Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

Then shall love teach some virtuous youth | Thou one fair shrub, oh! shed thy flowers,
" To draw out of the object of his eyes,". And stir not in the gale.
The whilst on thee they gaze in simple truth, For thus to see thee nodding in the air,-
Hues more exalted, “a refined form," To see thy arch thus stretch and tend,
That dreads not age, nor suffers from the Thus rise and thus descend, -
And never dies,

(worm, Disturbs me till the sight is more than I

can bear."

The man who makes this feverish com'Tis said that some have died for love :

plaint And here and there a church-yard grave is is one of giant stature, who could dance found

Equipped from head to foot in iron mail. In the cold North's unhallowed ground, -Ah gentle love! if ever thought was thine Because the wretched man himself had To store up kindred hours for me, thy face slain,

Turn from me, gentle love ! nor let me walk His love was such a grievous pain.

Within the sound of Emma's voice, or know And there is one whom I five years have such happiness as I have known to-day. He dwells alone

[known;
Upon Helvellyn's side :
He loved the pretty Barbara died,
And thus he makes his moan :

A COMPLAINT.
Three years had Barbara in her grave been There is a change—and I am poor ;
When thus his moan he made- [laid Your love hath been, nor long ago,
Oh, move, thou cottage, from behind

A fountain at my fond heart's door, that oak!

Whose only business was to flow ;

And flow it did ; not taking heed
Or let the aged tree uprooted lie,

Of its own bounty, or my necd.
That in some other way you smoke
May mount into the sky !

What happy moments did I count ! The clouds pass on; they from the heavens Blest was I then all bliss above ! depart:

Now, for this consecrated fount I look- the sky is empty space ;

Of murmuring, sparkling, living love, I know not what I trace ; (my heart. What have I? shall I dare to tell? But when I cease to look, my hand is on A comfortless and hidden well.

A well of love-it may be deep-
I trust it is,--and never dry :
What matter? if the waters sleep
In silence and obscurity.
Such change, and at the very door
Of my fond heart, hath made me poor.

“Oh ! what a weight is in these shades?
Ye leaves,

(prest!
When will that dying murmur be sup-
Your sound my heart of peace bereaves,
It robs my heart of rest. [and free,
Thou thrush, that singest loud-and loud
Into yon row of willows flit,
Upon that alder sit ;

(tree. Or sing another song, or choose another “Roll back, sweet rill! back to thy moun

tain bounds,
And there for ever be thy waters chained !
For thou dost haunt the air with sounds
That cannot be sustained ; (bough
If still beneath that pine-tree's ragged
Headlong yon waterfall must come,
Oh, let it then be dumb !-
Be any thing, sweet rill, but that which

thou art now.
“Thou eglantine, whose arch so proudly
towers,

(vale. Even like a rainbow spanning hali the

TO
LET other bards of angels sing,

Bright suns without a spot ;
But thou art no such perfect thing ;

Rejoice that thou art not !
Such if thou wert in all men's view,

A universal show,
What would my fancy have to do

My feelings to bestow?
The world denies that thou art fair;

So, Mary, let it be
If nought in loveliness compare

With what thou art to me.

True beauty dwells in deep retreats, LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF

Whose veil is unremoved
Till heart with heart in concord beats,

SCOTS
And the lover is beloved.

ON THE EVE OF A NEW YEAR.
SMILE of the noon !-for so I name
That silent greeting from above ;

A gentle flash of light that came
How rich that forehead's calm expanse ! From her whom drooping captives love ;
How bright that heaven-directed glance! Or art thou of still higher birth?
Waft her to glory, winged powers, Thou that didst part ihe clouds of earth,
Ere sorrow be renewed,

My torpor to reprove !
And intercourse with mortal hours
Bring back a humbler mood !

Bright boon of pitying Heaven-alas!
So looked Cecilia when she drew

I may not trust thy placid cheer ! An angel from his station ;

Pondering that time to-night will pass So looked-not ceasing to pursue

The threshold of another year; Her tuneful adoration !

For years to me are sad and dull;

My very moments are too full
But hand and voice alike are still ; of hopelessness and fear.
No sound here sweeps away the will
That gave it birth ;-in service meek

Ard yet, the soul-awakening gleam,
One upright arın sustains the cheek,

That struck perchance the farthest cone And one across the bosom lies-

Of Scotland's rocky wilds, did seem That rose, and now forgets to rise,

To visit me, and me alone ; Subdued by breathless harmonies

Me, unapproached by any friend, Of meditative feeling ;

Save those who to my sorrows lend
Mute strains from worlds beyond the skies, Tears due unto their own.
Through the pure light of female eyes To-night, the church-tower bells will ring
Their sanctity revealing !

Through these wide realms a festive peal.
To the new year a welcoming ;
A tuneful offering for the weal

Of happy millions lulled in sleep ;
TO

While I'am forced to watch and weep, OH, dearer far than light and life are

By wounds that may not heal. dear,

Born all too high, by wedlock raised Full oft our human foresight I deplore ; Still higher-to be cast thus low ! Trembling, through my unworthiness, with Would that mine eyes had never gazed fear

(no more ! On aught of more ambitious show That friends, by death disjoined, may meet Than the sweet flowerets of the fields !

It is my royal state that yields
Misgivings, hard to vanquish or control, This bitterness of woe.
Mix with the day, and cross the hour of rest; Yet how ?—for 1, if there be truth
While all the future, for thy purer soul,
With “sober certainties" of love is blest.

In the world's voice, was passing fair,
And beauty, for confiding youth,

Those shocks of passion can prepare
If a saint sigh, not meant for human ear,
Tell that these words thy humbleness offend, And blanch, without the owner's crime,

That kill the bloom before its time, Cherish me still--else faltering in the rear

The most resplendent hair. Of a steep march; uphold me to the end.

Unblest distinction ! showered on me Peace settles where the intellect is meek, To bind a lingering life in chains :And love is dutiful in thought and deed ; All that could quit my grasp, or flee, Through thee communion with that love I | Is gone ;-but not the subtle stains seek ;

Fixed in the spirit ; for even here The faith Heaven strengthens where He Can I be proud that jealous fear moulds the creed,

Of what I was remains.

A woman rules my prison's key;

My fire is dead : it knew no pain ; A sister queen, against the bent

Yet is it dead, and I remain. Of law and holiest sympathy,

All stiff with ice the ashes lie ; Detains me,

doubtful of the event ; And they are dead, and I will die. Great God, who feel'st for my distress, When I was well, I wished to live, My thoughts are all that I possess, For clothes, for warmth, for food, and fire; Oh, keep them innocent !

But they to me no joy can give,

No pleasure now, and no desire. Farewell desire of human aid,

Then here contented will I lie !
Which abject mortals vainly court,

Alone I cannot fear to die.
By friends deceived, by foes betrayed,
of fears the prey, of hopes the sport ; Alas! ye might have dragged me on
Nought but the world-redeeming cross Another day, a single one.
Is able to supply my loss,

Too soon I yielded to despair ;
My burthen to support.

Why did ye listen to my prayer ?

When ye were gone my limbs were stronger; Hark! the death-note of the year

And, oh, how grievousi; I rue, Sounded by the castle clock !

That, afterwards, a little longer, From her sunk eyes a stagnant tear

My friends, I did not follow you? Stole forth, unsettled by the shock;

For strong and without pain I lay, But oft the woods renewed their green,

My friends, when ye were gone away.
Ere the tired head of Scotland's queen
Reposed upon the block !

My child ! they gave thee to another,
A woman who was not thy mother.
When from my arms my babe they took,

On me how strangely did he look!
THE COMPLAINT

Through his whole body something ran,

A most strange working did I see ; OF A FORSAKEN INDIAN WOMAN. As if he strove to be a man,

That he might pull the sledge for me. (When a Northern Indian, from sickness, is un. And then he stretched his arms, how able to continue his journey with his compa

wild ? nions, he is left behind, covered over with deer-skins, and is supplied with water, food, Oh, mercy! like a helpless child. and fuel, if the situation of the place will afford it. his companions intend to pursue, and if he is My little joy! my little pride ! unable to follow or overtake them, he perishes In two days more I must have died. alone in the desert, unless he should have the Then do not weep and grieve for me ; good fortune to fall in with some other tribes I feel I must have died with thee. of Indians. The females are equally, or still O wind, that o'er my head art flying more, exposed to the same fate. Sce that The way my friends their course did very interesting work, Hearne's “Journey bend, from Hudson's Bay to the Northern Ocean. In the high northern latitudes, as the same I should not feel the pain of dying, writer informs us, when the northern Lights Could I with thee a message send ; vary their position in the air, they make a Too soon, my friends, ye went away ; rustling and a crackling noise, as alluded to in For I had many things to say.

the following poem.] BEFORE I see another day,

I'll follow you across the snow ;
Oh, let my body die away!

Ye travel heavily and slow ;
In sleep I heard the northern gleams; In spite of all my weary pain
The stars were mingled with my dreams; I'll look upon your tents again.
In rustling conflict ihrough the skies, My fire is dead, and snowy white
I heard, I saw the flashes drive,

The water which beside it stood ;
And yet they are upon my eyes,

The wolf has come to me to-night, And yet I am alive;

And he has stolen away my food. Before I see another day,

For ever left alone am I, Oh, let my body die away!

Then wherefore should I fear to die?

[blocks in formation]

"Sir, 'twas a precious flock to me,
As dear as my own children be ;
For daily with my growing store
I loved my children more and more.
Alas! it was an evil time;
God cursed me in my sore distress;
I prayed, yet every day I thought
I loved my children less ;
And every week, and every day,
My flock it seemed to melt away.

** Year after year my stock it grew ;
And from this cne, this single ewe,
Full fifty comely sheep I raised,
As sweet a flock as ever grazed !
Upon the mountain did they feed,
They throve, and we at home did thrive.
This lusty lamb of all my store
Is all that is alive ;
And now I care not if we die,
And perish all of poverty.
"Six children, sir! had I to feed;
Hard labour in a time of need!
My pride was tamed, and in our griei
I of the parish asked relief.
They said, I was a wealthy man ;
My sheep upon the mountain fed,
And it was fit that thence I took
Whereof to buy us bread.
*Do this: how can we give to you,'
They cried, 'vihat to the poor is due ?"

They dwindled, sir, sad sight to see!
From ten to five, from five to three,
A lamb, a wether, and a ewe ;
And then at last from three to two;
And, of my fifty, yesterday
I had but only one :
And here it lies upon my arm,
Alas! and I have none;-
To-day I fetched it from the rock ;
It is the last of all my flock."

Now I cleave to the house, and am dull as REPENTANCE.

a snail ;

{a sigh, A PASTORAL BALLAD.

And, oftentimes, hear the church-bell with

That follows the thought-We've no land The fields which with covetous spirit we in the vale,

[lie! sold,

(day, Save six feet of earth where our forefathers Those beautiful fields, the delight of the Would have brought us more good than a burthen of gold,

(they. Could we but have been as contented as | THE AFFLICTION OF MARGARET. When the troublesome tempter beset us, WHERE art thou, my beloved son, said I,

(grasped in his hand; Where art thou, worse to me than dead? "Let him come with his purse proudly Oh, find me, prosperons or undone ! But, Allan, be true to me, Allan, -we'll die Or, if the grave be now thy bed, Before he shall go with an inch of the Why am I ignorant of the same, land!"

That I may rest; and neither blame

Nor sorrow may attend thy name? There dwelt we, as happy as birds in their bowers ;

Seven years, alas ! to have received Unfettered as bees that in gardens abide; No tidings of an only child ; We could do what we chose with the land, To have despaired, and have believed, it was ours ;

[by its side. And be for evermore beguiled ; And for us the brook murmured that ran Sometimes with thoughts of very bliss !

I catch at them and then I miss ;
But now we are strangers, go early or late; Was ever darkness like to this?
And often, like one overburdened with sin,
With my hand on the latch of the half- He was among the prime in worth,
opened gate,

An object beauteous to behold;
I look at the fields—but I cannot go in !

Well born, well bred; I sent him forth

Ingenuous, innocent, and bold: When I walk by the hedge on a bright If things ensued that wanted grace, summer's day,

[tree, As hath been said, they were not base; Or sit in the shade of my grandfather's And never blush was on my face. A stern face it puts on, as if ready to say, “What ails you, that you must come creep- Ah ! little doth the young one dream, ing to me ?"

When full of play and childish cares,

What power hath even his wildest scream, With our pastures about us, we could not Heard by his mother unawares ! be sad ;

He knows it not, he cannot guess : Our comfort was near if we ever were crost, ! Years to a mother bring distress ; But the comfort, the blessings, and wealth But do not make her love the less. that we had,

(was lost. We slighted them all, -and our birthright Neglect me! no, I suffered long

From that ill theught; and, being blind, Oh, ill-judging sire of an innocent son, Said, " Pride shall help me in my wrong: Who must now be a wanderer!--but peace Kind mother have I been, as kind to that strain!

(was done, As ever breathed:" and that is true; Think of evening's repose when our labour I've wet my path with tears like dew, The Sabbath's return-and its leisure's soft Weeping for him when no one knew. chain !

My son, if thou be humbled, poor, And in sickness, if night had been sparing Hopeless of horour and of gain, of sleep,

(stood, Oh! do not dread thy mother's door; Blow cheerful, at sunrise, the hill where I Think not of me with grief and pain : Looking down on the kine, and our trea- I now can see with better eyes, sure of sheep

in my blood! And worldly grandeur I despise, That besprinkled the field-'twas like youth. And fortune with her gifts and lies.

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »