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LOCH NA GARR.
AWAY, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses!
Round their white summits though elements war; Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth-flowing fountains,
I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr.
Ah! there my young footsteps in infancy wander'd ; My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid; On chieftains long perish'd my memory ponder'd, As daily I strode through the pine-cover'd glade : I sought not my home till the day's dying glory Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star; For fancy was cheer'd by traditional story,
Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr.
"Shades of the dead! have I not heard your voices Rise on the night-rolling breath of the gale?” Surely the soul of the hero rejoices,
And rides on the wind o'er his own Highland vale. Round Loch na Garr while the stormy mist gathers, Winter presides in his cold icy car:
Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers;
They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr.
"Illstarr'd, though brave, did no visions foreboding Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause?" Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden,
Victory crown'd not your fall with applause : Still were you happy in death's earthy slumber,
You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemar ; The pibroch resounds, to the piper's loud number, Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr.
Years have roll'd on, Loch na Garr, since I left you,
Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain.
WELL! THOU ART HAPPY.
WELL! thou art happy, and I feel
Thy husband's blest-and 'twill impart
When late I saw thy favourite child,
I thought my jealous heart would break; But when the unconscious infant smiled, I kiss'd it for its mother's sake.
I kiss'd it, and repressed my sighs
Mary, adieu! I must away:
While thou art blest I'll not repine; But near thee I can never stay;
My heart would soon again be thine.
I deem'd that time, I deem'd that pride
My heart in all,―save hope,—the same.
Yet was I calm: I knew the time
My breast would thrill before thy look ; But now to tremble were a crime
We met, and not a nerve was shook.
I saw thee gaze upon my face,
Yet met with no confusion there : One only feeling could'st thou trace; The sullen calmness of despair.
Away! away! my early dream
Remembrance never must awake;
Oh! where is Lethe's fabled stream!
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.
IN ANSWER TO SOME LINES EXHORTING THE AUTHOR
TO BE CHEERFUL, AND TO BANISH CARE."
"OH! banish care"-such ever be
Perchance of mine, when wassail nights
'Twere long to tell, and vain to hear,
Which better bosoms would bewail.
I've seen my bride another's bride,—
And made my cheek belie my heart,
Time had not made me love the less.
But let this pass-I'll whine no more,
Nor seek again an eastern shore;
I'll hie me to its haunts again.
When Britain's "May is in the sere,"
Thou hear'st of one, whose deepening crimes Suit with the sablest of the times,
Of one, whom love nor pity sways,
Nor hope of fame, nor good men's praise,