A last request, permit me here,
When yearly ye assemble a',
One round, I ask it with a tear,
To him, the Bard that's far awa'.
FAREWELL TO ELIZA.
Tune-" Gilderoy."
FROM thee, Eliza, I must go,
And from my native shore;
The cruel fates between us throw
A boundless ocean's roar:
But boundless oceans, roaring wide,
Between my love and me,
They never, never can divide
My heart and sou! from thee;
Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear,
The maid that I adore!
A boding voice is in mine ear,
We part to meet no more.
But the last throb that leaves my heart,
While death stands victor by,
That throb, Eliza, is thy part,
And thine that latest sigh!
HIGHLAND MARY.
Tune-"Katharine Ogie."
YE banks, and braes, and streams around
The castle o' Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
Your waters never drumlie!
There simmer first unfauld her robes,
And there the langest tarry;
For there I took the last fareweel
O' my sweet Highland Mary.
How sweetly bloom'd the gay green birk,
How rich the hawthorn's blossom;
As underneath their fragrant shade,
I clasp'd her to my bosom:
The golden hours on angel wings,
Flew o'er me and my dearie;
For dear to me, as light and life,
Was my sweet Highland Mary.
Wi' many a vow, and lock'd embrace,
Our parting was fu' tender;
And, pledging aft to meet again,
We tore oursels asunder;
But oh! fell death's untimely frost
That nipt my flower sae early!
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay
That wraps my Highland Mary!
O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!
And clos'd, for ay, the sparkling glance,
That dwelt on me sae kindly!
And mouldering now in silent dust,
That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core,
Shall live my Highland Mary.
TO MARY IN HEAVEN.
THOU lingering star, with less'ning ray,
That lov'st to greet the early morn,
Again thou usher'st in the day
My Mary from my soul was torn.
O Mary! dear departed shade!
Where is thy place of blissful rest?
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?
Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?
That sacred hour can I forget,
Can I forget the hallow'd grove,
Where by the winding Ayr we met,
To live one day of parting love!
Eternity will not efface,
Those records dear of transports past;
Thy image at our last embrace!
Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!
Ayr gurgling kissed his pebbled shore,
O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning, green; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar, Twin'd amorous round the raptur'd scene.
The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,
The birds sang love on every spray,
Till too, too soon, the glowing west,
Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.
Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,
And fondly broods with miser care!
Time but the impression deeper makes,
As streams their channels deeper wear,
My Mary! dear departed shade!
Where is thy blissful place of rest?
Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?
Hear'st thou the groans thatrend his breast?
ELEGY ON THE LATE MISS BURNET, OF MONBODDO.
LIFE ne'er exulted in so rich a prize,
As Burnet, lovely, from her native skies;
Nor envious Death so triumph'd in a blow,
As that which laid the accomplished Burnet low.
Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget?
In richest ore the brightest jewel set!
In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown,
As by his noblest work the Godhead best is known.
In vain ye flaunt in summer's pride, ye groves;
Thou crystal streamlet with thy flowery shore;
Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves,
Ye cease to charm-Eliza is no more!
Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens:
Ye mossy streams, with sedge and rushes stor'd;
Ye rugged cliffs, o'erhanging dreary glens,
To you I fly-ye with my soul accord.
Princes, whose cumb'rous pride was all their worth,
Shall venal lays their pompous exit hail?
And thou, sweet excellence! forsake our earth,
And not a muse in honest grief bewail!
We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride,
And virtue's light. tlat beams beyond the spheres ;
But like the sun eclips'd at morning tide,
Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears.
The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee,
That heart how sunk, a prey to grief and care;
So decked the woodbine sweet yon aged tree,
So from it ravish'd, leaves it bleak and bare.
ON READING, IN A NEWSPAPER, THE DEATH OF JOHN M'LEOD, ESQ. BROTHER TO A YOUNG LADY, A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR'S.
SAD thy tale, thou idle page,
And rueful thy alarms:
Death tears the brother of her love
From Isabella's arms.
Sweetly deck'd with pearly dew
The morning rose may blow;
But cold, successive noontide blasts
May lay its beauties low.
Fair on Isabella's morn
The sun propitious smil'd;
But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds
Succeeding hopes beguil'd.
Fate oft tears the bosom chords
That Nature finest strung;
So Isabella's heart was form'd,
And so that heart was wrung
Dread Omnipotence, alone,
Can heal the wound he gave;
Can point the brimful grief-worn eyes
To scenes beyond the grave.
Virtue's blossoms there shall blow,
And fear no with'ring blast:
There Isabella's spotless worth
Shall happy be at last.
ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDLL, ESQ. OF GLEN KIDDEL,
APRIL, 1794.
No more, ye warblers of the wood, no more,
Nor pour your descant, grating on my soul;
Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant stole,
More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest roar.
How can ye charm, ye flow'rs, with all your dyes?
Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend:
How can I to the tuneful strain attend?
That strain flows round th' untimely tomb where Riddel lies.
Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of wo,
And sooth the Virtues weeping on this bier:
The Man of Worth, and has not left his peer,
Is in his "narrow house," for ever darkly low.
Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet;
Me, mem'ry of my loss will only meet.
ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR.
THE lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare,
Dim, cloudly, sunk beneath the western wave;
Th' inconstant blast howl'd thro' the darkening air,
And hollow whistled in the rocky cave.
Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and dell,
Once the lov'd haunts of Scotia's royal train ;*
Or mus'd where limpid streams, once hallow'd well,t
Or mould'ring ruins mark the sacred fane;‡
Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beetling rocks,
The clouds, swift-wing'd, flew o'er the starry sky,
The groaning trees untimely shed their locks,
And shooting meteors caught the startled eye.
The paly moon rose in the livid east,
And 'mong the cliffs disclos'd a stately form,
In weeds of wo, that frantic beat her breast,
And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm.
Wild to my heart the filial pulses glow,
'Twas Caledonia's trophied shield I view'd:
Her form majestic droop'd in pensive wo,
The light'ning of her eye in tears imbued.
Revers'd that spear, redoubtable in war,
Reclin'd that banner, erst in fields unfurl'd,
That like a deathful meteor gleam'd afar,
And brav'd the mighty monarchs of the world:
The King's Park, at Holyrood-house.
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