With my hands I'll gird the briars Here my body still shall bow. Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree. Come, with acorn-cup and thorn, Gone to his death-bed, JAMES BEATTIE. Born 1735. Died 1803. AT THE HERMIT. T the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove; When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill, And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove ; 'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar, While his harp rang symphonious, a hermit began; No more with himself, or with nature, at war, He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man. 'Ah! why thus abandoned to darkness and woe? But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay; Mourn, sweetest complainer; man calls thee to mourn. O soothe him, whose pleasures like thine pass away; Full quickly they pass-but they never return. 'Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky, 'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more: But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn? 'Twas thus, by the light of false science betrayed, That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind, My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade, Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. "O, pity, great Father of light," then I cried, "Thy creature, that fain would not wander from Thee: Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride : From doubt and from darkness Thou only canst free!" 'And darkness and doubt are now flying away; No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn : See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending, And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending, And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb!' MRS. BARBAULD. Born 1743. Died 1825. LIFE. LIFE! we've been long together, Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear; Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time; Say not 'Good night,' but in some brighter clime ANONYMOUS. About 1750. THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW. Y love he built me a bonnie bower, MY And clad me all with lily flower; There came a man, by middle day, He slew my knight to me so dear; I sewed his sheet, making my moan; I took his body on my back, I digged a grave and laid him in, But think na ye my heart was sair, When I laid the mould on his yellow hair? No living man I'll love again, Since that my lovely knight is slain; WILLIAM HAMILTON OF BANGOUR. Born 1704. Died 1754. A. BUS THE BRAES OF YARROW. USK ye, busk ye, my bonnie, bonnie bride, B. 'Where gat ye that bonnie, bonnie bride? 'Weep not, weep not, my bonnie, bonnie bride, Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow.' B. 'Why does she weep, thy bonnie, bonnie bride? And why daur ye nae mair weel be seen A. 'Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun she weep, Laug maun she weep with dule and sorrow, And lang maun I nae mair weel be seen Pu'ing the birks on the braes of Yarrow. |