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TO M. S. G.

When I dream that you love me, you'll surely for

give, Extend not your anger to sleep; For in visions alone your affection can live,

I rise, and it leaves me to weep.

Awake, with it my fancy teems;
In sleep, it smiles in fleeting dreams
The vision charms the hours away,
And bids me curse Aurora's ray
For breaking slumbers of delight
Which make me wish for endless night.
Since, oh! whate'er my future fate,
Shall joy or wo my steps await,
Tempted by love, by storms beset,
Thine image I can ne'er forget.

Then, Morpheus ! envelope my faculties fast,

Shed o'er me your languor benign;
Should the dream of to-night but resemble the last,

What rapture celestial is mine!

They tell us that slumber, the sister of death,

Mortality's emblem is given :
To fate how I long to resign my frail breath,

If this be a foretaste of heaven.

Ah! frown not, sweet lady, unbend your soft brow,

Nor deem me too happy in this;
If I sin in my dream, I atone for it now,

Thus doom'd but to gaze upon bliss.

Alas ! again no more we meet,
No more our former looks repeat;
Then let me breathe this parting prayer
The dictate of my bosom's care:
“ May heaven so guard my lovely Quaker,
That anguish never can o'ertake her;
That peace and virtue ne'r forsake her,
But bliss be aye her heart's partaker;
Oh! may the happy mortal, fated
To be by dearest ties, related,
For her each hour new joys discover,
And lose the husband in the lover!
May that fair bosom never know
What 'tis to feel the restless wo
Which stings the soul with vain regret,
Of him who never can forget!”

Though in visions, sweet lady, perhaps you may

smile, Oh! think not my penance deficient! When dreams of your presence my slumber beguile,

To awake will be torture sufficient.


WHEN I roved a young Highlander o'er the dark SWEET girl! though only once we met,

heath, That meeting I shall ne'er forget;

And climb'd thy steep summit, oh Morven, of And though we ne'er may meet again,

snow! + Remembrance will thy form retain.

To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath, I would not say, “I love,” but still

Or the mist of the tempest that gathered below, My senses struggle with my will:

Untutor’d by science, a stranger to fear, In vain to drive thee from my breast,

And rude as the rocks where my infancy grew, My thoughts are more and more represt;

No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear ; In vain I check the rising sighs,

Need I say, my sweet Mary, 'twas centred in you? Another to the last replies : Perhaps this is not love, but yet

Yet it could not be love, for I knew not the name, Our meeting I can ne'er forget.

What passion can dwell in the heart of a child ?

But still I perceive an emotion the same What though we never silence broke,

As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-cover'd wild. Our eyes a sweeter language spoke;

One image alone on my bosom impressid, The tongue in flattering falsehood deals,

I loved my bleak regions, nor panted for new; And tells a tale it never feels :

And few were my wants, for my wishes were bless'd; Deceit the guilty lips impart,

And pure were my thoughts, for my soul was with And hush the mandates of the heart;

you. But soul's interpreter, the eyes, Spurn such restraint, and scorn disguise.

I arose with the dawn; with my dog as my guide,

From mountain to mountain I bounded along; As thus our glances oft conversed, And all our bosoms felt rehearsed,

I breasted § the billow of Dee's || rushing tide,

And heard at a distance the Highlander's song: No spirit, from within reproved us, Say rather, “'twas the spirit moved us.”

• To Mary Duff. First published in the second edition of Houns a Though what they utter'd I repress,

Idleness. Yet I conceive thou’lt partly guess;

Morven, a lofty mountain in Aberdeenshire : “Gormal of snow," is an For as on thee my memory ponders,

expression frequently to be found in Ossian.

I This will not appear extraordinary to those who have been accustomea Perchance to me thine also wanders.

to the mountains ; it is by no means uncommon on attaining the top of BenThis for myself, at least, I'll say,

e-vis Ben-y-bourd, &c., lo perceive between the summit and the valley, cloud, Thy form appears through night, through day: 10

pouring down rain, and occasionally accoinpanied by lightning, while the spectator literally looks down upon the store., perfectly secure from its effects.

| Breasting the lofty surge. Shakspeare. • These lines were published in die private volume, and the first edition of The Dee is a beautiful river, which rises near Mar Lodge, and Hallo inte Hours of Idleness, but subsequently omitted by the author.

I the sea at New Aberdeen.

At eve, on my heath-cover'd couch of reposc, I will not complain, and though chill'd is affection,

No dreains save of Mary were spread to my view;l With me no corroding resentment shall live: And warm to the skies my devotions arose,

My bosom is calm'd by the simple reflection, For the first of my prayers was a blessing on you. That both may be wrong, and that both should

forgive. I left my bleak home, and my visions are gone; The mountains are vanish'd, my youth is no You knew that my soul, that my heart, my existence, more:

1 If danger demanded, where wholly your own; As the last of my race, I must wither alone, You knew me unalter'd by years or by distance,

And delight but in days I have witness'd before: | Devoted to love and to friendship alone. Ah! splendor has raised, but embitter'd, my lot;

More dear were the scenes which myinfancy knew; You knew- but away with the vain retrospection! Though my hopes may have fail'd, yet they are not The bond of affection no longer endures; forgot ;

Too late you may droop o'er the fond recollection, Though cold is my heart, still it lingers with you. And sigh for the friend who was formerly yours When I see some dark hill point its crest to the For the present, we part-I will hope not for ever. sky,

| For time and regret will restore you at last; I think of the rocks that o'ershadow Colbleen; * To forget our dissension we both should endeavor. When I see the soft blue of a love-speaking eye, I ask no atonement but days like the past.

I think on those eyes that endear'd the rude scene:
When, haply, some light-waving locks I behold,

That faintly resemble my Mary's in hue,
I think of the long-flowing ringlets of gold,
The locks that were sacred to beauty and you.

Yet the day may arrive when the mountains once

Shall rise to my sight in their mantles of snow:
But while these soar above me unchanged as before, This faint resemblance of thy charms,
Will Mary be there to receive me? ah, no!

Though strong as mortal art could give,
Adieu, then, ye hills, where my childhood was bred! My constant heart of fear disarms,
Thou sweet flowing Dee, to thy waters adieu !

Revives my hopes, and bids me live.
No home in the forest shall shelter my head,
Ah ! Mary, what home could be mine but with you ? Here I can trace the locks of gold

Which round thy snowy forehead wave,
The cheeks which sprung from Beauty's mould,

The lips which made me Beauty's slave.
TO — it

Here I can trace-ah, no! that eye OH! yes, I will own we were dear to each other;

Whose azure floats in liquid fire,

Must all the painter's art defy,
The friendships of childhood, though fleeting, are

And bid him from the task retire.
The love which you felt was the love of a brother,
Nor less the affection I cherish'd for you.

Here I behold its beauteous hue,

But where's the beam so sweetly straying.* But friendship can vary her gentle dominion,

Which gave a lustre to its blue,
The attachment of years in a moment expires;

Like Luna o'er the ocean playing?
Like love, too, she moves on a swift-waving pinion,
But glows not, like love, with unquenchable fires. Sweet copy! far more dear to me,

Lifeless, unfeeling as thou art,
Full oft have we wander'd through Ida together, Than all the living forms could be,

And blest were the scenes of our youth, I allow; | Save her who placed thee next my heart. In the spring of our life, how serene is the weather, But winter's rude tempests are gathering now. She placed it, sad, with needless fear,

Lest time might shake my wavering soul, No more with affection shall memory blending

Unconscious that her image there The wonted delights of our childhood retrace:

Held every sense in fast control. When pride steels the bosom, the heart is unbending, And what would be justice appears a disgrace. Through hours, through years, through time

'twill cheer ; However, dear S- , for i still must esteem you

· My hope, in gloomy moments, raise ; The few whom I love I can never upbraid

In life's last conflict 'twill appear, The chance which has lost may in future redeem you,

And meet my fond expiring gaze. Repentance will cancel the vow you have made.

* But where's the beam of soft desire • Colbleen is a mountain near the verge of the Highlands, not far from

Which gave a lustre to its blue, the ruins of Dee Castle.

Love, only love could e'er inspire. + This poem was first published in the Hours of Idleness.

Primuse vode


Yes, in that nearly fatal hour

The ball obey'd some hell-born guide ;
LESBIA! since far from you I've ranged,

But Heaven, with interposing power,
Our souls with fond affection glow not;

In pity turned the death aside.
You say 'tis I, not you, have changed,
I'd tell why,but yet I know not.

Yet, as perchance one trembling tear

Upon that thrilling bosom fell;
Your polish'd brow no cares have crost ?

Which I, th' unconscious cause of fear
And, Lesbia! we are not much older,

Extracted from its glistening cell.
Since trembling first my heart I lost,
Or told my love with hope grown bolder.

Say, what penance can.atone

For such an outrage done to thee?
Sixteen was then our utmost age,

Arraign'd before thy beauty's throne,
Two years have lingering past away, love!

What punishment wilt thou decree?
And now new thoughts our minds engage
At least I feel disposed to stray, love !

Might I perform the judge's part,

The sentence I should scarce deplore; "Šis I that am alone to blame,

It only would restore a heart
I, that am guilty of love's treason;

Which but belong'd to thee before
Since your sweet breast is still the same,
Caprice must be my only reason.

The least atonement I can make
I do not, love ! suspect your truth,

Is to become no longer free;

Henceforth I breathe but for thy sake,
With jealous doubt my bosom heaves not;
Warm was the passion of my youth,

Thou shalt be all in all to me.
One trace of dark deceit it leaves not.

But thou, perhaps, may'st now reject
No, no, my flame was not pretended,

Such expiation of my guilt :
For, oh! I loved you most sincerely;

Come then, some other mode elect;
And though our dream at last has ended-

Let it be death, or what thou wilt. My bosom still esteems you dearly.

Choose, then, relentless! and I swear No more we meet in yonder bowers;

Nought shall thy dread decree prevent; Absence has made me prone to roving;

Yet hold-one little word forbear!
But older, firmer hearts than ours

Let it be aught but banishment.
Have found monotony in loving.

Your cheek's soft bloom is unimpair'd,

New beauties still are daily brightning, Your eye for conquest beams prepared,

The forge of love's resistless lightning.


Arm'd thus, to make their bosoms bleed,

Aɛl d', aki ue Devyɛl.” Many will throng to sigh like me, love!

More constant they may prove indeed;
Fonder, alas ! they ne'er can be, love!

THE roses of love glad the garden of life,
Though nurtured ’mid weeds dropping pestilent

Till Time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife,

Or prunes them for ever in love's last adieu! LINES ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.+

In vain with endearments we soothe the sad heart, As the author was discharging his pistols in a garden, two ladies passing In vain do we vow for an age to be true; near the spot were alarmed by the sound of a bullet hissing near them, to | The chance of an hour may command us to part. one of whom the following stanzas were addressed the next morning.

Or death disunite us in love's last adieu!
DOUBTLESS, sweet girl, the hissing lead,
Wafting destruction o'er thy charms,

Still Hope, breathing peace through the grief-swollen And hurtling I o'er thy lovely head,

breast, Has filled that breast with fond alarms. Will whisper, “ Our meeting we yet may renew;"

With this dream of deceit half our sorrow's represt, Surely some envious demon's force,

Nor taste we the poison of love's last adieu ! Vex'd to behold such beauty here, Impell’d the bullets' viewless course,

Oh! mark you yon pair: in the sunshine of youth, Diverted from its first career.

Love twined round their childhood his flowers as Sweet lady! why thus doth a tear steal its way 'Tis not love disturbs thy rest,

they grew; • Only printed in the private volume.

They flourish awhile in the season of truth, † These stanzas are only found in the private volume. This word is used by Gray, in his poem of the Fatal Sisters :

Till chill’d by the winter of love's last adieu! 6 Iron sleet of arrowy shower Hurtles through the darken'd air."

• This poem was omitted in the second edition of Hours of Idleneste

Down a cheek which outrivals thy bosom in hue ? | Love's a stranger to thy breast; Yet why do I ask ?-to distraction a prey,

He in dimpling smiles appears, Thy reason has perish'd with love's last adieu ! Or mourns in sweetly timid tears,

Or bends the languid eyelid down,
Oh! who is yon misanthrope, shunning mankind ? But shuns the cold forbidding frown.
From cities to caves of the forest he flew :

Then resun
There, raving, he howls his complaint to the wind; Some will love, and all admire;
The mountains reverberate love's last adieu ! While that icy aspect chills us,

Nought but cool indifference thrills us. Now hate rules a heart which in love's easy chains Wouldst thou wandering hearts beguile,

Once passion's tumultuous blandishments knew; Smile at least, or seem to smile. Despair now inflames the dark tide of his veins;

Eres like thine were never meant He ponders in frenzy on love's last adieu !

To hide their orbs in dark restraint;

Spite of all thou fain wouldst say, How he envies the wretch with a soul wrapt in steel! Still in truant beams they play.

His pleasures are scarce, yet his troubles are few, Thy lips--but here my modest Muse Who laughs at the pang that he never can feel, Her impulse chaste must needs refuse: And dreads not the anguish of love's last adieu ! She blushes, curt’sies, frowns,-in short, she

Dreads lest the subject should transport me; Youth flies, life decays, even hope is o'ercast;

And flying off in search of reason, No more with love's former devotion we sue:

Brings prudence back in proper season. He spreads his young wing, he retires with the blast! All I shall therefore say (whate'er The shroud of affection is love's last adieu !

I think, is neither here, nor there)

Is, that such lips, of looks endearing, In this life of probation for rapture divine,

Were form'd for better things than sneering : Astrea * declares that some penance is due;

Of soothing compliments divested,
From him who has worshipp'd at love's gentle shrine Advice at least's disinterested;
The atonement is ample in love's last adieu ! Such is my artless song to thee,

From all the flow of flattery free;
Who kneels to the god on his altar of light,

Counsel like mine is as a brother's, Must myrtle and cypress alteruately strew :

My heart is given to some others; His myrtle, an emblem of purest delight;

That is to say, unskill'd to cozen,
His cypress, the garland of love's last adieu ! 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 In law an infant,t and in years a boy,

On eyes of blue or lips carnation, In mind a slave to every vicious joy ;

Howe'er the flowing locks attract us, From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd;

Howe'er those beauties may distract us, In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend;

Still fickle, we are prone to rove, Versed in hypocrisy while yet a child;

These cannot fix our souls to love : Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild ;

It is not too severe a stricture Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool;

To say they form a pretty picture : Old in the world, though scarcely broke from school; But wouldst thou see the secret chain, Damætas ran through all the maze of sin,

Which binds us to your humble train, And found the goal when others just begin:

To hail you queens of all creation,
Even still conflicting passions shake his soul,

Know, in a word, 'tis ANIMATION.
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.



How sweetly shines, through azure skies. MARION! why that pensive brow ?

The lamp of heaven on Lora's shore; What disgust to life hast thou ?

Where Alva's hoary turrets rise,
Change that discontented air:

And hear the din of arms no more.
Frowns become not one so fair.

. This poem was published for the first time in Hours of Idlenens, • The Goddess of Justice.

† The catastrophe of this tale was suggested by the story of “ Jerodyno t in law every person is an infant who has not attained the age of twenty- and Lorenzo," in the first volume of the “ Armenian, or Chost-Seer." #

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


But often has yon rolling moon

But ere their years of youth are o'er, On Alva's casques of silver play'd;

They mingle in the ranks of war; And view'd at midnight's silent noon,

They lightly wheel the bright claymore, Her chiefs in gleaming mail array'd :

And send the whistling arrow far.

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