I came from the heart,
A soft balm to impart
To yonder sad daughter of grief:
And I said the smile,
That heart now beguile,
Since you gave the poor mourner relief.
O! then said the tear,
Sweet smile it is clear,
We are twins, and soft pity our mother;
And how lovely that face,
Which together we grace,
For the wo and the bliss of another.
AH! what is the bosom's commotion,
In a sea of suspense while 'tis tost?
While the heart in our passion's wild ocean,
Feels even hope's anchor is lost,
Morgiana, thou art my dearest,
For thee have I languish'd and griev'd And when hope to my bosom was nearest, How oft has that hope been deceiv'd Morgiana, my hope was deceiv'd.
The storm of despair has blown over,
No more by its vapour depress'd;
I laugh at the clouds of a lover,
With the sunshine of joy in my breast.
Love made by a parent my duty,
To the wish of my heart now arriv'd;
I bend to the power of beauty,
And ev'ry fond hope is reviv'd.
Morgiana, my hope is reviv'd.
THE GLASSES SPARKLE ON THE BOARD.
THE glasses sparkle on the board,
The wine is ruby bright,
The reign of pleasure is restor❜d,
Of ease and gay delight:
The day is gone, the night's our own
Then let us feast the soul,
If any pain or care remain,
Why drown it in the bowl.
Why drown it in the bowl,
If any pain, or care remain,
Why drown it in the bowl.
This world they say, 's a world of wo,
But that I do deny ;
Can sorrow from the goblet flow,
Or pain from beauty's eye?
The wise are fools with all their rules,
When they would joy controul;
If life's a pain, I say again,
Let's drown it in the bowl.
That time flies fast the poet sings,
Then surely it is wise,
In rosy wine to dip his wings,
And seize him as he flies:
This night is our's, then strew with flow'rs,
The moments as they roll,
If any pain or care remain,
Why drown it in the bowl,
THE MASON'S FAREWELL
BY ROBERT BURNS.
ADIEU, a heart-warm fond adieu,
Ye brothers of our mystic tie;
Ye favour'd and enlighten'd few,
Companions of my social joy;
Though I to foreign lands must hie,
Pursuing fortune's slippery ba';
With melting heart and brimful eye,
I'll mind you still when far awa.
Oft have I met your social band,
To spend a cheerful festive night,
Oft honour'd with supreme command,
Presided o'er the sons of light;
And by that hieroglyphic bright,
Which none but craftsmen ever saw,
Strong mem❜ry on my heart shall write,
Those happy scenes when far awa.
May freedom, harmony, and love,
Unite you in the grand design,
Beneath th' Omniscient eye above;
The glorious Architect divine;
That you may keep th' unerring rule,
Still guided by the plummet's law,
Till order bright completely shine,
Shall be my pray'r when far awa.
And you farewell, whose merits claim
Justly that highest badge to wear,
May heaven bless your noble name,
To Masonry and Scotia dear;
A last request permit me then,
When yearly you're assembled a',
One round, I ask it with a tear;
To him, the friend, that's far awa,
And you, kind hearted sisters, fair,
I sing farewell to all your charms,
Th' impression of your pleasing air,
With rapture oft my bosom warms;
Alas, the social winter's night
No more returns while breath we draw,
Till sisters, brothers, all unite,
In that Grand Lodge that's far awa.
THE BLUE-EYED YOUTH.
A blue-eyed youth in war's array,
Came o'er the moor and sigh'd for me,
Bright as the blush of morn was he,
Mild as the beams of closing day.
With mighty men the stripling strove,
The blue-eyed youth he knew no fear;
Yet trembling he told his love,
Nor spoke but with a gushing tear.
His form erect as radiant truth,
Was humbly bent whene'er we met,
No, never shall my soul forget
The wooing of the blue-eyed youth.
I scorn'd, he fled, far, far away,
And sorrowing sought the tented plain;
And yet I sigh'd, that some blest day
Might bring the blue-eyed youth again.
THE WEALTH OF THE COTTAGE,
A BLESSING unknown to ambition and pride,
That fortune can never abate;
To wealth and to splendour though often denied,
Yet on poverty deigns to wait,
That blessing, ye powers, oh! be it my lot,
The choicest best gift from above;
Deep fix'd in my heart, shall be never forgot,
That the wealth of the Cottage, is love.
Whate'er my condition, I never repine,
By poverty ever distress'd;
Exulting I felt, what a pleasure was mine,
A treasure inshrin'd in my breast.
That blessing, ve powers, oh! be it my lot,
The choicest best gift from above;
Deep fix'd in my heart, shall be never forgot,
That the wealth of the Cottage, is love."
THE MINUTE GUN AT SEA:
LET him who sighs in sadness hear,
Rejoice and know a friend is near!
What heavenly sounds are those I hear,
What being comes the gloom to cheer.
When in the storm on Albion's coast,
The night-watch guards his weary post,
From thoughts of danger free,
He marks some vessel's dusky form,
And hears amid the howling storm
The minute gun at sea.
And hears amid the howling storm
The minute gun at sea.
Swift on the shore a hardy few,
The life-boat man,
With a gallant, gallant crew,
And dare the dangerous wave;
Through the wild surf they cleave their way,
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