Ye woodland choir that chant your idle loves, Ye heathy wastes, inmix'd with reedy fens, Princes, whose cumb'rous pride was all their worth, We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride, 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, VERSES, 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 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 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. SONNET ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDEL, ESQ., OF GLEN No more, ye warblers of the wood, no more, That strain flows round th' untimely tomb where Riddel lies! Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of wo, VERSES, ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR. THE lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare, 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 disclosed a stately form, In weeds of wo, that frantic beat her breast, And mixt 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 imbu'd. 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. “My patriot son fills an untimely grave!” With accents wild and lifted arms she cried, "Low lies the hand that oft was stretch'd to save; Low lies the heart that swell'd with honest pride! "A weeping country joins a widow's tear, The helpless poor mix with the orphan's cry; * The King's Park, at Holyrood House, † St. Anthony's Well. St. Anthony's Chapel. The drooping Arts surround their patron's bier, And grateful Science heaves the heartfelt sigh. "I saw my sons resume their ancient fire; "My patriot falls! but shall he lie unsung, While empty greatness saves a worthless name? No! ev'ry muse shall join her tuneful tongue, And future ages hear his growing fame. "And I will join a mother's tender cares, Thro' future times to make his virtues last, That distant years may boast of other Blairs! She said, and vanish'd with the sweeping blast. ADDRESS TO THE SHADE OF THOMSON, ON CROWNING HIS BUST AT EDNAM, BOXBURGHSHIRE, WITH BAYS. WHILE Virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, Unfolds her tender mantle green, Or pranks the sod in frolic mood, While Summer, with a matron grace, Yet oft, delighted, stops to trace |