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TO M. S. G

WHEN I dream that you love me, you'll surely forgive,

Extend not your anger to sleep;

For in visions alone your affection can live,-
I rise, and it leaves me to weep.

Then, Morpheus! envelope my faculties fast,
Shed o'er me your languor benign;

Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last,
What rapture celestial is mine!

They tell us that slumber, the sister of death, Mortality's emblem is given:

To fate how I long to resign my frail breath, If this be a foretaste of heaven.

Ah! frown not, sweet lady, unbend your soft brow,
Nor deem me too happy in this;

If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now,
Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss.

Though in visions, sweet lady, perhaps you may smile,

Oh! think not my penance deficient! When dreams of your presence my slumber beguile, To awake will be torture sufficient.

Awake, with it my fancy teems;
In sleep, it smiles in fleeting dreams
The vision charms the hours away,
And bids me curse Aurora's ray
For breaking slumbers of delight
Which make me wish for endless night.
Since, oh! whate'er my future fate,
Shall joy or wo my steps await,
Tempted by love, by storms beset,
Thine image I can ne'er forget.

Alas! again no more we meet,
No more our former looks repeat;
Then let me breathe this parting prayer
The dictate of my bosom's care:
"May heaven so guard my lovely Quaker,
That anguish never can o'ertake her;
That peace and virtue ne'r forsake her,
But bliss be aye her heart's partaker;
Oh! may the happy mortal, fated
To be by dearest ties, related,
For her each hour new joys discover,
And lose the husband in the lover!
May that fair bosom never know
What 'tis to feel the restless wo
Which stings the soul with vain regret,
Of him who never can forget!"

TO A BEAUTIFUL QUAKER.*

SWEET girl! though only once we met,
That meeting I shall ne'er forget;
And though we ne'er may meet again,
Remembrance will thy form retain.
I would not say, "I love," but still
My senses struggle with my will:
In vain to drive thee from my breast,
My thoughts are more and more represt;
In vain I check the rising sighs,
Another to the last replies:
Perhaps this is not love, but yet
Our meeting I can ne'er forget.

What though we never silence broke,
Our eyes a sweeter language spoke;
The tongue in flattering falsehood deals,
And tells a tale it never feels:
Deceit the guilty lips impart,
And hush the mandates of the heart;
But soul's interpreter, the eyes,
Spurn such restraint, and scorn disguise.
As thus our glances oft conversed,
And all our bosoms felt rehearsed,
No spirit, from within reproved us,
Say rather, "'twas the spirit moved us."
Though what they utter'd I repress,
Yet I conceive thou'lt partly guess;
For as on thee my memory ponders,
Perchance to me thine also wanders.
This for myself, at least, I'll say,
Thy form appears through night, through

SONG.❤

WHEN I roved a young Highlander o'er the dark heath,

And climb'd thy steep summit, oh Morven, of

snow! †

To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath,
Or the mist of the tempest that gathered below,
Untutor'd by science, a stranger to fear,

And rude as the rocks where my infancy grew, No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear;

Need I say, my sweet Mary, 'twas centred in you?

Yet it could not be love, for I knew not the name,What passion can dwell in the heart of a child? But still I perceive an emotion the same

As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-cover'd wild. One image alone on my bosom impress'd,

I loved my bleak regions, nor panted for new; And few were my wants, for my wishes were bless'd; And pure were my thoughts, for my soul was with

you.

I arose with the dawn; with my dog as my guide,
From mountain to mountain I bounded along;

I breasted the billow of Dee's rushing tide,
And heard at a distance the Highlander's song:

⚫ To Mary Duff. First published in the second edition of Hours a Idleness.

↑ Morven, a lofty mountain in Aberdeenshire: "Gormal of snow," in an expression frequently to be found in Ossian.

This will not appear extraordinary to those who have been accustomed to the mountains; it is by no means uncommon on attaming the top of Bene-vis Ben-y-bourd, &c., to perceive between the summit and the valley, clouda day:pectator literally looks down upon the store, perfectly secure from its effects. pouring down rain, and occasionally accompanied by lightning, while the 5 Breasting the lofty mirge.—Shakspeare.

• These lines were published in the private volume, and the first edition of Hours of Idleness, but subsequently omitted by the author.

I The Dee is a beautiful river, which rises near Mar Lovige, and hails into the sea at New Aberdeen.

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When I see some dark hill point its crest to the For the present, we part-I will hope not for ever,

sky,

I think of the rocks that o'ershadow Colbleen; When I see the soft blue of a love-speaking eye,

I think on those eyes that endear'd the rude scene: When, haply, some light-waving locks I behold, That faintly resemble my Mary's in hue, I think of the long-flowing ringlets of gold, The locks that were sacred to beauty and you.

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Full oft have we wander'd through Ida together,

And blest were the scenes of our youth, I allow; In the spring of our life, how serene is the weather, But winter's rude tempests are gathering now.

No more with affection shall memory blending
The wonted delights of our childhood retrace:
When pride steels the bosom, the heart is unbending,
And what would be justice appears a disgrace.

However, dear S-, for I still must esteem you-
The few whom I love I can never upbraid-
The chance which has lost may in future redeem you,
Repentance will cancel the vow you have made.

Colleen is a mountain near the verge of the Highlands, not far from the ruins of Dee Castle. + This poem was first published in the Hours of Idleness.

For time and regret will restore you at last; To forget our dissension we both should endeavor, I ask no atonement but days like the past.

TO MARY,

ON RECEIVING HER PICTURE

THIS faint resemblance of thy charms,
Though strong as mortal art could give,
My constant heart of fear disarms,
Revives my hopes, and bids me live.

Here I can trace the locks of gold

Which round thy snowy forehead wave, The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's mould, The lips which made me Beauty's slave.

Here I can trace-ah, no! that eye Whose azure floats in liquid fire, Must all the painter's art defy,

And bid him from the task retire.

Here I behold its beauteous hue,

But where's the beam so sweetly straying. Which gave a lustre to its blue,

Like Luna o'er the ocean playing?

Sweet copy! far more dear to me,

Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art, Than all the living forms could be,

Save her who placed thee next my heart.

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TO LESBIA.*

LESBIA! since far from you I've ranged, Our souls with fond affection glow not; You say 'tis I, not you, have changed, I'd tell why, but yet I know not.

Your polish'd brow no cares have crost?
And, Lesbia! we are not much older,
Since trembling first my heart I lost,

Or told my love with hope grown bolder.

Sixteen was then our utmost age,

Two years have lingering past away, love! And now new thoughts our minds engage At least I feel disposed to stray, love!

"Tis I that am alone to blame,

I, that am guilty of love's treason; Since your sweet breast is still the same, Caprice must be my only reason.

I do not, love! suspect your truth,
With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not;
Warm was the passion of my youth,

One trace of dark deceit it leaves not.

No, no, my flame was not pretended,

For, oh! I loved you most sincerely; And though our dream at last has endedMy bosom still esteems you dearly.

No more we meet in yonder bowers;
Absence has made me prone to roving;
But older, firmer hearts than ours
Have found monotony in loving.

Your cheek's soft bloom is unimpair'd, New beauties still are daily bright'ning, Your eye for conquest beams prepared,

The forge of love's resistless lightning.

Arm'd thus, to make their bosoms bleed,

Many will throng to sigh like me, love! More constant they may prove indeed;

Fonder, alas! they ne'er can be, love!

LINES ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.+

As the author was discharging his pistols in a garden, two ladies passing

Yes, in that nearly fatal hour

The ball obey'd some hell-born guide; But Heaven, with interposing power, In pity turned the death aside.

Yet, as perchance one trembling tear Upon that thrilling bosom fell; Which I, th' unconscious cause of fear Extracted from its glistening cell.

Say, what penance can atone

For such an outrage done to thee? Arraign'd before thy beauty's throne, What punishment wilt thou decree?

Might I perform the judge's part,
The sentence I should scarce deplore;
It only would restore a heart
Which but belong'd to thee before

The least atonement I can make
Is to become no longer free;
Henceforth I breathe but for thy sake,
Thou shalt be all in all to me.

But thou, perhaps, may'st now reject
Such expiation of my guilt:
Come then, some other mode elect;

Let it be death, or what thou wilt.

Choose, then, relentless! and I swear

Nought shall thy dread decree prevent; Yet hold-one little word forbear! Let it be aught but banishment.

LOVE'S LAST ADIEU.⭑

« Αει δ', αει με φεύγει.”

Anacreon.

THE roses of love glad the garden of life, Though nurtured 'mid weeds dropping pestilent dew,

Till Time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife, Or prunes them for ever in love's last adieu!

In vain with endearments we soothe the sad heart, In vain do we vow for an age to be true;

near the spot were alarmed by the sound of a bullet hissing near them, to The chance of an hour may command us to part.

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Bweet lady! why thus doth a tear steal its way
Down a cheek which outrivals thy bosom in hue?
Yet why do I ask ?-to distraction a prey,
Thy reason has perish'd with love's last adieu!

Oh! who is yon misanthrope, shunning mankind?
From cities to caves of the forest he flew :
There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind;
The mountains reverberate love's last adieu!

Now hate rules a heart which in love's easy chains
Once passion's tumultuous blandishments knew;
Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins;
He ponders in frenzy on love's last adieu !

How he envies the wretch with a soul wrapt in steel!
His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few,
Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel,
And dreads not the anguish of love's last adieu!

Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o'ercast;

No more with love's former devotion we sue : He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast! The shroud of affection is love's last adieu!

In this life of probation for rapture divine,

Astrea declares that some penance is due; From him who has worshipp'd at love's gentle shrine The atonement is ample in love's last adieu !

Who kneels to the god on his altar of light, Must myrtle and cypress alteruately strew: His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight;

His cypress, the garland of love's last adieu !

DAMÆTAS.

In law an infant,† and in years a boy,
In mind a slave to every vicious joy;

From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd;
In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend;
Versed in hypocrisy while yet a child;
Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild;

Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool;

Old in the world, though scarcely broke from school;
Damætas ran through all the maze of sin,
And found the goal when others just begin:
Even still conflicting passions shake his soul,
And bid him drain the dregs of pleasure's bowl;
But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his former chain,
And what was once his bliss appears his bane,

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"Tis not love disturbs thy rest,
Love's a stranger to thy breast;
He in dimpling smiles appears,
Or mourns in sweetly timid tears,
Or bends the languid eyelid down,
But shuns the cold forbidding frown.
Then resume thy former fire,
Some will love, and all admire;
While that icy aspect chills us,
Nought but cool indifference thrills us.
Wouldst thou wandering hearts beguile,
Smile at least, or seem to smile.
Eyes like thine were never meant
To hide their orbs in dark restraint;
Spite of all thou fain wouldst say,
Still in truant beams they play.
Thy lips-but here my modest Muse
Her impulse chaste must needs refuse:
She blushes, curt'sies, frowns,-in short, she
Dreads lest the subject should transport me;
And flying off in search of reason,

Brings prudence back in proper season.
All I shall therefore say (whate'er

I think, is neither here, nor there)

Is, that such lips, of looks endearing,

Were form'd for better things than sneering:
Of soothing compliments divested,
Advice at least's disinterested;
Such is my artless song to thee,
From all the flow of flattery free;
Counsel like mine is as a brother's,
My heart is given to some others;
That is to say, unskill'd to cozen,
It shares itself among a dozen.
Marion, adieu! oh! pr'ythee slight not
This warning, though it may delight not;
And, lest my precepts be displeasing
To those who think remonstrance teasing,
At once I'll tell thee our opinion
Concerning woman's soft dominion:
Howe'er we gaze with admiration
On eyes of blue or lips carnation,
Howe'er the flowing locks attract us,
Howe'er those beauties may distract us,
Still fickle, we are prone to rove,
These cannot fix our souls to love:
It is not too severe a stricture
To say they form a pretty picture:
But wouldst thou see the secret chain,
Which binds us to your humble train,
To hail you queens of all creation,
Know, in a word, 'tis ANIMATION.

TO MARION.

MARION! Why that pensive brow? What disgust to life hast thou? Change that discontented air:

Frowns become not one so fair.

• The Goddess of Justice.

OSCAR OF ALVA.

A TALE.T

How sweetly shines, through azure skies. The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore; Where Alva's hoary turrets rise,

And hear the din of arms no more.

This poem was published for the first time in Hours of Idleness.

↑ The catastrophe of this tale was suggested by the story of "Jeronymo

† la law every person is an infant who has not attained the age of twenty- and Lorenzo," in the first volume of the "Armenian, or Ghost-Seer."

also bears some resemblance to a scene in the third act of "Macbeth."

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