VI.

But soon they grow again and leave their nest. "Oh!" saith the Psalmist," that I had a dove's Pinions to flee away, and be at rest!"

And who that recollects young years and loves, Though hoary now, and with a withering breast,

And palsied fancy, which no longer roves [rather Beyond its dimm'd eye's sphere, but would much Sigh like his son, than cough like his grandfather?

VII.

But sighs subside, and tears (even widows') shrink, Like Arno in the summer, to a shallow,

So narrow as to shame their wintry brink,

Which threatens inundations deep and yellow! Such difference doth a few months make. You'd think Grief a rich field which never would lie fallow; No more it doth, its ploughs but change their boys, Who furrow some new soil to sow for joys.

VIII.

But coughs will come when sighs depart—and now
And then before sighs cease; for oft the one
Will bring the other, ere the lake-like brow
Is ruffled by a wrinkle, or the sun

Of life reach'd ten o'clock: and while a glow,
Hectic and brief as summer's day nigh done,
O'erspreads the cheek which seems too pure for clay,
Thousands blaze, love, hope, die,-how happy they!-

IX.

But Juan was not meant to die so soon.
We left him in the focus of such glory
As may be won by favour of the moon
Or ladies' fancies- rather transitory
Perhaps; but who would scorn the month of June,
Because December, with his breath so hoary,
Must come? Much rather should he court the ray,
To hoard up warmth against a wintry day.

X.

Besides, he had some qualities which fix
Middle-aged ladies even more than young:
The former know what's what; while new-fledged
chicks

Know little more of love than what is sung
In rhymes, or dreamt (for fancy will play tricks)
In visions of those skies from whence Love
Some reckon women by their suns or years,
I rather think the moon should date the dears.

sprung.

XI.

And why? because she's changeable and chaste.
I know no other reason, whatsoeʼer
Suspicious people, who find fault in haste,

May choose to tax me with; which is not fair,
Nor flattering to "their temper or their taste,"
As my friend Jeffrey writes with such an air:
However, I forgive him, and I trust

He will forgive himself;-if not, I must.

(1)

(1) [See antè, Vol. XV. p. 22. —"I have read the recent article of Jeffrey. I suppose the long and the short of it is, that he wishes to pro

XII.

Old enemies who have become new friends

Should so continue-'tis a point of honour; And I know nothing which could make amends

For a return to hatred: I would shun her Like garlic, howsoever she extends

Her hundred arms and legs, and fain outrun her. Old flames, new wives, become our bitterest foesConverted foes should scorn to join with those.

XIII.

This were the worst desertion :- renegadoes, Even shuffling Southey, that incarnate lie, Would scarcely join again the " reformadoes," (1) Whom he forsook to fill the laureate's sty: And honest men from Iceland to Barbadoes, Whether in Caledon or Italy,

Should not veer round with every breath, nor seize To pain, the moment when you cease to please.

XIV.

The lawyer and the critic but behold

The baser sides of literature and life,

And nought remains unseen, but much untold,
By those who scour those double vales of strife.

voke me to reply. But I won't, for I owe him a good turn still for his kindness by-gone. Indeed, I presume that the present opportunity of attacking me again was irresistible; and I can't blame him, knowing what human nature is.” — B. Letters, June, 1822.]

(1) "Reformers," or rather "Reformed." The Baron Bradwardine in Waverley, is authority for the word.

While common men grow ignorantly old,

The lawyer's brief is like the surgeon's knife,
Dissecting the whole inside of a question,
And with it all the process of digestion.

XV.

A legal broom's a moral chimney-sweeper,
And that's the reason he himself's so dirty;
The endless soot (1) bestows a tint far deeper
Than can be hid by altering his shirt; he
Retains the sable stains of the dark creeper,

At least some twenty-nine do out of thirty,
In all their habits;—not so you, I own;
As Cæsar wore his robe you wear your gown.

XVI.

And all our little feuds, at least all mine,

Dear Jeffrey, once my most redoubted foe (As far as rhyme and criticism combine

To make such puppets of us things below), Are over: Here's a health to " Auld Lang Syne!" I do not know you, and may never know Your face-but you have acted on the whole Most nobly, and I own it from my soul. (2)

XVII.

And when I use the phrase of " Auld Lang Syne!" 'Tis not address'd to you—the more's the pity For me, for I would rather take my wine

With you, than aught (save Scott) in your proud city.

(1) Query, suit? - Printer's Devil.

(2) [This tribute to a former antagonist displays so much frankness, generosity, and manly feeling, that it must eradicate all latent remains of animosity from the bosom of any but the most rancorous and vindictive. In addition to these merits, the felicitous introduction of the poet's recollections of his boyish days renders this passage equal in poetical beauty to any that has proceeded from his pen. — CAMPBELL.]

But somehow,

it may seem a schoolboy's whine,

And yet I seek not to be grand nor witty, But I am half a Scot by birth, and bred

A whole one, and my heart flies to my head,-(1)

XVIII.

As "Auld Lang Syne" brings Scotland, one and all, Scotch plaids, Scotch snoods, the blue hills, and

clear streams,

The Dee, the Don, Balgounie's brig's black wall, (2)
All my boy feelings, all my gentler dreams
Of what I then dreamt, clothed in their own pall,
Like Banquo's offspring;-floating past me seems
My childhood in this childishness of mine:

I care not-'tis a glimpse of " Auld Lang Syne."

XIX.

And though, as you remember, in a fit

Of wrath and rhyme, when juvenile and curly, I rail'd at Scots to show my wrath and wit,

Which must be own'd was sensitive and surly,

(1) ["I don't like to bore you about the Scotch novels (as they call them, though two of them are English, and the rest half so); but nothing can or could ever persuade me, since I was the first ten minutes in your company, that you are not the man: to me these novels have so much of Auld lang syne' (I was bred a canny Scot till ten years old), that I never move without them." Lord B. to Sir W. Scott, Jan. 12. 1822.]

(2) The brig of Don, near the "auld toun" of Aberdeen, with its one arch, and its black deep salmon stream below, is in my memory as yesterday. I still remember, though perhaps I may misquote, the awful proverb which made me pause to cross it, and yet lean over it with a childish delight, being an only son, at least by the mother's side. The saying as recollected by me was this, but I have never heard or seen it since I was nine years of age:

"Brig of Balgounie, black's your wa',

Wi' a wife's ae son, and a mear's ae foal,
Doun ye shall fa'!"