So now, from idle wishes clear,
I make the good I may not find; Adown the stream I gently steer,
And shift my sail with every wind. And half by nature, half by reason, Can still with pliant heart prepare, The mind, attuned to every season,
The merry heart, that laughs at care.
Yet, wrap me in your sweetest dream,
Ye social feelings of the mind,
Give, sometimes give, your sunny gleam,
And let the rest good humour find.
Yes, let me hail and welcome give
To every joy my lot may share,
And pleased and pleasing let me live
With merry heart, that laughs at care.
I'VE roamed through many a weary round,
I've wandered east and west,
Pleasure in every clime I've found,
But sought in vain for rest.
While glory sighs for other spheres,
I feel that one's too wide,
And think the home which love endears,
Worth all the world beside.
The needle thus too rudely moved,
Wanders unconscious where;
Till having found the place it loved,
It trembling settles there.
THE palms fling down their shadows, and the air
Is rich with breathings of the citron bloom;
All the so radiant children of the south,
The gold and silver jessamines, the rose
In crimson glory, there are gathered ;-sounds
Of music too from waterfalls, the hymn
The bees sing to the sweet flowers as they feed;
The earth seems in its infancy; the sky,
The fair blue sky, is glowing as the hopes
Of childish happiness: It is a land
Of blossoming and sunshine.-One is here
To whom the earth is colourless, the heaven
Clouded and cold;-his heart is far away;
The palms have not to him the majesty
Of his own land's green oaks; the roses here
Are not so sweet as those wild ones that grow
In his own valley; he would rather have
One pale blue violet than all the buds
That Indian suns have kissed; his heart is full
Of gentle recollections, and those thoughts
Which can but hold communion with themselves,
The heart's best dreaming. When the wanderer
Calls up those tender memories which are
So very sweet in absence, those dear links
That distance cannot sunder-come there not
Such visionings, young Evelin, o'er thy soul?
The dwelling of thy childhood, the dark hill
Above thy native valley, down whose side,
Like a swift arrow, shot the foaming stream,
The music of the lark, which every morn
Waked thy light slumber, and a fairy shape,
Whose starry eyes are far too bright for tears,
Though tears are in them, and whose coral lip
Wears still it's spring-day smile? Although 'Farewell,'
That saddest of sad sounds, is lingering there,
Are not these present to thee? Evelin was
A soldier, and he left his home with all
The high romance of youth. Beloved, and well
His heart repaid that love; but there were clouds,
Low worldly clouds, upon Affection's star:
He sought to clear them—what was toil, that led
To fame, to fortune, and Elizabeth!
There's music in that bower, where the wild rose
Has clung about the ash,—such plaining tones
As the winds waken! There a harp is breathing,
And o'er it leans its mistress, as she lived
Upon those melancholy sounds;-her head
Is bent, as if in pain, upon those strings,
And the gold shadows of her long hair veil
The white hand which almost unconsciously
In melody is wandering. That fair hand
Is not more snowy than the cheek it presses;
That cheek proclaims the history of the heart-
Tells, that across the bright May hours of youth
Bleak clouds have past, and left behind a trace
Bordering on sadness, but withal so sweet
You scarce might call it sorrow; and that smile
But speaks of patient mild endurance, soft
And kind and gentle thoughts, which well become
A breaking heart, whose throbs will soon be still
In the so lonely but so quiet grave.
Yes, she is dying! Though so young, and fair,
Her days are numbered; and if e'er her cheek
Wears the rich colour it once had, 'tis but
The sad and lovely herald of decay,
The death rose, that but blossoms on the tomb.
(Her's was a heart which, when it once had loved,
Could but ill brook the many trembling fears
That absent love must know. Her fate was like
A star, o'er which the clouds steal one by one,
Scarce seen, scarce noticed, till the sweet light's gone.)
She is within his arms, and they have met!
Evelin and Elizabeth? Yes. A flush
Of beautiful delight is on her face;
He clasps her silently, and his dark eye
Is filled with tears. Ah, tears like these are worth
A life of smiles!-At length he gently says,
'Elizabeth, my own love!'-It was heaven
To think that she again could hear him breathe
That dear dear name! She answereth not, but lies
Upon his bosom motionless. He looks
On her sweet face—'tis fixed and pale in death!
Literary Gazette.
No, never other lip shall press
The plighted one where thine hath been;
Nor ever other bosom press
The heart whereon thy head did lean.
Oh, never, love! though after this
Thy smile perchance no more I see,
The very memory of that bliss
Shall keep me sacred all to thee.
Farewell, farewell! in woe or weal,
Though worlds may interpose to sever,
And the world's law,' I wildly feel,
Thy heart and mine are one for ever!
Farewell! the ripe tear fills mine eye-
My very inmost soul is riven !
After such pang 'tis light to die-
Matilda, we shall meet in heaven!
HARK! 'twas the trumpet rung!-
Commingling armies shout!
And, glancing far these woods among,
The wreathing standards float !
The voice of triumph, and of wail,
Of victor, and of vanquished, joined, Is wafted on the vernal gale;
And Echo hath combined
Her mimic tones, to breathe the tale
To every passing wind.
For Saxon foes invade
A proud, but kingless, realm;
Oppression draws her crimsoned blade
To ruin, and o'erwhelm :-
'Tis Confray, on destruction bent,
From Freedom's roll to blot a land,
By England's haughty Edward sent;
But never on her mountain-strand
Shall Caledonia sit content,
Content with fettered hand!
Not while one patriot breathes,
While every verdant vale,
And mountain-side bequeaths
Some old heroic tale:
The Wallace and The Bruce have thrown
A trail of glory far behind,
The heart, to youth and valour known,
With giant strength to bind;
While even the peasant, toiling lone,
Recalls their deeds to mind.
The Cumin leaves not home
To tell a bloodless tale;
And forth, in arms, with Frazer roam
The flower of Teviotdale;
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