66
FROM SCENES OF INFANCY."

WHERE Bortha hoarse, that loads the meads with Rolls her red tide to Teviot's western strand, [sand, Through slaty hills, whose sides are shagg'd with thorn,

Where springs, in scatter'd tufts, the dark-green
Towers wood-girt Harden, far above the vale, [corn,
And clouds of ravens o'er the turrets sail.

A hardy race, who never shrunk from war,
The Scott, to rival realms a mighty bar,

Here fixed his mountain-home; a wide domain,
And rich the soil, had purple heath been grain;
But what the niggard ground of wealth denied,
From fields more bless'd his fearless arm supplied.

The waning harvest-moon shone cold and bright; The warder's horn was heard at dead of night; And as the massy portals wide were flung, With stamping hoofs the rocky pavement rung. What fair, half veil'd, leans from her latticed hall, Where red the wavering gleams of torchlight fall? 'Tis Yarrow's fairest flower, who, through the gloom, Looks, wistful, for her lover's dancing plume. Amid the piles of spoil that strew'd the ground, Her ear, all anxious, caught a wailing sound; With trembling haste the youthful matron flew, And from the hurried heaps an infant drew.

Scared at the light, his little hands he flung Around her neck, and to her bosom clung; While beauteous Mary sooth'd, in accents mild, His fluttering soul, and clasp'd her foster child. Of milder mood the gentle captive grew, Nor loved the scenes that scared his infant view; In vales remote, from camps and castles far, He shunn'd the fearful, shuddering joy of war;

Content the loves of simple swains to sing,
Or wake to fame the harp's heroic string.

His are the strains, whose wandering echoes thrill
The shepherd, lingering on the twilight hill,
When evening brings the merry folding hours,
And sun-eyed daisies close their winking flowers
He lived o'er Yarrow's flower to shed the tear,
To strew the holly-leaves o'er Harden's bier :
But none was found above the minstrel's tomb,
Emblem of peace, to bid the daisy bloom:
He, nameless as the race from which he sprung,
Saved other names, and left his own unsung.

JAMES MONTGOMERY. 1772.

COLUMBUS.

LONG lay the ocean-paths from man conceal'd:
Light came from heaven-the magnet was reveal'd
A surer star to guide the seaman's eye
Than the pale glory of the northern sky;
Alike ordain'd to shine by night and day,

Through calm and tempest, with unsetting ray;
Where'er the mountains rise, the billows roll,
Still with strong impulse turning to the pole,
True as the sun is to the morning true,
Though light as film, and trembling as the dew.

Then man no longer plied with timid oar
And failing heart along the windward shore ;
Broad to the sky he turn'd his fearless sail,
Defied the adverse, woo'd the favouring gale,
Bared to the storm his adamantine breast,
Or soft on ocean's lap lay down to rest;

While free, as clouds the liquid ether sweep, [deep,
His white-wing'd vessels coursed the unbounded

From clime to clime the wanderer loved to roam, The waves his heritage, the world his home.

Then first Columbus, with the mighty hand Of grasping genius, weigh'd the sea and land; The floods o'erbalanced: where the tide of light, Day after day, roll'd down the gulf of night, There seem'd one waste of waters: long in vain His spirit brooded o'er the Atlantic main; When sudden, as creation burst from naught, Sprang a new world, through his stupendous thought, Light, order, beauty! While his mind explored The unveiling mystery, his heart adored; Where'er sublime imagination trod,

He heard the voice, he saw the face of God.

Far from the western cliffs he cast his eye
O'er the wide ocean stretching to the sky:
In calm magnificence the sun declined,
And left a paradise of clouds behind:
Proud at his feet, with pomp of pearl and gold,
The billows in a sea of glory roll'd.

"Ah! on this sea of glory might I sail,
Track the bright sun, and pierce the eternal veil
That hides those lands, beneath Hesperian skies,
Where daylight sojourns till our morrow rise!"

Thoughtful he wander'd on the beach alone; Mild o'er the deep the vesper planet shone, The eye of evening, brightening through the west Till the sweet moment when it shut to rest: "Whither, oh golden Venus! art thou fled? Not in the ocean-chambers lies thy bed; Round the dim world thy glittering chariot drawn, Pursues the twilight or precedes the dawn; Thy beauty noon and midnight never see, The morn and eve divide the year with thee."

Soft fell the shades, till Cynthia's slender bow Crested the farthest wave, then sunk below:

"Tell me, resplendent guardian of the night,
Circling the sphere in thy perennial flight,
What secret path of heaven thy smiles adorn,
What nameless sea reflects thy gleaming horn ?"

Now earth and ocean vanish'd, all serene
The starry firmament alone was seen;

Through the slow, silent hours, he watch'd the host
Of midnight suns in western darkness lost,
Till Night himself, on shadowy pinions borne,
Fled o'er the mighty waters, and the morn

[cried,

Danced on the mountains: "Lights of heaven!" he
"Lead on: I go to win a glorious bride;
Fearless o'er gulfs unknown I urge my way,
Where peril prowls, and shipwreck lurks for prey:
Hope swells my sail; in spirit I behold
That maiden world, twin-sister of the old,
By Nature nursed beyond the jealous sea,
Denied to ages, but betrothed to me."

HOME.

THERE is a land, of every land the pride, Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside ; Where brighter suns dispense serener light, And milder moons emparadise the night; A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth, Time-tutor'd age, and love-exalted youth; The wandering mariner, whose eye explores The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores, Views not a realm so beautiful and fair, Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air; In every clime the magnet of his soul, Touch'd by remembrance, trembles to that pole; For in this land of Heaven's peculiar grace, The heritage of Nature's noblest race, There is a spot of earth supremely bless'd, A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,

Where man, creation's tyrant, casts aside
His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride,
While in his soften'd looks benignly blend
The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend:
Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,
Strews with fresh flowers the narrow way of life;
In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,
An angel-guard of loves and graces lie;
Around her knees domestic duties meet,
And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.
"Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?"
Art thou a man? a patriot? look around;

Oh, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam,
That land thy country, and that spot thy home!

THE GRAVE.

THERE is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary pilgrims found,
They softly lie and sweetly sleep

Low in the ground.

The storm that wrecks the winter sky
No more disturbs their deep repose,
Than summer evening's latest sigh

That shuts the rose.

I long to lay this painful head
And aching heart beneath the soil,
To slumber in that dreamless bed
From all my toil.

For Misery stole me at my birth,
And cast me helpless on the wild:
I perish; oh! my mother Earth,

Take home thy child.

On thy dear lap these limbs reclined,
Shall gently moulder into thee;
Nor leave one wretched trace behind
Resembling me.