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то

GEORGE ELLIS, Esq.

Edinburgh.

WHEN dark December glooms the day,

And takes our autumn joys away;

When short and scant the sun-beam throws,

Upon the weary waste of snows,

A cold and profitless regard,

Like patron on a needy bard;

When sylvan occupation's done,

And o'er the chimney rests the gun,

And hang, in idle trophy, near,

The game-pouch, fishing-rod, and spear;

When wiry terrier, rough and grim,

And greyhound, with his length of limb,
And pointer, now employ'd no more,
Cumber our parlour's narrow floor;
When in his stall the impatient steed
Is long condemn'd to rest and feed;
When from our snow-encircled home,
Scarce cares the hardiest step to roam,
Since path is none, save that to bring

The needful water from the spring;
When wrinkled news-page, thrice conn'd o'er,
Beguiles the dreary hour no more.

And darkling politician, cross'd,

Inveighs against the lingering post,

And answering house-wife sore complains

Of carriers' snow-impeded wains :

When such the country cheer, I come,

Well pleased, to seek our city home;

For converse, and for books, to change

The Forest's melancholy range,

And welcome, with renew'd delight,

The busy day, and social night.

Not here need my desponding rhyme Lament the ravages of time,

As erst by Newark's riven towers,

And Ettrick stripp'd of forest bowers.*

True,-Caledonia's Queen is changed,

Since, on her dusky summit ranged,
Within its steepy limits pent,
By bulwark, line, and battlement,

And flanking towers, and laky flood,

Guarded and garrison'd she stood,
Denying entrance or resort,

Save at each tall embattled port;
Above whose arch, suspended, hung
Portcullis spiked with iron prong.
That long is gone,—but not so long,

*See Introduction to Canto II.

Since, early closed, and opening late,

Jealous revolved the studded gate,

Whose task, from eve to morning tide,
A wicket churlishly supplied.

Stern, then, and steel-girt was thy brow,
Dun-Edin! O, how alter'd now,

When safe amid thy mountain court
Thou sitst, like Empress at her sport,

And, liberal, unconfined, and free,
Flinging thy white arms to the sea,
For thy dark cloud, with umber'd lower,
That hung o'er cliff, and lake, and tower,
Thou gleam'st against the western ray
Ten thousand lines of brighter day!

Not she, the Championess of old,

In Spenser's magic tale enroll'd,

She for the charmed spear renown'd,

Which forced each knight to kiss the ground,—

Not she more changed, when, placed at rest,

What time she was Malbecco's guest,*
She gave to flow her maiden vest;
When, from the corslet's grasp relieved,
Free to the sight her bosom heaved;
Sweet was her blue eye's modest smile,

Erst hidden by the aventayle;

And down her shoulders graceful roll'd

Her locks profuse of paly gold.

They who whilom, in midnight fight,

Had marvell'd at her matchless might,
No less her maiden charms approved,
But looking liked, and liking loved.†
The sight could jealous pangs beguile,
And charm Malbecco's cares awhile;
And he, the wandering Squire of Dames,
Forgot his Columbella's claims,

And passion, erst unknown, could gain

The breast of blunt Sir Satyrane;

*See "The Fairy Queen," Book III. Canto IX. "For every one her liked, and every one her loved." SPENSER, as above.

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