Big with the vanity of state; But transient is the smile of Fate! A sunbeam in a winter's day, Is all the proud and mighty have And see the rivers how they run, Through woods and meads, in shade and sun, To disperse our cares away. Ever charming, ever new, gay, When will the landscape tire the view! See on the mountain's southern side So we mistake the Future's face, Clad in colors of the air, Which to those who journey near, Now, ev'n now, my joys run high. Be full, ye courts; be great who will, Search for Peace with all your skill: Open wide the lofty door, Seek her on the marble floor. In vain you search, she is not there; And often, by the murmuring rill, JOHN DYER. A Soliloquy. OCCASIONED BY THE CHIRPING OF A GRASSHOPPER. HAPPY insect! ever blest With a more than mortal rest, In the burning summer thou Proud to gratify thy will, Yet alas, we both agree. WALTER HARTE. แ The Braes of Varrow. BUSK ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride! And think nae mair of the braes of Yarrow." "Where got ye that bonnie, bonnie bride, Where got ye that winsome marrow?" "I got her where I daurna weel be seen, Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow. "Weep not, weep not, my bonnie, bonnie bride, Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow ! Nor let thy heart lament to leave Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow." "Why does she weep, thy bonnie, bonnie bride? Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow ? And why daur ye nae mair weel be seen Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow?" "Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun she weep— Lang maun she weep wi' dule and sorrow; And lang maun I nae mair weel be seen "For she has tint her lover, lover dear— Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow; And I hae slain the comeliest swain That e'er pu'd birks on the braes of Yarrow. "Why runs thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, red? Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow? And why yon melancholious weeds Hung on the bonnie birks of Yarrow? "What's yonder floats on the rueful, rueful flood? What's yonder floats?—Oh, dule and sorrow! 'T is he, the comely swain I slew Upon the dulefu' braes of Yarrow. "Wash, oh, wash his wounds, his wounds in tears, "Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad, His hapless fate on the braes of Yarrow! "Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield, The arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, The fatal spear that pierced his breast, His comely breast, on the braes of Yarrow! "Did I not warn thee not to, not to love, And warn from fight? But, to my sorrow, Too rashly bold, a stronger arm thou met'st, Thou met'st, and fell on the braes of Yarrow. Sweet smells the birk; green grows, green grows the grass; Yellow on Yarrow's braes the gowan; Fair hangs the apple frae the rock; Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowing! "Flows Yarrow sweet? As sweet, as sweet flows Tweed; As green its grass; its gowan as yellow; As sweet smells on its braes the birk; The apple from its rocks as mellow! "Fair was thy love! fair, fair indeed thy love! In flowery bands thou didst him fetter; |