'My brother Douglas may upbraid, And strive with threatening words to move me; 95 How canst thou ever bid me love thee? 'Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love, With bridal-sheets my body cover; Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, 'But who the expected husband is? 100 His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaughter. 'Pale as he is, here lay him down, Oh, lay his cold head on my pillow! Take aff, take aff these bridal weeds, 105 And crown my careful head with willow. 'Pale though thou art, yet best beloved, 'Pale, pale indeed, O lovely youth! A. Return, return, O mournful bride! Return, and dry thy useless sorrow : William Hamilton. CLVI AULD ROBIN GRAY. When the sheep are in the fauld, and the kye at hame, And a' the warld to rest are gane, The waes o' my heart fa' in showers free my e'e, While my gudeman lies sound by me. Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride; 5 To make the croun a pund, young Jamie gaed to sea; He hadna been awa' a week but only twa, When my father brak his arm, and the cow was stown awa; My mother she fell sick, and my Jamie at the sea— 10 My father couldna work, and my mother couldna spin; My heart it said nay; I looked for Jamie back; But the wind it blew high, and the ship it was a wrack; His ship it was a wrack-why didna Jamie dee? Or why do I live to cry, Wae's me? 20 My father urgit sair: my mother didna speak; But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break: I hadna been a wife a week but only four, 25 194 O sair, sair did we greet, and muckle did we say; I gang like a ghaist, and I carena to spin; CLVII Lady Anne Lindsay. THE PROGRESS OF POESY. A PINDARIC ODE. Awake, Æolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. A thousand rills their mazy progress take : 30 35 5 Through verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign: ΙΟ Headlong, impetuous, see it pour : The rocks and nodding groves rebellow to the roar. O Sovereign of the willing soul, Enchanting shell! the sullen Cares Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs, 15 And frantic Passions hear thy soft control : On Thracia's hills the Lord of War Has curbed the fury of his car, And dropped his thirsty lance at thy command. 20 Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feathered king The terror of his beak, and lightnings of his eye. Thee the voice, the dance, obey, Tempered to thy warbled lay; O'er Idalia's velvet-green The rosy-crownèd Loves are seen On Cytherea's day, Frisking light in frolic measures ; Now pursuing, now retreating, To brisk notes in cadence beating With antic Sports, and blue-eyed Pleasures, Now in circling troops they meet : Glance their many-twinkling feet. Slow-melting strains their Queen's approach declare : In gliding state she wins her easy way: 25 30 35 O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move 40 The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love. Man's feeble race what ills await, Labour and penury, the racks of pain, Disease, and sorrow's weeping train, And death, sad refuge from the storms of fate! 45 The fond complaint, my song, disprove, And justify the laws of Jove. Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse? Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry, 50 He gives to range the dreary sky; Till down the eastern cliffs afar Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war. In climes beyond the solar road, Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, 55 The Muse has broke the twilight gloom, To cheer the shivering native's dull abode. She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat, In loose numbers wildly sweet, Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves. Glory pursue, and generous Shame, 60 The unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame. 65 Woods that wave o'er Delphi's steep, Isles that crown the Ægean deep, How do your tuneful echoes languish, Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power, And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, 70 75 80 They sought, O Albion, next thy sea-encircled coast. Far from the sun and summer-gale, In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid, 85 What time, where lucid Avon strayed, To him the mighty Mother did unveil |