Her wing shall the eagle flap

o'er the false-hearted;
his warm blood the wolf shall lap

ere life be parted:
shame and dishonour sit

by his grave ever; blessing shall hallow it

never, O never!




OCTOBER winds, wibiting breath,

now nip the leaf that's yellow fading; nae gowans glint upon the green,

alas! they're co'er'd wi’ winter's cleeding. As through the woods I musing gang,

nae birdies cheer mé frae the bushes, save little Robin's lanely sang,

wild warbling where the burnie gushes. The sun is jogging down the brae,

dimly through the mist he's shining, and cranreugh hoar creeps o'er the grass,

as day resigns his throne to e'ening. Oft let me walk at twilight grey,

to view the face of dying nature, till spring again with mantle green delights the heart o’ilka creature.


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MEMORY, celestial maid,

who glean'st the flow'rets cropt by time, and, suffering not a leaf to fade,

preserv'st the blossoms of our prime: bring, bring those moments to my mind, when life was new, and all was kind; and bring that garland to my sight,

with which my favour'd crook was bound: and bring that wreath of roses bright,

which then my festive temples crown'd,

and once more to my ear convey
the strains that wak'd a happier day;
and sketch with care the Muses' bower;
nor yet omit a single flower,
of all that fling their sweetness round,
and seem to consecrate the ground !


YETsemnul Beauty, thou shalt be


ET ere I go,

thou shalt be
so wretched, as to know
what joys thou fling'st away with me.

A faith so bright,
as Time or Fortune could not rust;

so firm, that lovers might
have read thy story in my dust,

and crowned thy name
with laurel verdant as thy youth,

whilst the shrill voice of Fame
spread wide thy beauty and my truth.

This thou hast lost;
for all true lovers, when they find

that my just aims were crost,
will speak thee lighter than the wind.




THEN the oldest cask is opened,

and the largest lamp is lit;
when the chestnuts glow in the embers,

and the kid turns on the spit;
when young and old in circle

around the firebrands close;
when the girls are weaving baskets,

and the lads are shaping bows;
when the goodman mends his armour,

and trims his helmet's plume; when the goodwife's shuttle merrily

goes flashing through the loom;

with weeping and with laughter

still is the story told,
how well Horatius kept the bridge
in the brave days of old.


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TRAVELLED among unknown men

in lands beyond the sea;
nor, England! did I know till then

what love I bore to thee.

'Tis past, that melancholy dream!

nor will I quit thy shore
a second time; for still I seem

to love thee more and more.

Among thy mountains did I feel

the joy of my desire;
and she I cherished turned her wheel

beside an English fire.
Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed

the bowers where Lucy played;
and thine too is the last green field
that Lucy's eyes surveyed.





HAT woke the buried sound that lay

in Memnon's harp of yore?
what spirit on its viewless way

along the Nile's green shore?
Oh! not the night, and not the storm,

and not the lightning's fire;
but sunlight's torch, the kind, the warm-

this, this awoke the lyre.
What wins the heart's deep chords to pour

thus music forth on life-
like a sweet voice prevailing o'er

the truant sounds of strife?

Oh! not the conflict midst the throng,

not e'en the trumpet's hour; love is the gifted and the strong

to wake that music's power!




AN ,

when the sun

his flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring
to arched walks of twilight groves,
and shadows brown, that Sylvan loves,
of pine, or monumental oak,
where the rude axe with heaved stroke
was never heard the Nymphs to daunt,
or fright them from their hallowed haunt.
There in close covert by some brook,
where no profaner eye may look,
hide me from day's garish eye,
while the bee with honeyed thigh,
that at her flowery work doth sing,
and the waters murmuring,
with such consort as they keep,
entice the dewy-feathered Sleep.


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FAIR Daffodils, we weep to see

you haste away so soon;
as yet the early-rising Sun
has not attain'd his noon.

Stay, stay,
until the hasting day

has run
but to the even-song;
and, having pray'd together, we

will go with you along.
We have short time to stay, as you,

we have as short a Spring;
as quick a growth to meet decay

as you, or any thing.

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Life is a dark, tumultuous stream,

with many a care and sorrow foul, yet thoughtless mortals vainly deem

that it can yield a limpid bowl.

Think not that stream will backward flow,

or cease its destined course to keep; as soon the blazing spark shall glow

beneath the surface of the deep.

Believe not Fate at thy command

will grant a meed she never gave; as soon the airy tower shall stand, that's built upon a passing wave.




WIFTER far than summer's flight,

swifter far than happy night,

art thou come and gone:

as the earth when leaves are dead,
as the night when sleep is sped,
as the heart when joy is fled,

I am left lone, alone.

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