Abbildungen der Seite

But when will light restore to view
A friend so kind, so firm, so true !
Or who, when sickness sinks my head,
Will tend with equal care my bed ?
Or who, when comfort crowns my toil,
With equal sympathy will smile ? -
Sink all my strains in final gloom,
But live the lay inspir'd by Moome !

Again the Muse awakes to weep
O'er hamlets waste and flocking sheep *:
The dusky hill and narrow plain
Re-echo to the mournful strain;
The sad inhabitants around
With social grief prolong the sound;
While lost in woe they scatter far
To fill the sanguine ranks of war,
Or cross th’ Atlantic's stormy roar,
Or tread the burning Indian shore,
Or mingle with the sordid train
Who know no bliss, no God but gain :
Where'er they rest, where'er they roam,
Stung with the hopeless thoughts of home;
With aching heart and searching eyes,
Oft will they trace their northern skies,

Alluding to the poem of the Highlanders.

And say,

66 Its

“ Yon dim-seen twinkling star “ Gleams o'er my father's sepulchre, “ Where once, when fate had clos'd my day, I hop'd my weary limbs to lay ;

rays illume the shadowy vale, “ Where lighted by the moon-beam pale, “ My faithful steps were wont to trace " The loveliest of our far-fam'd race, " And

pour in her approving ear " The artless vows of love sincere.” Thus, frequent does the exile's heart With tender sad remembrance smart; Some leisure time will come, ere long, T arrange

th' unfinish'd song ; When winter's icy bolts are hurl'd, And snow and silence wrap the world, And cares and children sink in sleep, The Muse shall faithful vigils keep; And summon wisdom and reflection And critic powers of mild correction, And diction chaste, and lucid order, Like flowers arrang’d to grace a border ; My thoughts shall rise in fair succession Unbroke by playful wild digression : With heedless haste I now dispense them, But then you'll see how I'll condense them,

and prune

But from my subject how I wander,--
I sung the sorrows of the gander
And if you'll re-peruse his letter,
You'll own no goose could sing them better.

You see what mighty debts you're owing
For benefits of my bestowing.
Can you forget the rainy morning,
When toil, fatigue, and danger scorning,
I headlong plung'd thro' new-swoln Spey,
And o'er Drumochter urg'd my way,
Try’d to o’ertake the fleeting wind,
And left the slow express behind :
Arriv'd with fluttering hearts at Blair,
In chasing joy we met despair :
No matrons with benignant smile
Appear’d our labours to beguile ;
No sprightly nymphs, in rapt'rous guise,
With pleasure beaming from their eyes ;
The gallant soul of HARDYKNUTE,
When thrillid with fear, with anguish mute,
He saw his castle dark and still,
Felt not a more horrific chill.
To cheer our souls and soothe our pain,
Our gentle hostess tries in vain ;

* A trifle not published.


In vain the Captain strives t' amuse
With foreign and domestic news;
Tells with delight how much he doats
Upon the frankness of Miss C***s,
And how he tender'd her his help
To nurse and rear her terrier whelp:
How sad our state, when themes like these,
By him rehears'd, could fail to please.
But now resolv'd with unanimity
T'exert our native magnanimity,
When changing clouds of purple dye
Were drawn o'er day's declining eye;
Again we urge the impatient chace,
Invoke the stars to light our race,
And reach in thought the wish’d-for place.
Thro' the still shadowy veil of night,
While Venus sent her glimmering light,
Our view the soften'd landscape charm’d,
And disappointment's pangs disarm’d;
And hope, in smiling graces drest,
Resum'd her influence o'er the breast.
The rising moon with friendly ray
Now led us to the banks of Tay,
With raptur d view while we begin
To trace a taper at the inn,


LEANDER thus transported, view'd
His Hero's torch illume the flood.

Why should the Muse attempt in vain
The morning's pleasures to explain ;
To tell the tender explanations,
Embraces kind, and true narrations,
'Twould fill I'm sure a quarto volume,
"Twere best methinks to raise a column,
To mark the spot to future times,
Nor vainly trust to fleeting rhymes :
That scene, while memory holds her seat,
Shall still be new and still be sweet :
I will not tell you of your merit,
Your sense, integrity, and spirit ;
These have their value in their places,
But I am charm'd by other graces ;
That heart, whose cordial warmth so true,
Blooms ever fresh and ever new;
Affections, which in spite of time,
Have all the glow of youthful prime ;
With all the firmness, weight, and truth,
Which sage experience adds to youth,
These make me count with anxious pain,
The weeks till we shall meet again,
And treasure up the joys so fleeting,
That smil'd upon our short-liv'd meeting's

« ZurückWeiter »