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TO THE

YOUNGEST DAUGHTER OF LADY ****,

Spare the fine tremors of her feeling frame !
To thee she turns—forgive a virgin's fears !
To thee she turns with surest, tenderest claim:
Weakness that charms, reluctance that endears!
At each response the sacred rite requires,
From her full bosom bursts th’ unbidden sigh.
A strange, mysterious awe the scene inspires ;
And on her lips the trembling accents die.
O'er ber fair face what wild emotions play!
What lights and shades in sweet confusion blend !
Soon shall they fiy, glad harbingers of day,
And settled sunshine on her soul descend!
Ah soon, thine own confest, ecstatic thought!
That hand shall strew thy summer path with flowers;
And those blue eyes, with mildest lustre fraught,
Gild the calm current of domestic hours !

An, why with tell-tale tongue reveal* What most her blushes would conceal? Why lift that modest veil to trace The seraph sweetness of her face? Some fairer, better sport prefer ; And feel for us, if not for her.

For this presumption, soon or late, Know thine shall be a kindred fate. Another shall in vengeance rise Sing Harriet's cheeks, and Harriet's eyes ; And, echoing back her wood-notes wild, -Trace all the mother in the child !

AN EPITAPHT ON A ROBIN-REDBREAST.

THE ALPS AT DAYBREAK. THE sunbeams streak the azure skies, And line with light the mountain's brow: With hounds and horns the hunters rise, And chase the roe-buck through the snow. From rock to rock, with giant bound, High on their iron poles they pass ; Mute, lest the air, convulsed by sound, Rend from above a frozen mass.* The goats wind slow their wonted way, Up craggy steeps and ridges rude; Mark'd by the wild wolf for his prey, From desert cave or hanging wood. And while the torrent thunders loud, And as the echoing cliffs reply, The huts peep o'er the morning cloud, Perch'd, like an eagle's nest, on high.

TREAD lightly here ; for here, 'tis said,
When piping winds are hush'd around,
A small note wakes from under ground,
Where now his tiny bones are laid.
No more in lone and leafless groves,
With ruffled wing and faded breast,
His friendless, homeless spirit roves ;
-Gone to the world where birds are blest !
Where never cat glides o'er the green,
Or schoolboy's giant form is seen;
But love, and joy, and smiling spring,
Inspire their little souls to sing !

TO THE GNAT.

IMITATION OF AN ITALIAN SONNET.

Love, under friendship's vesture white,
Laughs, his little limbs concealing;
And oft in sport, and oft in spite,
Like pity meets the dazzled sight,
Smiles through his tears revealing.

But now as rage the god appears !
He frowns, and tempests shake his frame
Frowning, or smiling, or in tears,
'Tis love; and love is still the same.

WHEN by the greenwood side, at summer eve,
Poetic visions charm my closing eye;
And fairy scenes, that fancy loves to weave,
Shift to wild notes of sweetest minstrelsy ;
'Tis thine to range in busy quest of prey,
Thy feathery antlers quivering with delight,
Brush from my lids the hues of heaven away,
And all is solitude, and all is night!
-Ah now thy barbed shaft, relentless fly,
Unsheathes its terrors in the sultry air ;
No guardian sylph, in golden panoply,
Lifts the broad shield, and points the glittering spear.
Now near and nearer rush thy whirring wings,
Thy dragon scales still wet with human gore.
Hark, thy shrill horn its fearful larum flings !
- I wake in horror, and dare sleep no more !

A WISH.

A CHARACTER. As through the hedge-row shade the violet steals, And the sweet air its modest leaf reveals; Her softer charms, but by their influence known, Surprise all hearts, and mould them to her own.

MINE be a cot beside the hill,
A bee-hive's hum shall soothe my ear ;
A willowy brook, that turns a mill,
With many a fall, shall linger near.

* There are passes in the Alps, where the guides tell * Alluding to some verses which she had written on an you to move on with speed, and say nothing, lest the agi. elder sister. tation of the air should loosen the snows above.

+ Inscribed on an urn in the flower-garden at Hafod.

That birds may come and drink upon his grave, Making it holy !*

The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch
Shall twitter from her clay-built nest;
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,
And share my meal, a welcome guest.
Around my ivied porch shall spring
Each fragrant flower that drinks the dew;
And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing
In russet gown and apron blue.
The village church, among the trees,
Where first our marriage vows were given,
With merry peals shall swell the breeze,
And point with taper spire to heaven.

WRITTEN AT MIDNIGHT, 1786. While through the broken pane the tempest sighs, And my step falters on the faithless floor, Shades of departed joys around me rise, With many a face that smiles on me no more; With many a voice that thrills of transport gave, Now silent as the grass that tufts their grave !

AN ITALIAN SONG.

DEAR is my little native vale,
The ring-dove builds and murmurs there;
Close by my cot she tells her tale
To every passing villager.
The squirrel leaps from tree to tree,
And shells his nuts at liberty.
In orange groves and myrtle bowers,
That breathe a gale of fragrance round,
I charm the fairy-f hours
With my loved lute's sumantic sound;
Or crowns of living laurel weave,
For those that win the race at eve.
The shepherd's horn at break of day,
The ballet danced in twilight glade,
The canzonet and roundelay
Sung in the silent greenwood shade,
These simple joys, that never fail,
Shall bind me to my native vale.

WRITTEN IN THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOT

LAND, SEPTEMBER 2, 1812.
BLUE was the loch, the clouds were gone,
Ben Lomond in his glory shone,
When, Luss, I left thee; when the breeze
Bore me from thy silver sands,
Thy kirk-yard wall among the trees,
Where, gray with age, the dial stands;
That dial so well known to me!
-Though many a shadow it had shed,
Beloved sister, since with thee
The legend on the stone was read.

The fairy isles fled far away;
That with its woods and uplands green,
Where shepherd huts are dimly seen,
And songs are heard at close of day;
That, too, the deer's wild covert, fled,
And that, th' asylum of the dead:
While, as the boat went merrily,
Much of Rob Royť the boatman told ;
His arm, that fell below his knee,
His cattle ford and mountain hold.

Tarbat, thy shore I climb'd at last,
And, thy shady region passid,
Upon another shore I stood,
And look'd upon another flood ; $
Great ocean's self! ('Tis he who fills
That vast and awful depth of hills;)
Where many an elf was playing round,
Who treads unshod his classic ground;
And speaks, his native rocks among,
As Fingal spoke, and Ossian sung.

Night fell; and dark and darker grew
That narrow sea, that narrow sky,
As o'er the glimmering waves we flew;
The sea-bird rustling, wailing by.
And now the grampus, half descried,
Black and huge above the tide,
The cliffs and promontories there,
Front to front, and broad and bare ;
Each beyond each, with giant feet
Advancing as in haste to meet;
The shatter'd fortress, whence the Dane
Blew his shrill blast, nor rush'd in vain,
Tyrant of the drear domain :
All into midnight shadow sweep,
When day springs upward from the deep !!
Kindling the waters in its flight,
The prow wakes splendour ; and the oar,
That rose and fell unseen before,
Flashes in a sea of light !
Glad sign, and sure! for now

w we hail
Thy flowers, Glenfinnart, in the gale;
And bright indeed the path should be
That leads to friendship and to thee!

AN INSCRIPTION. SHEPHERD, or huntsman, or worn mariner, Whate'er thou art, who wouldst allay thy thirst, Drink and be glad. This cistern of white stone, Arch’d, and o'erwrought with many a sacred verse, This iron cup chain'd for the general use, And these rude seats of earth within the grove, Were given by Fatima. Borne hence a bride, 'Twas here she turn'd from her beloved sire, To see his face no more.* O, if thou canst, ('Tis not far off,) visit his tomb with flowers; And with a drop of this sweet water fill The two small cells scoop'd in the marble there,

* A Turkish superstition. + A famous outlaw.

Signifying, in the Erse language, an isthmus. & Loch Long. || A phenomenon described by many navigators.

See an anecdote related by Pausanias, iii. 20.

O blest retreat, and sacred too! Sacred as when the bell of prayer

WRITTEN IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. Toll'd duly on the desert air,

OCTOBER 10, 1806.*
And crosses deck'd thy summits blue.
Oft, like some loved romantic tale,

WHOE’ER thou art, approach, and, with a sigh, Oft shall my weary mind recall,

Mark where the small remains of greatness lie.t Amid the hum and stir of men,

There sleeps the dust of Fox, for ever gone: Thy beechen grove and waterfall,

How dear the place where late his glory shone ! Thy ferry with its gliding sail,

And, though no more ascends the voice of prayer, And her—the lady of the glen!

Though the last footsteps cease to linger there,
Still, like an awful dream that comes again,
Alas! at best as transient and as vain,

Still do I see (while through the vaults of night
A FAREWELL.

The funeral song once more proclaims the rite)

The moving pomp along the shadowy aisle, ORCE more, enchanting maid, adieu!

That, like a darkness, fill'd the solemn pile ; I must be gone while yet I may ;

Th’illustrious line, that in long order led, Oft shall I weep to think of you,

Of those that loved him living, mourn'd him dead; But here I will not, cannot stay.

Of those the few, that for their country stood The sweet expression of that face,

Round him who dared be singularly good : For ever changing, yet the same,

All, of all ranks, that claim'd him for their own; Ah no, I dare not turn to trace

And nothing wanting—but himself alone ! It melts my soul, it fires my frame!

O say, of him now rests there but a name;

Wont, as he was, to breathe ethereal flame? Yet give me, give me, ere I go,

Friend of the absent, guardian of the dead !S One little lock of those so blest,

Who but would here their sacred sorrows shed? That lend your cheek a warmer glow,

(Such as he shed on Nelson's closing grave; And on your white neck love to rest.

How soon to claim the sympathy he gave!)
-Say, when to kindle soft delight,

In him, resentful of another's wrong,
That hand has chanced with mine to meet, The dumb were eloquent, the feeble strong.
How could its thrilling touch excite

Truth from his lips a charm celestial drew-
A sigh so short, and yet so sweet?

Ah, who so mighty and so gentle too ?!

What though with war the madding nations rung, O say—but no, it must not be.

“ Peace,” when he spoke, was ever on his tongue ! Adieu! a long, a long adieu!

Amidst the frowns of power, the tricks of state, -Yet still, methinks, you frown on me,

Fearless, resolved, and negligently great!
Or never could I fly from you.

In vain malignant vapours gather'd round;
He walk’d, erect, on consecrated ground.

The clouds, that rise to quench the orb of day,
INSCRIPTION FOR A TEMPLE.

Reflect its splendour, and dissolve away!

When in retreat he laid his thunder by,

For letter'd ease and calm philosophy, APPROACH with reverence. There are those within Blest were his hours within the silent grove, Whose dwelling-place is heaven. Daughters of Where still his godlike spirit deigns to rove; Jove,

Blest by the orphan's smile, the widow's prayer, From them flow all the decencies of life;

For many a deed, long done in secret there. Without them nothing pleases, virtue's self

There shone his lamp on Homer's hallow'd page ; Admired, not loved; and those on whom they smile, There, listening, sate the hero and the sage; Great though they be, and wise, and beautiful,

And they, by virtue and by blood allied, Shine forth with double lustre.

Whom most he loved, and in whose arms he died.

Friend of all human kind! not here alone
(The voice that speaks, was not to thee unknown)
Wilt thou be miss'd. O'er every land and sea,

Long, long shall England be revered in thee !
TO THE BUTTERFLY.

And, when the storm is hush'd-in distant years-
Child of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight, Foes on thy grave shall meet, and mingle tears!
Mingling with her thou lovest in fields of light;
And, where the flowers of paradise unfold,

* After the funeral of the Right Hon. Charles James Quaff fragrant nectar from their cups of gold.

Fox. There shall thy wings, rich as an evening sky, † Venez voir le peu qui nous reste de tant de grandeur, Expand and shut with silent ecstasy!

etc.-Bossuet. Oraison funèbre de Louis de Bourbon. -Yet wert thou once a worm, a thing that crept

$ Et rien enfin ne manque dans tous ces honneurs, que On the bare earth, then wrought a tomb and slept.

celui a qui on les rend.-Ibid.

§ Alluding particularly to his speech on moving a new And such is man; soon from his cell of clay

writ for the borough of Tavistock, March 16, 1802. To burst a seraph in the blaze of day!

Il See that aimirable delineation of his character by Sir

James Mackintosh, which first appeared in the Bombay * At Woburn Abbey.

Courier, January 17, 1807.

DEDICATED TO THE GRACES.

JAMES GRAHAME.

The poem of The Sabbath will long endear the giving vent to the familiar sentiments of his bosom. name of JAMES GRAHAME to all who love the due We can trace here, in short, and with the same pleasobservance of Sunday, and are acquainted with the ing effect, that entire absence of art, effort, and afdevout thoughts and poetic feeling which it inspires. fectation, which we have already noticed as the most Nor will he be remembered for this alone ; his remarkable distinction of his attempts in descripBritish Georgics and his Birds of Scotland, rank tion. Almost all the other poets with whom we are with those productions whose images and sentiments acquainted, appear but too obviously to put their take silent possession of the mind, and abide there feelings and affections, as well as their fancies and when more startling and obtrusive things are phrases, into a sort of studied dress, before they forgotten. There is a quiet natural case about all venture to present them to the crowded assembly his descriptions; a light and shade both of land of the public: and though the style and fashion of scape and character in all his pictures, and a truth this dress varies according to the taste and ability and beauty which prove that he copied from his of the inventors, still it serves almost equally to own emotions, and painted with the aid of his own hide their native proportions, and to prove that eyes, without looking, as Dryden said, through the they were a little ashamed or afraid to exhibit spectacles of books. To his fervent piety as well them as they really were. Now, Mr. Grahame, as poetic spirit the public has borne testimony, by we think, has got over this general nervousness purchasing many copies of his works. The Birds of and shyness about showing the natural and simple Scotland is a fine series pictures, giving the form, feelings with which the contemplation of human the plumage, the haunts, and habits of each individ- emotion should affect us; or rather, has been too ual bird, with a graphic fidelity rivalling the labours seriously occupied, and too constantly engrossed of Wilson. His drama of Mary Stuart wants that with the feelings themselves, to think how the passionate and happy vigour which the stage re- confession of them might be taken by the genequires ; some of his songs are natural and elegant; rality of his readers, to concern himself about the his Sabbath Walks, Biblical Pictures, and Rural contempt of the fastidious, or the derision of the Calendar, are all alike remarkable for accuracy of unfeeling. In his poetry, therefore, we meet nei. description and an original turn of thought. He ther with the Musidoras and Damons of Thomson, was born at Glasgow, 220 April, 1765; his father, nor the gipsy-women and Ellen Orfords of Crabbe; who was a writer, educated him for the bar, but he and still less with the Matthew Schoolmasters, showed an early leaning to the Muses, and such a Alice Fells, or Martha Raes of Mr. Wordsworth ;love of truth and honour as hindered him from but we meet with the ordinary peasants of Scot. accepting briefs which were likely to lead him out land in their ordinary situations, and with a touchof the paths of equity and justice. His Sabbath ing and simple expression of concern for their sus. was written and published in secret, and he had the ferings, and of generous indulgence for their faults. pleasure of finding the lady whom he had married He is not ashamed of his kindness and condescen. among its warmest admirers ; nor did her admira- sion, on the one hand; nor is be ostentatious or tion lessen when she discovered the author. His vain of it, on the other; but gives expression in health declined; he accepted the living of Sedge the most plain and unaffected manner to sentiments ware, near Durham, and performed his duties that are neither counterfeited nor disguised. We diligently and well till within a short time of his do not know any poetry, indeed, that lets us in so death, which took place 14th September, 1811. directly to the heart of the writer, and produces so

The great charm of Mr. Grahame's poetry,(says a full and pleasing a conviction that it is dictated by writer in the Edinburgh Review,) appears to us to the genuine feelings which it aims at communicatconsist in its moral character ; in that natural ex-ing to the reader. If there be less fire and eleva. pression of kindness and tenderness of heart, which tion than in the strains of some of his contempo gives such a peculiar air of paternal goodness and pa- raries, there is more truth and tenderness than is triarchal simplicity to his writings ; and that earnest commonly found along with those qualities, and and intimate sympathy with the objects of his com- less getting up either of language or of sentiment passion, which assures us at once that he is not than we recollect to have met with in any modern making a theatrical display of sensibility, but merely composition.

versant.

Murmurs more gently down the deep-worn glen ; THE SABBATH.

While from yon lowly roof, whose curling smoke

O’ermounts the mist, is heard, at intervals,
ARGUMENT.

The voice of psalms—the simple song of praise. Description of a Sabbath morning in the country. The

With dove-like wings, peace o'er yon village labourer at home. The town mechanic's morning

broods; walk; his meditation. The sound of bells. Crowd The dizzying mill-wheel rests; the anvil's din proceeding to church. Interval before the service Hath ceased; all, all around is quietness. begins. Scottish service. English service. Scriptures Less fearful on this day, the limping hare read. The organ, with the voices of the people. The sound borne to the sick man's couch: his wish. The Stops, and looks back, and stops, and looks on man, worship of God in the solitude of the woods. The Her deadliest foe. The toil-worn horse, set free, shepherd boy among the hills. People seen on the Unheedful of the pasture, roams at large ; heights returning from church. Contrast of the present And, as his stiff unwieldy bulk he rolls, times with those immediately preceding the Revolu. His iron-armed hoofs gleam in the morning ray. tion. The persecution of the Covenanters: A Sabbath

But chiefly man the day of rest enjoys. conventicle: Cameron: Renwick: Psalms. Night conventicles during storms. A funeral according to Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day. the rites of the church of England. A female charac. On other days the man of toil is doom'd ter. The suicide. Expostulation. The incurable of To eat his joyless bread, lonely; the ground an hospital. A prison scene. Debtors. Divine ser

Both seat and board; screen'd from the winter's cold vice in the prison hall. Persons under sentence of death. The public guilt of inflicting capital punish- But on this day, imbosom’d in his home,

And summer's heat, by neighbouring hedge or tree; ments on persons who have been left destitute of religious and moral instruction. Children proceeding to He shares the frugal meal with those he loves ; a Sunday-school. The father. The impress. Appeal With those he loves he shares the heartfelt joy on the indiscriminate severity of criminal law. Com- of giving thanks to God—not thanks of form, parative mildness of the Jewish law. The year of ju- A word and a grimace, but reverently, bilee. Description of the commencement of the jubilee. With cover'd face and upward earnest eye. The sound of the trumpets through the land. The bond. man and his family returning from their servitude to

Hail, Sabbath! thee I hail, the poor man's day. take possession of their inheritance. Emigrants to the The pale mechanic now has leave to breathe wilds of America. Their Sabbath worship. The whole The morning air, pure from the city's smoke; inhabitants of Highland districts who have emigrated While, wandering slowly up the river-side, together, still regret their country. Even the blind

He meditates on Him, whose power he marks man regrets the objects which he had been con.

An emigrant's contrast between the tropical In each green tree that proudly spreads the bough, climates and Scotland. The boy who had been born As in the tiny dew-bent flowers that bloom on the voyage. Description of a person on a desert Around its roots; and while he thus surveys, island. His Sabbath. His release. Missionary ship. With elevated joy, each rural charm, The Pacific ocean. Defence of missionaries. Effects He hopes, yet fears presumption in the hope, of the conversion of the primitive Christians. Transi. tion to the slave trade. The Sabbath in a slave ship. | That heaven may be one Sabbath without end. Appeal to England on the subject of her encouragement

But now his steps a welcome sound recalls : to this horrible complication of crimes. Transition to Solemn the knell, from yonder ancient pile, war. Unfortunate issue of the late war-in France- Fills all the air, inspiring joyful awe: in Switzerland. Apostrophe to Tell. The attempt to Slowly the throng moves o'er the tomb-paved grounds resist too late. The treacherous foes already in pog. The aged man, the bowed down, the blind session of the passes. Their devastating progress. Desolation. Address to Scotland. Happiness of seclu- Led by the thoughtless boy, and he who breathes sion from the world. Description of a Sabbath evening With pain, and eyes the new-made grave well in Scotland. Psalmody. An aged man. Description pleased ; of an industrious female reduced to poverty by old age These, mingled with the young, the gay, approach and disease. Disinterested virtuous conduct to be found The house of God; these, spite of all their ills, chiefly in the lower walks of life. Test of charity in the A glow of gladness feel; with silent praise opulent. Recommendation to the rich to devole a por. tion of the Sabbath to the duty of visiting the sick. "In. They enter in. A placid stillness reigns, vocation to health-to music. The Beguine nuns. Laza. Until the man of God, worthy the name, rus. The Resurrection. Dawnings of faith-its progress Arise and read th' anointed shepherd's lays. --consummation.

His locks of snow, his brow serene, his look How still the morning of the hallow'd day! Of love, it speaks, “ Ye are my children all; Mute is the voice of rural labour, hush'd

The gray-hair'd man, stooping upon his staff, The ploughboy's whistle, and the milkmaid's song. As well as he, the giddy child, whose eye The scythe lies glittering in the dewy wreath Pursues the swallow fitting thwart the dome.” Of tedded grass, mingled with fading flowers, Loud swells the song: O how that simple song, That yester-morn bloom'd waving in the breeze. Though rudely chanted, how it melts the heart, Sounds the most faint attract the earthe hum Commingling soul with soul in one full tide Of early bee, the trickling of the dew,

Of praise, of thankfulness, of humble trust! The distant bleating midway up the hill.

Next comes the unpremeditated prayer, Calmness sits throned on yon unmoving cloud. Breathed from the inmost heart, in accents low, To him who wanders o'er the upland leas,

But earnest.-Alter'd is the tone; to man The blackbird's note comes mellower from the dale; Are now address'd the sacred speaker's words. And sweeter from the sky the gladsome lark Instruction, admonition, comfort, peace, Warbles his heaven-tuned song; the lulling brook Flow from his tongue: O chief let comfort now!

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