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LOVE.

WRITTEN IN 1800.

SWEET power of Love! no idle fluttering boy
Art thou, to flaunt with brilliant purple wing,
And from thy bow, in merry mischief, fling
The tiny shafts which mortal peace destroy.
"Tis thine the sickness of the soul to heal,

When pines the lonely bosom, doom'd to know
No dear associate of its joy or woe,

Till, warm'd by thee, it learns again to feel.
As the bright sun-beam bids the rose unrol
Her scented leaves, that sleep in many a fold,
Thou wak'st the heart from selfish slumbers cold,

To all the generous softness of the soul.

Ah doubly blest the heart that wakes to prove

From some congenial breast the dear return of Love!

WRITTEN IN THE ISLE OF SKY,

IN 1800.

Ar eve, beside the ringlet's haunted green
I linger oft, while o'er my lonely head
The aged rowan hangs her berries red;
For there, of old, the merry elves were seen,
Pacing with printless feet the dewy grass;

And there I view, in many a figur'd train,

The marshall'd hordes of sea-birds leave the main, And o'er the dark-brown moors hoarse-shrieking pass. Next in prophetic pomp along the heath

I see dim forms their shadowy bands arrange, Which seem to mingle in encounter strange, To work with glimmering blades the work of death: In fancy's eye their meteor falchions glare;

But, when I move, the hosts all melt in liquid air.

ΤΟ

THE SETTING SUN.

WRITTEN IN THE ISLE OF IONA,

IN 1800.

FAIR light of heaven! where is thy couch of rest?
That thy departing beams so sweetly smile:
Thou sleepest calm in that green happy isle

That rises mid the waters of the west.
Sweet are thy tidings from the land of hills

To spirits of the dead who round thee throng, And chaunt in concert shrill thine evening song, Whose magic sound the murmuring ocean stills: Calm is thy rest amid these fields so green,

Where never breathes the deep heart-rending sigh,
Nor tears of sorrow dim the sufferer's eye. —
Then why revisit this unhappy scene,

Like the lone lamp that lights the sullen tomb,
To add new horrors to sepulchral gloom?

SERENITY OF CHILDHOOD.

In the sweet morn of life, when health and joy
Laugh in the eye, and o'er each sunny plain
A mild celestial softness seems to reign,

Ah! who could dream what woes the heart annoy?
No saddening sighs disturb the vernal gale

Which fans the wild-wood music on the ear;
Unbath'd the sparkling eye with pity's tear,
Save listening to the aged soldier's tale.

The heart's slow grief, which wastes the child of woe,
And lovely injur'd woman's cruel wrong,
We hear not in the sky-lark's morning song,
We hear not in the gales that o'er us blow.
Visions devoid of woe which childhood drew,
How oft shall my sad heart your soothing scenes
renew!

THE MEMORY OF THE PAST.

ALAS, that fancy's pencil still pourtrays

A fairer scene than ever nature drew!
Alas, that ne'er to reason's placid view
Arise the charms of youth's delusive days!
For still the memory of our tender years,

By contrast vain, impairs our present joys;
Of greener fields we dream and purer skies,

And softer tints than ever nature wears.

Lo! now, to fancy, Teviot's vale appears

Adorn'd with flowers of more enchanting hue
And fairer bloom than ever Eden knew,

With all the charms that infancy endears.

Dear scenes! which grateful memory still employ, Why should you strive to blast the present joy?

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