The lips may beguile with a dimple or smile, Too oft is a smile but the hypocrite's wile, Give me the soft sigh, whilst the soul-telling eye Mild Charity's glow, to us mortals below, The man doom'd to sail with the blast of the gale, As he bends o'er the wave which may soon be his grave The green sparkles bright with a Tear. The soldier braves death for a fanciful wreath In Glory's romantic career; But he raises the foe when in battle laid low, If with high-bounding pride he return to his bride All his toils are repaid when, embracing the mind, Sweet scene of my youth! seat of Friendship and Truth, Where love chased each fast-fleeting year, Loth to leave thee, I mourn'd, for a last look I turn'd, But thy spire was scarce seen through a Tear. Though my vows I can pour to my Mary no more, In the shade of her bower I remember the hour By another possest, may she live ever blest! With a sigh I resign what I once thought was mine, Ye friends of my heart, ere from you I depart, When my soul wings her flight to the regions of night, As ye pass by the tomb where my ashes consume, Oh! mo isten their dust with a Tear. May no marble bestow the splendour of woe Reply to some Verses of J. M. B. Pigot, Esq., on the Why, Pigot, complain of this damsel's disdain, For months you may try, yet, believe me, a sigh Would you teach her to love? for a time seem to rove; But leave her awhile, she shortly will smile, For such are the airs of these fanciful fairs, Dissemble your pain, and lengthen your chain, If again you shall sigh, she no more will deny If still, from false pride, your pangs she deride, Some other admire, who will melt with your fire, For me, I adore some twenty or more, Though my heart they enthral, I'd abandon them all, Did they act like your blooming coquette. No longer repine, adopt this design, And break through her slight-woven net; Then quit her, my friend! your bosom defend, Lest your deep-wounded heart, when incensed by the smart, Should lead you to curse the coquette. Your pardon, my friend, if my rhymes did offend, From friendship I strove your pangs to remove, Since your beautiful maid your flame has repaid, She's now most divine, and I bow at the shrine Yet still I must own, I should never have known Since the balm-breathing kiss of this magical miss Since the "world you forget, when your lips once have met, My counsel will get but abuse. You say, when "I rove, I know nothing of love;" 'Tis true, I am given to range: If I rightly remember, I've loved a good number, I will not advance, by the rules of romance, Though a smile may delight, yet a frown won't affright, Or drive me to dreadful despair. While my blood is thus warm I ne'er shall reform, Of this I am sure, was my passion so pure, And if I should shun every woman for one, Now, Strephon, good bye; I cannot deny To Eliza. Eliza, what fools are the Mussulman sect! Who to woman deny the soul's future existence; Could they see thee, Eliza, they'd own their defect, And this doctrine would meet with a general resistance. Had their prophet possess'd half an atom of sense, He ne'er would have women from Paradise driven; Instead of his houris, a flimsy pretence, With women alone he had peopled his heaven. Yet still, to increase your calamities more, Not content with depriving your bodies of spirit, He allots one poor husband to share amongst four!With souls you'd dispense; but this last, who could bear it? His religion to please neither party is made; On husbands 'tis hard, to the wives most uncivil; Still I can't contradict, what so oft has been said, Though women are angels, yet wedlock's the devil." 66 Lachin y Gair.* 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. * Lachin y Gair, or, as it is pronounced in the Erse, Loch na Garr, towers proudly pre-eminent in the Northern Highlands, near Invercauld. One of our modern tourists mentions it as the highest mountain, perhaps, in Great Britain. Be this as it may, it is certainly one of the most sublime and picturesque amongst our " Caledonian Alps." Its appearance is of a dusky nue, but the summit is the seat of eternal snows. Near Lachin y Gair I spent some of the early part of my life, the recollection of which has given birth to these stanzas. |