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'Tis said, that Berenice's hair

In stars adorns the vault of heaven; But they would ne'er permit thee there,

Thou wouldst so far outshine the seven. For did those eyes as planets roll,

Thy sister-lights would scarce appear : E'en suns, which systems now control,

Would twinkle dimly through their sphere.


WOMAN! experience might have told me
That all must love thee who behold thee;
Surely experience might have taught
Thy firmest promises are nought;
But placed in all thy charms before me,
All I forget but to adore thee.
Oh Memory! thou choicest blessing,
When join'd with hope, when still possessing,
But how much cursed by every lover,
When hope is fled, and passion 's over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings to believe her;
How throbs the pulse, when first we view

that rolls in glossy blue;
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A beam from under hazel brows;
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing troth;
Fondly we hope 'twill last for aye,
When, lo! she changes in a day:
This record will for ever stand,
• Woman, thy vows are traced in sand.**

* The last line is almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb.

TO M. S. G.
When I dream that you love me, you'll surely

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

I rise, and it leaves me to weep.
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.
Ab! 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.
Though in visions, sweet Lady, perhaps you may

smile, Oh! think not my penance deficient; When dreams of your presence my slumbers beguile, .

To awake will be torture sufficient.

When I roved a young Highlander o'er the dark

And climb'd thy deep summit, oh! Morven of

snow;* To gaze on the torrent that thunder'd beneath,

Or the mist of the tempest that gather'd below,t * Morven, a lofty mountain in Aberdeenshire: 'Gormal of snow,' is an expression frequently to be found in Ossian.

† This will not appear extraordinary to those who have been

Untutor'd by science, a stranger to fear,

And rude as the rocks where my infancy grew, No feeling, save one, to my bosom was dear,

Need I say, my sweet Mary, 'twas center'd in


Yet, it could not be love, for I knew not the name,

What passion can dwell in the heart of a child ? But still I perceive an emotion the same

As I felt, when a boy, on the crag-cover'd wild: One image alone on my bosom impress’d,

I loved my bleak regions, nor panted for new; And few were my wants, for my wishes were bless'd,

And pure were my thoughts, for my soul was

with you.

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

From mountain to mountain I bounded along; I breasted* the billows of Dee'st rushing tide,

And heard at a distance the Highlander's song : At eve, on my heath-cover'd couch of repose, No dreams, save of Mary, were spread to my

view, And warm to the skies my devotions arose,

For the first of my prayers was a blessing on you. I left my bleak home, and my visions are gone, The mountains are vanish'd, my youth is no

more; As the last of my race, I must wither alone,

And delight but in days I have witness'd before :

accustomed to the mountains; it is by no means uncommon on attaining the top of Ben-e-vis, Ben-y-bourd, &c. to perceive between the summit and the valley clouds pouring down rain, and occasiovally accompanied by lightning, while the spectator literally looks down upon the storm, perfectly secure from its effects.

* Breasting the lofty mountain.-Shakspeare.

+ The Dee is a beautiful river, which rises near Mar Lodge and falls into the sea at New Aberdeen.

Ah! splendour has raised, but embitter'd my lot, More dear were the scenes which my infancy

knew; Though my hopes may have fail'd, yet they are not

forgot, Though cold is my heart, still it lingers with you. When I see some dark hill point its crest to the sky,

I think of the rocks that o'ershadow Colbleen ;* When I see the soft blue of a love-speaking eye, I think of those eyes that endear'd the rude

scene, When, haply, some light-waving locks 1 behold,

That faintly resemble my Mary's in hue, J think on 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 be

fore, Will Mary be there to receive me? ah no! Adieu! then, ye hills, where my childhood was

bred, Thou sweet flowing Dee, to thy waters adieu ! No home in the forest shall shelter my head,

Ah! Mary, what home could be mine but with

you ?

Colhleen is a mountain near the verge of the Highlands, not far from the ruins of Dee Castle.

TO Oh! yes, I will own we were dear to each other, The friendships of childhood, though fleeting, are

true; The love which you felt, was the love of a brother,

Nor less the affection I cherish'd for you. Bat friendship can vary her gentle dominion,

The attachment of years in a moment expires ; Like love, too, she moves on a swift waving pinion,

But glows not, like love, with unquenchable fires. Full oft have we wander'd through Ida together,

And blest were the scenes of our youth I allow; In the spring of our life, how serene is the weather;

But winter's rude tempests are gathering now. No more with affection shall memory, blending

The wonted delights of our childhood, retrace; When pride steels the bosom, the heart is unbend

ing, And what would be justice appears a disgrace. However, dear S- for I still must esteem you

The few whom I love I can never upbraid, The chance which has lost, may in future redeem

you, Repentance will cancel the vow you have made. I will not complain, and though chill’d is affection,

With me no corrodiny resentment shall live: My bosom is calm’d by the simple reflection, That both may be wrong, and that both should

forgive. You knew that my soul, that my heart, my existence,

If danger demanded, were wholly your own; You knew me unalter'd

years by stance, Devoted to love and to friendship alone.

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