TO M. S. II

Awake, with it my fancy teems ;

In sleep, it smiles in fleeting dreams When I dream that you love me, you'll surely for- The vision charms the hours away, give,

And bids me curse Aurora's ray Extend not your anger to sleep;

For breaking slumbers of delight For in visions alone your affection can live,

Which make me wish for endless night. I rise, and it leaves me to weep.

Since, oh! whate'er my future fate,

Shall joy or wo my steps await, Then, Morpheus ! envelope my faculties fast,

Tempted by love, by storms beset,
Shed o'er me your languor benign;

Thine image I can ne'er forget.
Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last,
What rapture celestial is mine!

Alas ! again no more we meet,

No more our former looks repeat; They tell us that slumber, the sister of death,

Then let me breathe this parting prayer Mortality's emblem is given :

The dictate of my bosom's care: To fate how I long to resign my frail breath,

May heaven so guard my lovely Quaker, If this be a foretaste of heaven.

That anguish never can o'ertake her ;

That peace and virtue ne'r forsake her, Ah! frown not, sweet lady, unbend your soft brow, But bliss be aye her heart's partaker ; Nor deem me too happy in this;

Oh! may the happy mortal, fated If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now,

To be by dearest ties, related, Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss.

For her each hour new joys discover,

And lose the husband in the lover! Though in visions, sweet lady, perhaps you may May that fair bosom never know smile,

What 'tis to feel the restless wo Oh! think not my penance deficient!

Which stings the soul with vain regret, When dreams of your presence my slumber beguile,

Of him who never can forget !" To awake will be torture sufficient.

66

SONG.
TO A BEAUTIFUL QUAKER.

WHEN I roved a young Highlander o'er the dark SWEBT girl! though only once we met,

heath, That meeting I shall ne'er forget;

And climb'd thy steep summit, oh Morven, of And though we ne'er may meet again,

snow! + Remembrance will thy form retain.

To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath, I would not say, "I love," but still

Or the mist of the tempest that gathered below, * My senses struggle with my will:

Untutor'd by science, a stranger to fear, In vain to drive thee from my breast,

And rude as the rocks where my infancy grew, My thoughts are more and more represt;

No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear; In vain I check the rising sighs,

Need I say, my sweet Mary, 'twas centred in you? Anuther to the last replies : Perhaps this is not love, but yet

Yet it could not be love, for I knew not the name, Our meeting I can ne'er forget.

What passion can dwell in the heart of a child?

But still I perceive an emotion the same What though we never silence broke,

As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-cover'd wild. Our eyes a sweeter language spoke;

One image alone on my bosom impressid, The tongue in flattering falsehood deals,

I loved my bleak regions, nor panted for new; And tells a tale it never feels :

And few were my wants, for my wishes were bless'd; Deceit the guilty lips impart,

And pure were my thoughts, for my soul was with And hush the mandates of the heart;

you. But soul's interpreter, the eyes, Spurn such restraint, and scorn disguise.

I arose with the dawn; with my dog as my guide, As thus our glances oft conversed,

From mountain to mountain I bounded along; And all our bosoms felt rehearsed,

I breasted § the billow of Dee's rushing tide, No spirit, from within reproved us,

And heard at a distance the Highlander's song: Say rather, “'twas the spirit moved us."

• To Mary Duff. First published in the second edition of Houns a Though what they utter'd I repress,

Idlenen.
Yet I conceive thou'lt partly guess;

more:

At eve, on my heath-cover'd couch of reposo, I will not complain, and though chill'd is affection,

No dreains save of Mary were spread to my view; With me no corroding resentment shall live:
And warm to the skies my devotions arose, My bosom is calm'd by the simple reflection,
For the first of my prayers was a blessing on you. That both may be wrong, and that both should

forgive. I left my bleak home, and my visions are gone ; The mountains are vanish'd, my youth is no You knew that my soul, that my heart, my existence,

If danger demanded, where wholly your own; As the last of my race, I must wither alone, You knew me unalter'd by years or by distance,

And delight but in days I have witness'd before : Devoted to love and to friendship alone.
Ah! splendor has raised, but embitter'd, my lot;

More dear were the scenes which my infancy knew; You knew-but away with the vain retrospection !
Though my hopes may have fail'd, yet they are not The bond of affection no longer endures ;
forgot ;

Too late you may droop o'er the fond recollection, Though cold is my heart, still it lingers with you. And sigh for the friend who was formerly yours When I see some dark hill point its crest to the For the present, we part, I will hope not for ever, sky,

For time and regret will restore you at last; I think of the rocks that o'ershadow Colbleen; *

To forget our dissension we both should endeavor, When I see the soft blue of a love-speaking eye,

I ask no atonement but days like the past.
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.

TO MARY,
Yet the day may arrive when the mountains once

ON RECEIVING HER PICTURR
Shall rise to my sight in their mantles of snow:
But while these soar above me unchanged as before,

This faint resemblance of thy charms,
Will Mary be there to receive me? ah, no!

Though strong as mortal art could give,
Adieu, then, ye hills, where my childhood was bred ! My constant heart of fear disarms,
Thou sweet flowing Dee, to thy waters adieu !

Revives my hopes, and bids me live.
No home in the forest shall shelter my head,
Ah ! Mary, what home could be mine but with you ? Here I can trace the locks of gold

Which round thy snowy forehead wave,
The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's mould,

The lips which made me Beauty's slave.

more

Arm'd thus, to make their bosoms bleed,

« Αει δ', αει με φευγει."

Anacreon.
Many will throng to sigh like me, love!
More constant they may prove indeed;
Fonder, alas! they ne'er can be, love!

THE roses of love glad the garden of life,
Though nurtured 'mid weeds dropping pestilent

dew,
Till Time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife,

Or prunes them for ever in love's last adieu ! LINES ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.+

In vain with endearments we soothe the sad heart, As the author was discharging his pistols in a garden, two ladies passing In vain do we vow for an age to be true; near the spot were ularmed by the sound of a bullet hissing near thern, to the chance of an hour may command us to parte one of whom the following stanzas were addressed the next morning.

Or death disunite us in love's last adieu' DOUBTLESS, sweet girl, the hissing lead,

Wafting destruction o'er thy charms, Still Hope, breathing peace through the grief-swollen And hurtling # o'er thy lovely head,

breast, Has filled that breast with fond alarms. Will whisper, “Our meeting we yet may renew;"

With this dream of deceit half our sorrow's represt, Surely some envious demon's force,

Nor taste we the poison of love's last adieu! Vex'd to behold such beauty here, Impell’d the bullets' viewless course, Oh! mark you yon pair: in the sunshine of youth, Diverted from its first career.

Love twined round their childhood his flowers

Bweet lady! why thus doth a tear steal its way 'Tis not love disturbs thy rest,

Down a cheek which outrivals thy bosom in hue ? Love's a stranger to thy breast;
Yet why do I ask to distraction a prey,

He in dimpling smiles appears,
Thy reason has perish'd with love's last adieu ! Or mourns in sweetly timid tears,

Or bends the languid eyelid down,
Oh! who is yon misanthrope, shunning mankind ? But shuns the cold forbidding frown.
From cities to caves of the forest he flew :

Then resume thy former fire,
There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind; Some will love, and all admire;
The mountains reverberate love's last adieu ! While that icy aspect chills us,

Nought but cool indifference thrills us. Now hate rules a heart which in love's easy chains Wouldst thou wandering hearts beguile,

Once passion's tumultuous blandishments knew; Smile at least, or seem to smile.
Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins; Eyes like thine were never meant
He ponders in frenzy on love's last adieu !

To hide their orbs in dark restraint;

Spite of all thou fain wouldst say,
How he envies the wretch with a soul wrapt in steel ! Still in truant beams they play.

His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few, Thy lips--but here my modest Muse
Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel, Her impulse chaste must needs refuse:
And dreads not the anguish of love's last adieu! She blushes, curt'sies, frowns,-in short, she

Dreads lest the subject should transport me; Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o'ercast;

And flying off in search of reason, No more with love's former devotion we sue : Brings prudence back in proper season. He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast ! All I shall therefore say (whate'er The shroud of affection is love's last adieu !

I think, is neither here, nor there)

Is, that such lips, of looks endearing, In this life of probation for rapture divine,

Were fórm'd for better things than sneering : Astrea declares that some penance is due ; Of soothing compliments divested, From him who has worshipp'd at love's gentle shrine Advice at least's disinterested ; The atonement is ample in love's last adieu ! Such is my artless song to thee,

From all the flow of flattery free; Who kneels to the god on his altar of light,

Counsel like mine is as a brother's, Must myrtle and cypress alteruately strew:

My heart is given to some others ; His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight;

That is to say, unskill'd to cozen,
His cypress, the garland of love's last adieu ! 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
DAMÆTAS.

Concerning woman's soft dominion:

Howe'er we gaze with admiration Ix law an infant,+ and in years a boy,

On eyes of blue or lips carnation, In mind a slave to every vicious joy ;

Howe'er the flowing locks attract us, From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd; Howe'er those beauties may distract us, In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend;

Still fickle, we are prone to rove, Versed in hypocrisy while yet a child ;

These cannot fix our souls to love : Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild ;

It is not too severe a stricture
Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool;

To say they form a pretty picture :
Old in the world, though scarcely broke from school; But wouldst thou see the secret chain,
Damætas ran through all the maze of sin,

Which binds us to your humble train,
And found the goal when others just begin:

To hail you queens of all creation,
Even still conflicting passions shake his soul,

Know, in a word, 'tis ANIMATION.
And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl;
But, pall'd with Vice, he breaks his former chain,
And what was once his bliss appears his bane.

OSCAR OF ALVA.

A TALE.+
TO MARION.

How sweetly shines, through azure skies. MARION! why that pensive brow?

The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore; What disgust to life hast thou ?

Where Alva's hoary turrets rise, Change that discontented air :

And hear the din of arms no more. Frowns become not one so fair.

But often has yon rolling moon

But ere their years of youth are o'er, On Alva's casques of silver play'd;

They mingle in the ranks of war; And view'd at midnight's silent noon,

They lightly wheel the bright claymore, Her chiefs in gleaming mail array'd:

And send the whistling arrow far. And on the crimson rocks beneath,

Dark was the flow of Oscar's hair, Which scroll o'er ocean's sullen flow,

Wildly it stream'd along the gale; Pale in the scatter'd ranks of death,

But Allan's locks were bright and fair, She saw the gasping warrior low;

And pensive seem'd his cheek, and pale.

But Oscar own'd a hero's soul, While many an eye which ne'er again

His dark eye shone through beams of truth ; Could mark + the rising orb of day,

Allan had early learn'd control, Turn'd feebly from the gory plain,

And smooth his words had been from youth. Beheld in death her fading ray.

Both, both were brave; the Saxon spear Once, to those eyes the lamp of Love,

Was shiver'd oft beneath their steel; They blest her dear propitious light;

And Oscar's bosom scorn'd to fear, But now she glimmer'd from above,

But Oscar’s bosom knew to feel; A sad, funereal torch of night.

While Allan's soul belied his form, Faded is Alva's noble race,

Unworthy with such charms to dwell: And gray her towers are seen afar ;

Keen as the lightning of the storm, No more her heroes urge the chase,

On foes his deadly vengeance fell. Or roll the crimson tide of war.

From high Southannon's distant tower But who was last of Alva's clan?

Arrived a young and noble dame; Why grows the moss on Alva's stone?

With Kenneth's lands to form her dower, Her towers resound no steps of man,

Glenalvon's blue-eyed daughter came; They echo to the gale alone.

And Oscar claim'd the beauteous bride, And when that gale is fierce and high,

Aud Angus on his Oscar smiled:

It soothed the father's feudal pride
A sound is heard in yonder hall;
It rises hoarsely through the sky,

Thus to obtain Glenalvon's child.
And vibrates o'er the mouldering wall.

Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note !

Hark to the swelling nuptial song! Yes, when the eddying tempest sighs,

In joyous strains the voices float,
It shakes the shield of Oscar brave;

And still the choral peal prolong.
But there no more his banners rise,
No more his plumes of sable wave.

See how the heroes' blood-red plumes

Assembled wave in Alva's hall, Fair shone the sun on Oscar's birth,

Each youth his varied plaid assumes,
When Angus hail'd his eldest born;

Attending on their chieftain's call.
The vassals round their chieftain's hearth
Crowd to applaud the happy morn.

It is not war their aid demands,

The pibroch plays the song of peace; They feast upon the mountain deer,

To Oscar's nuptials throng the bands,
The pibroch raised its piercing note,

Nor yet the sounds of pleasure cease.
To gladden more their Highland cheer,
The strains in martial numbers float:

But where is Oscar ? sure 'tis late:

Is this a bridegroom's ardent flame? And they who heard the war-notes wild,

While thronging guests and ladies wait,
Hoped that one day the pibroch's strain

Nor Oscar nor his brother came.
Should play before the hero's child,
While he should lead the tartan train.

At length young Allan join'd the bride:

“Why comes not Oscar ?" Angus said; Another year is quickly past,

“Is not he here?” the youth replied ; And Angus hails another son;

“ With me he roved not o'er the glade. His natal day is like the last, Nor soon the jocund feast was done.

“ Perchance, forgetful of the day,

'Tis his to chase the bounding roe;

Or ocean's waves prolong his stay;
Taught by their sire to bend the bow,

Yet Oscar's bark is seldom slow."
On Alva's dusky hills of wind,
The boys in childhood chased the roe,
And left their hounds in speed behind.

“Oh, no!" the anguish'd sire rejoin'd,

“Nor chase, nor wave, my boy delay ; • While. First edition, when.

Would he to Mora seem unkind ? † Mark. First editiou, vieu.

Would aught to her impede his way?