITHER turn thee, rosy Maid!
Turn, to give the wretched aid!
Power I seek not; wealth I spurn;
Hither, heavenly vision, turn!
With thy vivid, vermil hue,
Tinge my faded cheek anew;
Stay the withering griefs that soil;
Where they trickled, plant a smile;
And kindle thro' my sparkling eye
The beams of radiant ecstacy.
Ah! let not Spring disclose in vain
The treasures of her orient reign!
Nor Flora blushing, summon all
But me, to Nature's festival!
Behold the whispering zephyrs rove,
And piercing sweetness thrills the
grove;
The fields their freshest verdure wear,
And laughs around the childish year,
Then haste thee, lovely Dryad, turn!
Now leave me singly thus to mourn.
* Written at Christ-Church, in 1784; Etat 18. The Author is supposed to have been the present Baron Smith, a distinguished literary and judicial character in Ireland.
Hand in hand let's skirt the mead,
Fast by the twinkling aspen shade;
Let us thrid the dewy vale,
Where the rill glitters to the gale,
Or the tangling grass among,
Steals its latent tricklings on.
The bordering upland climb we now,
And from its scene-commanding brow,
Beneath a shadowy group of trees,
On pillowing verdure stretch'd at ease,
Let's view the mingled prospect round;
Flowery lawn, and fallow ground;
Oxen, o'er the furrow'd soil,
Urging firm their annual toil:
Trim cottages that here and there
Speckling the social tilth appear;
And spires, that as from groves they rise,
Tell where the lurking hamlet lies:
Hills white with many a bleating throng,
And lakes, whose willowy banks along,
Herds or ruminate, or lave,
Immersing in the silent wave:
The sombre wood-the cheerful plain,
Green with the hope of future grain :
A tender blade, ere Autumn smile
Benignant on the farmer's toil,
Gild the ripe fields with mellowing hand,
And scatter plenty through the land.
On earth should dazzling summer brood, Lead to some bosky solitude:
Pent in the leafy, wild retreat,
There let me press a moss-grown seat,
Where violets droop their purple heads;
Its fragrance the pale primrose sheds;
And where the fresh, dew-sprinkled thorn,
Showers of roses wild adorn:
There listening to the Mantuan swain,
Warbling his simplest rural strain,
Let no rude cry mine ear invade;
No clamour start the tranquil shade:
But softly shuddering, let the breeze,
In meshes snared of rustling trees,
Shake coolness from his wings, and sound,
Cull'd from the peaceful haunts around;
(Strains that for musing Poets made,
Steal from the world and seek the shade ;)
Or distant city's wafted cry,
Lull'd to a murmur ere it die.
These from without while zephyrs glean, Be sound as soothing caught within. Let, from a neighbouring thicket's gloom, Beneath the sweet-briar's tender bloom, A gushing rill be heard to chide; Let it run sparkling by my side; Let thrushes pour their melody; The bees" their murmuring labours ply :" Along the tumid verdure roam, Imbibe the honey-suckle's bloom, And cling to every bending flower,
Whose beauties veil the golden shower.
Such strains the softened soul compose;
Lull every mental gust that blows:
Such fairy joys fell woe beguile;
Teach the care-clouded front to smile;
The throes assuage of thorny pain,
And, gently, faultering life sustain.
But thou, fair Health, thy aid impart ; Breathe warmth and vigour o'er my heart!
My langours charm-my pangs allay,"
And feed and fan the vital ray :
Then quick to daisied meadows bring,
And yield me to the fostering spring!
Haste lovely Dryad! quickly turn!
And bid me-bid me-cease to mourn.
WHY will my wanton maid enquire,
How many kisses I desire?
Go, count the conscious stars, that see
How fond I nightly steal to thee;
Count every beaming glance, that flies
From those more radiant stars-thy eyes.
Count every pant, that heaves thy breast,
When to my panting bosom prest:
Go, count the loves, that ambush'd dwell,
In every dimple's rosy dell,
- Or, fluttering, play on frolic wings
Through every tress that drops in rings:
Count every charm of every kind,
That decks thy face, thy form, thy mind;
Then, Lesbia, nor till then enquire,
How many kisses I desire.
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