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Tho' art's fair works and nature's gifts conspire
2. Where dost thou deign, say, in what blest retreat, To choose thy mansion, and to fix thy seat? Thy sacred presence how shall we explore? Can avarice gain thee with her golden store? Can vain ambition, with her boasted charms, Tempt thee within her wide extended arms? No, with Content alone canst thou abide, Thy sister, ever smiling by thy side.
3. When boon companions, void of ev'ry care,
4. Surely more mild, more constant in their course, Thy pleasures issue from a nobler source,From sweet discretion ruling in the breast, From passions temper'd, and from lusts represt; From thoughts unconscious of a guilty smart, And the calm transports of an honest heart.
5. Thy aid, O ever faithful, ever kind! Through life, through' death, attends the virtuous mind; Of angry fate wards from us ev'ry blow, Cures ev'ry ill, and softens ev'ry wo. Whatever good our mortal state desires, What wisdom finds, or innocence inspires; From nature's bounteous hand whatever flows, Whate'er our Maker's providence bestows,By thee mankind enjoys,-by thee repays A grateful tribute of perpetual praise.
Night before the Battle of Waterloo.
1. THERE was a sound of revelry by night,
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,
2. But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell
Did ye not hear it ?-No; 'twas but the wind,
3. Within a windowed niche of that high hall
4. Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since, upon nights so sweet, such awful morn could rise?
5. And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
6. And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose! The war note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills Have heard-and heard, too, have her Saxon foes.How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring which instills The stirring memory of a thousand years; And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears! 7. And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear drops as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave,-alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass
Of living valor, rolling on the foe,
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.
8. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which, when rent,
Lines written by one who had long been a resident in India, on his return to his native country.
1. I CAME, but they had passed away
The fair in form, the pure in mind ;
And, like a stricken deer, I stray
Where all are strange, and none are kindKind to the worn, the wearied soul, That pants, that struggles for repose: O that my steps had reached the goal
Where earthly sighs and sorrows close! 2. Years have passed o'er me, like a dream That leaves no trace on memory's page: I look around me, and I seem
Some relic of a former age. Alone, as in a stranger clime,
Where stranger voices mock my ear, I mark the lagging course of time, Without a wish—a hope-a fear!
3. Yet I had hopes-and they have fled; And fears-and they were all too true; My wishes too-but they are dead;
And what have I with life to do? Tis but to wear a weary load
I may not, dare not, cast away; To sigh for one small, still abode,
Where I may sleep as sweet as they ;4. As they the loveliest of their race,
Whose grassy tombs my sorrows steep, Whose worth my soul delights to trace,
Whose very loss 'tis sweet to weep,To weep beneath the silent moon,
With none to chide, to hear, to see: Life can bestow no greater boon
On one whom death disdains to free.
5. I leave the world that knows me not, To hold communion with the dead; And fancy consecrates the spot
Where fancy's softest dreams are shed. I see each shade-all silvery whiteI hear each spirit's melting sigh; I turn to clasp those forms of light,And the pale morning chills my eye. 6. But soon the last dim morn shall rise,The lamp of life burns feebly now,— When stranger hands shall close my eyes, And smooth my cold and dewy brow. Unknown I lived; so let me die:
Nor stone, nor monumental cross,
Tell where his nameless ashes lie,
The Winter Night.
1. Now Phoebe, in her midnight reign,
When on my ear this plaintive strain
2" Blow, blow, ye winds, with heavier gust!
Than heaven-illumin'd man on brother man bestows!
3. See stern oppression's iron grip,
4. Even in the peaceful rural vale,
With all the servile wretches in the rear,-
Some coarser substance, unrefined,
Placed for her lordly use thus far, thus vile, below.
5. Where, where is love's fond, tender throe, With lordly honor's lofty brow,
The powers you proudly own? Is there, beneath love's noble name, Can harbor, dark, the selfish aim, To bless himself alone?
6. O ye! who, sunk in beds of down,