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stones mark the dwelling of Orla and Calmar. When But ne'er forget another's woe. Swaran was bound, our sails rose on the blue waves. Yes, as you knew me in tlie days The winds gave our barks to Morven :-the bards O'er which Remembrance yet delays, raised the song.

Still may I rove, untutor'd, wild, 3.What form rises on the roar of clouds ? Whose And even in age at heart a child. dark ghost gleams on the red streams of tempests? His voice rolls on the thunder. 'Tis Orla, the brown Though now on airy visions borne, chief of Oithona. He was unmatched in war. Peace To you my soul is still the same. to thy soul, Orla! thy fame will not perish. Nor Oft has it been my fate to mourn, thine, Calmar! Lovely wast thou, son of blue-eyed And all my former joys are tame. Mora; but not harmless was thy sword. It hangs in But hence! ye hours of sable hue ! thy cave. The ghosts of Lochlin shriek around its Your frowns are gone, my sorrows o'er: steel. Hear thy praise, Calinar!

It dwells on the By every bliss my childhood knew, voice of the mighty. Thy name shakes on the echoes I'll think upon your shade no more. of Morven. Then raise thy fair locks, son of Mora.

Thus, when the whirlwind's rage is past, Spread them on the arch of the rainbow; and smile

And caves their sullen roar enclose, through the tears of the storm.'

We heed no more the wintry blast,

When lull'd by zephyr to repose.

'Nil ego contulerim jocundo sanus amico.-

DEAR Long, in this sequester'd scene,

While all around in slumber lie,
The joyous days which ours have been

Come rolling fresh on Fancy's eye;
Thus if amidst the gathering storm,
While clouds the darken'd noon deform,
Yon heaven assumes a varied glow,
I hail the sky's celestial bow,
Which spreads the sign of future peace,
And bids the war of tempests cease.
Ah! though the present brings but pain,
I think those days may come again ;
Or if, in melancholy mood,
Some lurking envious fear intrude,
To check my bosom's fondest thought,

And interrupt the golden dream,
I crush the fiend with m.alice fraught,

And still indulge my wonted theme.
Although we ne'er again can trace,

In Granta's vale the pedant's lore ;
Nor through the groves of Ida chase

Our raptured visions as before,
Though Youth has flown on rosy pinion,
And Manhood claims his stern dominion,
Age will not every hope destroy,
But yield soine hours of sober joy.

Yes, I will hope that Time's broad wing
Will shed around some dews of spring:
But if his scythe must sweep the flowers
Which bloom among the fairy bowers,
Where smiling youth delights to dwell,
And hearts with early rapture swell;
If frowning age, with cold control,
Confires the current of the soul,
Congeals the tear of Pity's eye,
Or checks the sympathetic sigh,
Or hears unmoved misfortune's groan,
And bids me feel for self alone;
Oh, may my bosom never learn

To soothe its wonted heedless flow,
Still, still despise the censor stern,

Full often has my infant Muse

Attuned to love her languid lyre;
But now, without a theme to choosc,

The strains in stolen sighs expire.
My youthful nymphs, alas ! are flown;

E-is a wife, and a mother,
And Carolina sighs alone,

And Mary's given to another ;
And Cora's eye, which roll'd on me,

Can now no inore my love recall :
In truth, dear Long, 'twas time to flee;

For Cora's eye will shine on all.
And though the sun, with genial rays,
His beams alike to all displays,
And every lady's eye's a sun,
These last should be confined to one.
The soul's meridian don't become her,
Whose sun displays a general summer !
Thus faint is every former flame,
And passion's self is now a name.
As, when the ebling flames are low,

The aid which once improved their light,
And bade them burn with fiercer glow,

Now quenches all their sparks in night; Thus has it been with passion's fires,

As many a boy and girl remembers, While all the force of love expires,

Extinguish'd with the dying embers.

But now, dear Long, 'tis midnight's noon,
And clouds obscure the watery moon,
Whose beauties I shall not rehearse,
Described in every stripling's verse;
For why should I the path go o'er,
Which every bard has trod before?
Yet ere yon silver lamp of night

Has thrice perform d her stated round,
Has thrice retraced her path of light,

And chased away the gloom profound,
I trust that we, my gentle friend,
Shall see her rolling orbit wend
Above the dear-loved peaceful seat,
Which once contain d our youth's retreat ;
And then with those our childhood knew
We'll mingle in the festive crew;

While many a tale of former day

Shall wing the laughing hours away;

I WOULD I were a careless child,
And all the flow of soul shall pour

Still dwelling in my Highland cave,
The sacred intellectual shower,

Or roaming through the dusky wild,
Nor cease till Luna's waning horn

Or bounding o'er the dark blue wave.
Scarce glimmers through the mist of morn. The cumbrous pomp of Saxon pride*

Accords not with the free-born soul,
Which loves the mountain's craggy side.

And seeks the rocks where billows roll.

Fortune ! take back these cultured lands,
OH! had my fate been join'd with thine.

Take back this name of splendid sound! As once this pledge appear'd a token,

I hate the touch of servile hands, These follies had not then been mine,

I hate the slaves that cringe around. For then my peace had not been broken.

Place me among the rocks 1 love,

Which sound to Ocean's wildest roar; To thee these early faults I owe,

I ask but this-again to rove To thee, the wise and old reproving:

Through scenes my youth hath known before. They know my sins, but do not know

Few are my years, and yet I feel Twas thine to break the bonds of loving.

The world was ne'er design d for me:

Ah! why do darkening shades conceal For once my soul, like thine, was pure,

The hour when man must cease to be? And all its rising fires could smother •

Once I beheld a splendid dream, But now thy vows no more endure,

A visionary scene of bliss ! Bestowed by thee upon another.

Truth |--wherefore did thy hated beain

Awake me to a world like this?
Perhaps his peace I could destroy,
And spoil the blisses that await him ;

I loved-but those I loved are gone :
Yet let my rival smile in joy,

Had friends---my early friends are ned For thy dear sake I cannot hate him.

How cheerless feels the heart alone,

When all its former hopes are dead! Ah! since thy angel form is gone,

Though gay companions o'er the bowl My heart no more can rest with any ;

Dispel a while the sense of ill ; But what it sought with thee alone,

Though pleasure stirs the maddening soul, Attempts, alas! to find in many.

The heart--the heart-is lonely'still.

How dull! to hear the voice of those Then fare thee well, deceitful maid :

Whom rank or chance, whom wealth or power, 'Twere vain and fruitless to regret thee

Have made, though neither friends nor foes, Nor Hope nor Memory yield their aid.

Associates of the festive hour. But Pride may teach me to forget thee.

Give me again a faithful few, Yet all this giddy waste of years,

In years and feelings still the same,

And I will fly the midnight crew,
This tiresome round of palling pleasures

Where boisterous joy is but a name.
These varied loves, these matrons' fears,
These thoughtless strains to passion's measures-1 And woman, lovely woman! thou.

My hope, my comforter, ny all
If thou wert mine, had all been hush'd ;-

How cold must be my bosom now, This cheek now pale from early riot,

When e'en thy smiles begin to pall! With passion's hectic ne'er had flushid,

Without a sigh would I resign Bat bloom'd in calm domestic quiet.

This busy scene of splendid woe.

To make that calm contentment mine, Yes, once the rural scene was sweet,

Which virtue knows, or seems to know. For Nature seem'd to smile before thee;

Fain would I Ay the haunts of men-And once my breast abhorrd deceit, -

I seek to shun, not hate mankind; For then it beat but to adore thee.

My breast requires the sullen glen. But now I seek for other joys:

Whose gloom may suit a darken d mind. To think would drive iny soul to madness;

Oh! that to me the wings were given In thoughtless throngs and empty noise

Which bear the turtle to her nest! I conquer half my bosom's sadness.

Then would I cleave the vault of heaven,

To flee away, and be at rest.
Yet, even in these a thought will steal
In spite of every vain endeavour-

*Sassenach, or Saxon, a Gaelic word, signifying

either Lowland or English. And fiends might pity what I feel

+. And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! for To know that thou art lost for ever.

then would I fly away, and be at rest.'--Psalm lv. 6.

WHEN I ROVED A YOUNG HIGHLANDER. Yet the day may arrive when the mountains once



WHEN I roved a young Highlander o'er the dark Shall rise to my sight in their mantles of snow : heath,

But while these soar above me, unchanged as before, And climbed thy steep summit, O Morven, of snow, * Will Mary be there to receive me?-ah, no! To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath,

Adieu, then, ye hills, where my childhood was bred! Or the mist of the tempest that gather'd below, t Thou sweet-flowing Dee, to thy waters adieu! Untutor'd by science, a stranger to fear,

No home in the forest shall shelter my head, And rude as the rocks where my infancy grew, Ah ! Mary, what home could be mine but with No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear;

you? Need I say, my sweet Mary, 'twas centred in you?

TO GEORGE, EARL DELAWARR. Yet it could not be love, for I knew not the name,

What passion can dwell in the heart of a child ? OH! yes, I will own we were dear to each other; But still I perceive an emotion the same

The friendships of childhood, though fleeting. are As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-cover'd wild :

true ; One image alone on my bosom impress'd,

The love which you felt was the love of a brother, I loved my bleak regions, nor panted for new; Nor less the affection I cherish'd for you. And few were my wants, for my wishes were bless' d; But friendship can vary her gentle dominion ; And pure were my thoughts, for my soul was with

The attachment of years in a moment expires ; you.

Like Love, too, she moves on a swift-waving pinion, I arose with the dawn; with my dog as my guide,

But glows not, like Love, with unquenchable fires. From mountain to mountain I bounded along ; Full oft have we wander'd through Ida together, I breasted the billows of Dee's rushing tide, I

And blest were the scenes of our youth, I allow : And heard at a distance the Highlander's song: In the spring of our life, how serene is the weather! At eve, on my heath-cover'd couch of repose,

But winter's rude tempests are gathering now No dreams, save of Mary, were spread to my 'No more with affection shall memory blending, And warm to the skies my devotions arose,

The wonted delights of our childhood retrace For the first of my prayers was a blessing on you.

When pride steels the bosom, the heart is unbending,

And what would be justice appears a disgrace.
I left my bleak home, and my visions were gone ; However, dear George, for I still must esteem you;

The mountains are vanish'd, my youth is no more ; The few whom I love I can never upbraid :
As the last of my race, I must wither alone,

The chance which is lost may in future redeem you, And delight but in days I have witness'd before :

Repentance will cancel the vow you have made. Ah! splendour has raised but embitter'd my lot; More dear were the scenes which my infancy I will not complain, and though chill'd is affection, knew :

With me no corroding resentment shall live : Though my hopes may have faild, yet they are not My bosom is calm d by the simple reflection, forgot ;

That both may be wrong, and that both should Though cold is my heart, still it lingers with you.


You knew that my soul, that my heart, my existence, When I see some dark hill point its crest to the sky,

If danger demanded, were wholly your own; I think of the rocks that o'ershadow Colbleen;

You knew me unalter'd by years or by distance, When I see the soft blue of a love-speaking eye,

Devoted to love and to friendship alone. I think of those eyes that endear'd the rude scene : When, haply, some light-waving locks I behold, You knew,—but away with the vain retrospection ! That faintly resemble my Mary's in hue,

The bond of affection no longer endures; I think on the long flowing ringlets of gold, Too late you may droop o'er the fond recollection, The locks that were sacred to beauty and you. And sigh for the friend who was formerly yours,

For the present we part-I will hope not for ever ; • Morven, a lofty mountain in Aberdeenshire. For time and regret will restore you at last : Gormal of snow' is an expression frequently to be To forget our dissension we both should endeavour, found in Ossian. + This will not appear extraordinary to those who

I ask no atonement, but days like the past, have been accustomed to the mountains. It is by no means uncommon, on attaining the top of Ben-e-vis. Ben-y-bourd, etc., to perceive, between the summit

TO THE EARL OF CLARE. and the valley, clouds pouring down rain, and occa. sionally accompanied by lightning, while the spectator

'Tu semper amoris literally looks down upon the storm, perfectly secure

Sis memor, et cari comitis ne abscedat imago.' from its effects.

VAL. FLAC. t'Breasting the lofty surge.'-SHAKSPEARE. The Dee is a beautiful river, which rises near Mar Lodge, FRIEND of my youth! when young we roved, and falls into the sea at New Aberdeen. Colbleen is a mountain near the verge of the High

Like striplings, mutually beloved, lands, not far from the ruins of Dee Castle.

With friendship's purest glow,


The bliss which winged those rosy hours

And though myself may be the next Was such as pleasure seldoin showers

By criticism to be vext, On mortals here below

I really will not fight them.

Perhaps they would do quite as well
The recollection seems alone

To break the rudely souncling shell
Dearer than all the joys I've known,
When distant far from you:

of such a young beginner ;

He who offends at pert nineteen, Though pain, 'tis still a pleasing pain,

Ere thirty may become, I weer, To trace those days and hours again,

A very harden'd sinner. And sigh again, adieu !

Now, Clare, I must return to you; My pensive memory lingers o'er

And, sure, apologies are due : Those scenes to be enjoy'd no more,

Accept, then, my concession. Those scenes regretted ever :

In truth, dear Clare, in far cy's flight The measure of our youth is full,

I soar along from left to right; Life's evening dream is dark and dull,

My muse admires digression. And we may meet-ah! never !

I think I said 'twould be your fate

To add one star to royal state:-As when one parent spring supplies

May regal smiles attend you ! Two streams which from one fountain rise,

And should a noble monarch reign, Together join'd in vain;

You will not seek his smiles in vain,
How soon, diverging from their source.

If worth can recommend you.
Each, murmuring, seeks another course
Till mingled in the main !

Yet since in danger courts abound,

Where specious rivals glitter round, Our vital streams of weal or woe,

From snares may saints preserve you; Though near, alas ! distinctly flow

And grant your love or friendship ne'er Nor mingle as before :

From any claim a kindred care,
Now swift or slow, now black or clear,

But those who best deserve you !
Till death's unfathom'd gulf appear,
And both shall quit the shore.

Not for a moment may you stray

From truth's secure, unerring way! Our souls, my friend I which once supplied

May no delights decoy! One wish, nor breathed a thought beside,

O'er roses may your footsteps move, Now flow in different channels:

Your smiles be ever smiles of love, Disdaining humbler rural sports,

Your tears be tears of joy! 'Tis yours to mix in polish'd courts, And shine in fashion's annals :

Oh! if you wish that happiness

Your coming days and years may bless, 'Tis mine to waste on love my time,

And virtues crown your brow; Or vent my reveries in rlıyme,

Be still as you were wont to be, Without the aid of reason;

Spotless as you've been known to me,
For sense and reason (critics know it)

Be still as you are now.
Have quitted every amorous poet,
Nor left a thought to seize on.

And though some trifling share of praise,

To cheer my last declining days, Poor Little ! sweet, melodious bard!*

To me were doubly dear, of late esteem'd it monstrous hard,

Whilst blessing your beloved name, That he, who sang before all

I'd waive at once a poet's fame, He who the lore of love expanded

To prove a prophet here. By dire reviewers should be branded

As void of wit and moral.



And yet, while Beauty's praise is thine,
Harmonious favourite of the Nine!

Repine not at thy lot.
Thy soothing lays may still be read,
When Persecution's arm is dead,

And critics are forgot.
Still I must yield those worthies merit,
Who chasten, with unsparing spirit,

Bad rhymes, and those who write them;

Spor of my youth! whose hoary branches sigh,
Swept by the breeze that fans thy cloudless sky;
Where now alone I muse, who oft have trod,
With those I loved, thy soft and verdant sod;
With those who, scatter'd far, perchance deplore,
Like ine, the happy scenes they knew before :

Little was a nom de plume of Tom Moore's.

• Alluding to a hostile meeting between Moore and Jeffrey at Chalk Farm.

Oh! as I trace again thy winding hill.

To know some humble grave, some narrow cell, Mine eyes admire, my heart adores thee still, Would hide my bosom where it loved to dwell. Thou drooping Elm! beneath whose boughs I lay, With this fond dream, methinks, 'twere sweet to die And frequent mused the twilight hours away;

And here it linger'd, here my heart might lie; Where, as they once were wont, my limbs recline, Here might I sleep where all my hopes arose; But ah! without the thoughts which then were mine : Scene of my youth, and couch of my repose; How do thy branches, moaning to the blast,

For ever stretch'd beneath this mantling shade, Invite the bosom to recall the past,

Press'd by the turf where once my childhood play'd ; And seem to whisper, as they gently swell,

Wrapt by the soil that veils the spot I loved, • Take, while thou canst, a lingering, last farewell!”

Mix'd with the earth o'er which my footsteps moved;

Blest by the tongues that charm'd my youthful ear, When fate shall chill, at length, this fever'd breast, Mourn'd by the few my soul acknowledged here; And calm its cares and passions into rest,

Deplored by those in early days allied, Oft have I thought, 'twould soothe my dying hour,- And unremember'd by the world besid If aught may soothe when life resigns her power,

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