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To lady Sarah's tother night
I went an hour to spend;
Thus spoke a country friend.
Such an admiring crowd,
And often laugh aloud?
With bows and smiles to greet him!
They seem as if they'd eat him !
Come tell me, if you know it,
Wit, orator, or poet?”
For they would vainly try
If he were standing by!
His merit so abounds!
R. A. D.
FAITH AND AFFECTION *
Fast by the shores of England lay
The ship securely moor’d;
The loudest winds that roar'd:
Bit far across the ocean borne,
With seamen from his home,
His idle wish to roam;
He, thoughtless once of future time,
And woes he ne'er had known,
--A boy-forsook his own;
The circumstances of these lines were stated in the news papers and magazines about a year ago. The boy came from the Cape of Good Hope in one of his Majesty's ships the Zealand, then lying at the Nore, as servant to an Officer on board, and was known to be possessed with the faith of his country,
No chains of slavery he wore,
No tyrant's call obey'd;
And in a garb array'd
But change of climate never can
Drive nature from the mind : Soon thro’ the plains in dreams he ran,
And woods he left behind : There with his comrades would rejoice, And-started at his mother's voice.
Short was the solace then he found
In his own hills and dales; And to the melancholy sound
Of dashing waves and sails, Arous’d from that delusive sight, He, listning, wore away the night.
So to his shudd'ring dreams awhile,
And to his hopeless days,
Could e'en on England gaze:
Not the deep shades of night he chose
To veil his purpos'd deed;
For ever to be freed-
Nor plung'd unseen; ror him the wave
Swept from the aching view
The fearless seamen flew:
So he again a mother sought
In his own home to view;
Was all of death he knew :
WARZH 21., 1805.
WRITTEN IN THE CHAPEL OF ROSLII. THROUGH the cold twilight of the haunted aisle
The lunar beam of shadowy Autumn falls, And the low winds, like whispering voices, steal
Thro’ the arch'd casements of the gothic walls. And ghastly, mid the visionary gloom,
The awful phantoms of forgotten years Bend o'er the slumberin
warrior's ruin'd tomb, And bathe the marble with unearthly tears.
Hark in the deep pause of the fitful storın
Celestial music warbles to the night; And tranced Fancy views a lovely form,
On yon proud battlements’ * tremendous height!
Her white robes flutter in the eddying air,
Love's holiest lustre lights her humid eye, The dewy ringlets of her golden hair
Stream in the blast, that thunders thro' the sky.
To catch the first glimpse of the polished helm,
That binds her absent warrior's kingły brow, Alone she watches, tho' the tempests whelin
The waving woods, and trembling cliffs below.
Ah! little dream'd she the Iberian gales,
That shook the blossoms of the orange grove, Far far from her and Roslin's fairy vales,
Blew o'er the cold grave of her murdered love t.
And still when falls the pale autumnal even,
The lone Enthusiast lingers in the dell,
The widow'd mourner's aerial vespers swell.
* Roslin Castle. In allusion to St. Clair of Roslin who undertook a pilgrimage to the Holy Land with the heart of Robert Bruce, but was driven by contrary winds upon the coast of Spain, and engaging in the service of the Spanish King, was slain in a battle with the Moors.