CLXXXVI. FOR MANY A WISTFUL HOUR TO PITY DEAR *. For many a wistful hour to pity dear, Kiss'd the memorial form his bosom wore, And look'd, till tears would let him look no more. -gone: Spent sighs to which no sympathy was given, And pledg'd wild vows, unheard of all-save heaven, Went by the grave of love; nor own'd despair, Unkind, or only to the trifler kind That eye, for which his own in tears was dim, Glanc'd smiles on all, but would not smile on him, * These truly affecting lines, which we present to our readers, were dis covered penciled on the shutter of a window in a room in Enniskillen, Ire land. Whose heart alone, though broken, to conceal, Shook off the spell-march'd-mingl'd with the brave, CLXXXVII. FAREWELL, O SWEET HOPE! Farewell, oh sweet hope! I have wept thee in sadness, It rose on my soul like an angel of gladness, In youth every prospect by pleasure was bounded, And warm as the sun-beam that danc'd on its wave. Thy visions were transient as mists of the morning, Peace, mild as the dew-drop descending at even, But return'd to her throne in the mansion of heaven, O'er the flowers of happiness wither'd and blighted, CLXXXVIII. THE CONTENTED SHEPHERD. By the side of a mountain, o'ershadow'd with trees, ach morn when I open the latch of my door, When I hide in the forest from noon's scorching ray muse, but my thoughts are contented and free, I regret not the splendour of riches and pride, The delights of retirement are dearer to me Than the proudest appendage to greatness allied. I sing, and my song is the carol of Joy, My cheek glows with health, like the wild rose in bloom, I dance, yet forget not, tho' blythsome and gay, That I measure the footsteps that lead to the tomb. Contented to live, yet not fearful to die, With a conscience unspotted, I pass thro' life's scene, CLXXXIX. THE LAMENT OF WALLACE, † AFTER THE BATTLE OF FALKIRK, AIR-Maids of Arrochar. Thou dark winding Carron, once pleasing to see, My brave Caledonians lie low on the lea, And thy streams are deep-ting'd with the blood of the slain. + The following notice of this song, occurs in a letter from Mr. Tannahill, to one of his particular friends, for whom it seems he had written other verses to accompany the same beautiful and plaintive air, but which not altogether pleasing himself, he had substituted the above. "According to promise," says he, "I send you two verses for the "Maids of Arrochar ;" perhaps they are little better than the last. I believe the language is too weak for the subject; however, they possess the advantage over the others, of being founded on a real occurrence. The battle of Falkirk was Wallace's last, in which he was defeated with the loss of almost his whole army. I am sensible, that to give words suitable to the poignancy of his grief, on such a trying reverse of for. tune, would require all the fire and soul-melting energy of a Campbell or a Burns." The modest terms in which our amiable author speaks of his verses, quite blunt the edge of criticism, and fully compensate for any lack of that deep and powerful feeling, that vigour and grandeur of conception which the loftiness of |