That thro' thy soul shall gae; The weeping blood in woman's breast Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of wo My son! my son! may kinder stars And may those pleasures gild thy reign, God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, O! soon, to me, may summer-suns And the next flowers that deck the spring, THE LAMENT, OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORtunate issue C T A FRIEND'S AMOUR. Alas! how oft does Goodness wound itself, 1. O THOU pale orb, that silent shines, Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam; II. I joyless view thy rays adorn Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, cease Ah! must the agonizing thrill For ever bar returning peace! III. No idly-feign'd poetic pains, My sad love-lorn lamentings claim; No fabled tortures, quaint and tame, IV. Encircled in her clasping arms, How have the raptur'd moments flown! How have I wish'd for fortune's charms, For her dear sake, and hers alone! And must I think it! is she gone, My secret heart's exulting boast? And does she heedless hear my groan? And is she ever, ever lost? V. Oh! can she bear so base a heart, As from the fondest lover part, The plighted husband of her youth? Alas! life's path may be unsmooth! Her way may lie thro' rough distress; Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, Her sorrows share, and make them less? VI. Ye winged hours that o'er us past, Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd, Your dear remembrance in my breast, My fondly-treasur'd thoughts employ'd. Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd, The morn that warns th' approaching day, I see the hours, in long array, That I must suffer, ling'ring slow: VIII. And when my nightly couch I try, Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright; IX. O! thou bright queen, who o'er th' expanse Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray! The time, unheeded, sped away, While love's luxurious pulse beat high, To mark the mutual kindling eye. X. Oh! scenes in strong remembrance set! Scenes, if in stupor I forget, Again I feel, again I burn; From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn, LAMENT OF A MOTHER FOR THE DEATH OF HER ADN TUNE-"Finlayston House." FATE gave the word, the arrow sped, By cruel hands the sapling drops, So fell the pride of all my hopes, The mother linnet, in the brake, Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow |