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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,

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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.

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Sweet 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!

DAMETAS.

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.+

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

fla 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." A

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

But often has yon rolling moon

On Alva's casques of silver play'd; And view'd at midnight's silent noon, Her chiefs in gleaming mail array'd:

And on the crimson rocks beneath,

Which scroll o'er ocean's sullen flow, Pale in the scatter'd ranks of death, She saw the gasping warrior low;

While many an eye which ne'er again Could mark + the rising orb of day, Turn'd feebly from the gory plain, Beheld in death her fading ray.

Once, to those eyes the lamp of Love,
They blest her dear propitious light;
But now she glimmer'd from above,
A sad, funereal torch of night.

Faded is Alva's noble race,

And gray her towers are seen afar; No more her heroes urge the chase, Or roll the crimson tide of war.

But who was last of Alva's clan?

Why grows the moss on Alva's stone? Her towers resound no steps of man, They echo to the gale alone.

And when that gale is fierce and high,
A sound is heard in yonder hall;
It rises hoarsely through the sky,
And vibrates o'er the mouldering wall.

Yes, when the eddying tempest sighs, It shakes the shield of Oscar brave; But there no more his banners rise,

No more his plumes of sable wave.

Fair shone the sun on Oscar's birth, When Angus hail'd his eldest born; The vassals round their chieftain's hearth Crowd to applaud the happy morn.

They feast upon the mountain deer,

The pibroch raised its piercing note, To gladden more their Highland cheer, The strains in martial numbers float:

And they who heard the war-notes wild, Hoped that one day the pibroch's strain Should play before the hero's child,

While he should lead the tartan train.

Another year is quickly past,

And Angus hails another son; His natal day is like the last,

Nor soon the jocund feast was done.

Taught by their sire to bend the bow,
On Alva's dusky hills of wind,
The boys in childhood chased the roe,
And left their hounds in speed behind.

• While. First edition, when. ↑ Mark. First edition, view.

But ere their years of youth are o'er, They mingle in the ranks of war; They lightly wheel the bright claymore, And send the whistling arrow far.

Dark was the flow of Oscar's hair,

Wildly it stream'd along the gale; But Allan's locks were bright and fair, And pensive seem'd his cheek, and pale.

But Oscar own'd a hero's soul,

His dark eye shone through beams of truth; Allan had early learn'd control,

And smooth his words had been from youth.

Both, both were brave; the Saxon spear Was shiver'd oft beneath their steel; And Oscar's bosom scorn'd to fear,

But Oscar's bosom knew to feel;

While Allan's soul belied his form,
Unworthy with such charms to dwell:
Keen as the lightning of the storm,
On foes his deadly vengeance fell.

From high Southannon's distant tower
Arrived a young and noble dame;
With Kenneth's lands to form her dower,
Glenalvon's blue-eyed daughter came;

And Oscar claim'd the beauteous bride,
Aud Angus on his Oscar smiled:
It soothed the father's feudal pride
Thus to obtain Glenalvon's child.

Hark to the pibroch's pleasing note! Hark to the swelling nuptial song! In joyous strains the voices float,

And still the choral peal prolong.

See how the heroes' blood-red plumes Assembled wave in Alva's hall, Each youth his varied plaid assumes, Attending on their chieftain's call.

It is not war their aid demands,

The pibroch plays the song of peace; To Oscar's nuptials throng the bands, Nor yet the sounds of pleasure cease. But where is Oscar? sure 'tis late:

Is this a bridegroom's ardent flame? While thronging guests and ladies wait, Nor Oscar nor his brother came.

At length young Allan join'd the bride: "Why comes not Oscar?" Angus said; "Is not he here?" the youth replied; "With me he roved not o'er the glade.

"Perchance, forgetful of the day, 'Tis his to chase the bounding roe; Or ocean's waves prolong his stay; Yet Oscar's bark is seldom slow."

"Oh, no!" the anguish'd sire rejoin'd, "Nor chase, nor wave, my boy delay; Would he to Mora seem unkind? Would aught to her impede his way?

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