5.

Though in visions, sweet lady, perhaps you may smile, Oh! think not my penance deficient!

When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile, To awake will be torture sufficient.

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;

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

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 interpreters, 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 day:
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 woe 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'er 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 woe
Which stings the soul, with vain regret,
Of him who never can forget!"

SONG *.

1.

WHEN I roved a young Highlander o'er the dark heath, And climb'd thy steep summit, oh Morven of snow t! To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath,

Or the mist of the tempest that gather❜d below‡,

* First published in the second edition of Hours of Idleness.-ED. † Morven, a lofty mountain in Aberdeenshire: "Gormal of snow,' is 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 attaining

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?

2.

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.

3.

I arose with the dawn; with my dog as my guide,
From mountain to mountain I bounded along;
I breasted* the billows of Dee's† rushing tide,
And heard at a distance the Highlander's song:
At eve, on my heath-cover'd couch of repose,

No dreams save of Mary were spread to my view; And warm to the skies my devotions arose,

For the first of my prayers was a blessing on you.

the top of Ben-e-vis, Ben-y-bourd, &c. to perceive between the summit and the valley, clouds pouring down rain, and occasionally accompanied by lightning, while the spectator literally looks down upon the storm, perfectly secure from its effects.

*Breasting the lofty surge.-Shakspeare.

The Dee is a beautiful river, which rises near Mar Lodge, and falls into the sea at New Aberdeen.

4.

I left my bleak home, and my visions are gone;
The mountains are vanish'd, my youth is no more;
As the last of my race, I must wither alone,

And delight but in days I have witness'd before:
Ah! splendour has raised, but embitter'd, my lot;

More dear were the scenes which my infancy knew: Though my hopes may have fail'd, yet they are not forgot;

Though cold is my heart, still it lingers with you.

5.

When I see some dark hill point its crest to the sky,
I think of the rocks that o'ershadow Colbleen*;
When I see the soft blue of a love-speaking eye,
I think of 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 on the long flowing ringlets of gold,
The locks that were sacred to beauty and you.

6.

Yet the day may arrive when the mountains once more
Shall rise to my sight in their mantles of snow:
But while these soar above me unchanged as before,
Will Mary be there to receive me? ah no!

* Colbleen is a mountain near the verge of the Highlands, not far from the ruins of Dee Castle.