My love, that ever burnt so true,
That but for thee no wishes knew,

My heart's fond, best desire!
Shall be remember'd ev'n in death;
And only with my latest breath,
With life's last pang expire.

And when, dear Maid! my fate you hear, (Sure love like mine demands one tear, Demands one heartfelt sigh!)

My past sad errors, O forgive!
Let my few virtues only live,
My follies with me die.

But, hark! the voice of battle calls!
Loud thundering from the towery walls,
Now roars the hostile gun;
Adieu, dear Maid !—with ready feet
I go, prepar'd the worst to meet:
Thy will, O God, be done!

JAMES GRAEME.

1766.

Of James Graeme, whose history has been detailed by Dr. Anderson, with the minuteness of affectionate solicitude, little can be repeated to interest the inquisitiveness of public attention.

He was born at Carnwath, Lanarkshire, December 15, 1749. Having imbibed the rudiments of education at his native place, he removed from thence to the Grammar School at Lanark; and, in 1767, being designed for the church, was sent to complete his studies at the university of Edinburgh.

Graeme's poetical enthusiasm was augmented by an acquaintance with Miss E-B-; the lady who, under the name of ELIZA (or Mira), formed the subject of his amatory addresses. Notwithstanding that, owing to prudential considerations, enforced by parental authority, she eventually rejected his suit, she appears for a time to have associated in his rambles, and to have felt far from indifferent to his pretensions.

"But, vain the thought!—I'll never see thee more; The gods decree it, and the gods are just;

For ever doom'd thy absence to deplore,

Till grief, slow-sapping, crumble me to dust."

ELEGY 3.

She is repeatedly remembered of their former intimacy : the following stanza, from his twenty-seventh Elegy, is particularly beautiful.

"Incurtain'd in the shades of night,

I meditate thy charms;

Think on thy form; and, slumbering, feel

The pressure of thy arms!"

With that constitutional melancholy often predictive of the event, Graeme's unceasing apprehensions of his being

destined to an early grave, were but too seriously verified. In October 1771, the consumptive state of his health, which had long been deeply affected, compelled him to return to his native place; where he died, July 26, 1772, in the twenty-second year of his age!

"O, happy he! above his peers,
The favourite of Heaven;
To whom a certain place of rest,
An early grave, is given!

Nor falling tear, nor swelling sigh,
That mourn an absent Maid;
Tormenting fears, nor wishes vain,
Afflict his peaceful shade.

*

*

* * * *

O cruel, to refuse his boon!

How little did he crave!-
'Twas but the covering of a turf,

The' oblivion of a grave !"

ELEGIES 5 and 7.

FAREWELL, Companions of my secret sighs,
Love-haunted streams, and vales besprent with dew!
Pensive I see the ridgy hills arise,

Which must for ever hide you from my view.

A fleeting shadow was my promis'd peace,
The baseless fabric of a dream, my rest;

I laid me down in confidence of ease,

And meedless sorrow burst my bleeding breast.

See, yonder fleets the visionary scheme,
The fond illusion of a simple mind-

The sweets of love,-the solitary stream,

The fragrant meadow, and the whispering wind.

Say, my ELIZA! was it fancied bliss

You used to picture, by yon falling rill ? O, say, where is it?—must it end in this? O still deceive, and I'll believe you still !

Say fortune yet has happier days in store,
Days big with transport, and with raptures new ;
O! say I'm your's; I ask, I hope no more;
But only say so, and I'll think it true.

But whither wanders my distemper'd brain,
On seas of fancy and vagary tost?
Before me lies a bleak extended plain,
And love and rapture are for ever lost!

Night, raven-wing'd, usurps her peaceful reign; Sleep's lenient balsam stills the voice of woe; A keener breeze breathes o'er the lowly plain, And pebbly rills in deeper murmurs flow.

The paly moon through yonder dreary grove,
The screech-owl's haunt, emits a feeble ray ;
The plumy warblers quit the song of love,
And dangle, slumb'ring, on the dewy spray.

The mastiff, conscious of the lover's tread,
With wakeful yell the listening Maid alarms,
Who, loosely rob'd, forsakes the downy bed,

And springs reserveless to his longing arms.

O, happy he! who, with the maid he loves,
Thus toys, endearing, on the twilight green,
While all is rapture, Cupid's self approves,

And Jove, consent: ng, veils the tender scene.

O, happy he! by gracious fate allow'd,
At dusky eve, to clasp the slender waist,
Press the soft lip, dissolve the silky shroud,
And feel the heavings of a love-sick breast.

Once mine the bliss:-But now, with plaintive care,
I, lonely wandering, tune the voice of woe!
And, patient, brave the chilly midnight air,

Where wild woods thicken, and where waters flow.