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All hail, ye tender feelings dear!
The smile of love, the friendly tear,

The sympathetic glow;
Long since, this world's thorny ways.
Had number'd out my weary days,

Had it not been for you!
Fate still has blest me with a friend,

In every care and ill;
And oft a more endearing band,
A tie more tender still.
It lightens, it brightens

The tenebrific scene,
To meet with, and greet with

My Davie or my Jean.

XI. o, how that name inspires my style! The words come skelpin rank and file,

Amaist before I ken!
The ready measure rins as fine,
As Phæbus and the famous Nine

Were glowrin owre my pen.
My spaviet Pegasus will limp,

Till ance he's fairly het;
And then he'll hilch, and stilt, and jimp,
An' rin an unco fit :
But lest then, the beast then,

Should rue this hasty ride,
I'll light now, and dight now

His sweaty wizen'd hide.




Alas ! how oft does Goodness wound itself,
And sweet Affection prove the spring of woe !



O Trou pale orb, that silent shines,

While care-untroubled mortals sleep! Thou seest a wretch that inly pines,

And wanders here to wail and weep! With woe I nightly vigils keep,

Beneath thy wan unwarming beam ; And mourn, in lamentation deep,

How life and love are all a dream.


I joyless view thy rays adorn

The faintly-marked distant hill;
I joyless view thy trembling horn,

Reflected in the gurgling rill: My fondly-Auttering heart, be still!

Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, cease! Ah! must the agonizing thrill

For ever bar returning peace !

No idly-feign's poetic pains,

My sad, love-lorn lamentings claim ;

No shepherd's pipe-Arcadian strains ;

No fabled tortures, quaint and tame: The plighted faith ; the mutual flame;

The oft attested pow'rs above : The promis'd Father's tender name :

These were the pledges of my love!

IV. Encircled in her clasping arms,

How have the raptur'd moments flown! How have I wish'd for fortune's charms,

For her dear sake, and her's alone! And must I think it! is she gone,

My secret heart's exulting boast ?
And does she heedless hear my groan?
And is she ever, ever lost?

Oh! can she bear so base a heart,

So lost to honour, lost to truth,
As from the fondest lover part,

The plighted husband of her youth ! Alas! life's path may be unsmooth

Her way may lie thro' rough distress! Then, who her pangs and pains will sooth,

Her sorrows share, and make them less ?


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. at breast how dreary now, and void, for her too scanty once of room!

Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd,

And not a wish to gild the gloom!

VII. The morn that warns the approaching day,

Awakes me up to toil and woe : I see the hours in long array,

That I must suffer, lingering, slow. Full many a pang, and many a throe,

Keen recollection's direful train, Must wring my soul, ere Phæbus, low,

Shall kiss the distant, western main.

And when my nightly couch I try,

Sore-harass'd out with care and grief,
My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye,

Keep watchings with the nightly thief: Or if I slumber, fancy, chief,

Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright: Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief,

From such a horror-breathing night.

IX. 0! thou bright queen, who o'er the 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.


Oh! scenes in strong remembrance set !

Scenes, never, never, to return!
Scenes, if in stupor I forget,

Again I feel, again I burn!
From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn,

Life's weary vale I'll wander thro?:
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn

A faithless woman's broken vow.



1. OPPRESS'd with grief, oppress'd with care, A burden more than I can bear,

I sit me down and sigh :
O life! thou art a galling load,
Along a rough, a weary road,

To wretches such as I!
Dim backward as I cast my view,

What sick’ning scenes appear!
What sorrows yet may pierce me thro',
Too justly I may fear !
Still caring, despairing,

Must be my bitter doom ;
My woes here shall close ne'er,

But with the closing tomb !

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