EPITAPH.* To this Nov. 1, 175". grave is committed All that the grave can claim Of two brothers ***** and * * * * • • • ** Who on the vii of October, MDCCLVII, Both unfortunately perished in the * The one in his xxii, the other in his xviii year. Erects this monument to the memory of Whose early virtues promised O thou! whose steps in sacred rev'rence tread In early bloom of life, they left the stage: Not doom'd in lingering woe to waste their breath, One moment snatch'd them from the power of Death. They lived united, and united died; Happy the friends, whom death cannot divide! * Engraved on a tomb-stone in the church-yard of Lethnet, + Named Leitch, who were drowned in crossing the river Southesk. ELEGY. TIRED with the busy crowds, that all the day Hail, kind reviver ! that canst lull the cares, Touch'd by thy rod, from Power's majestic brow When roused by thee, on boundless pinions borne Now scales the cliff gay gleaming on the morn, Or skims the main, and listens to the storms, Haply, ere long, pierced by the howling blast, Perhaps loose Luxury's enchanting smile Where Mirth's light freaks th' unheeded hours beguile Instructive emblem of this mortal state! Be taught, vain man, how fleeting all thy joys, And, sons of Sorrow! though the threatening storm Let not her frowns your inward peace deform; Through Earth's throng'd visions while we toss forlorn, SONG, IN IMITATION OF Shakspeare's 'Blow, blos, thou winter wind. BICW, blow, thou vernal gale! Thy balm will not avail To ease my aching breast; Though thou the billows smooth, Thy murmurs cannot soothe My weary soul to rest. Flow, flow, thou tuneful stream; Anfuse the easy dream Into the peaceful soul; But thou canst not compose The tumult of my woes, Though soft thy waters roll Blush, blush, ye fairest flowers! My Rosalind adorn; Nor is the Winter's blast That lays your glories waste, Breathe, breathe, ye tender lays, Fade, fade, ye flowrets fair! Ye streams forget to glide! Be hush'd, each vernal strain; RETIREMENT. 1758. WHEN in the crimson cloud of even The lingering light decays, And Hesper on the front of Heaven His glittering gem displays; Deep in the silent vale, unseen, A pensive youth, of placid mien, Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur piled High o'er the glimmering dale; Where Melancholy strays forlorn, And Woe retires to weep, What time the wan Moon's yellow horn To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms Ne'er drew ambition's eye, 'Scaped a tumultuous world's alarms, To your retreats I fly. Deep in your most sequester'd bower Let me at last recline, Where Solitude, mild, modest power, Leans on her ivy'd shrine. 'How shall I woo thee, matchless fair! Thy heavenly smile how win? Thy smile that smooths the brow of Care, O wilt thou to thy favourite grove Thine ardent votary bring, And bless his hours, and bid them move • Oft let Remembrance soothe his mind With dreams of former days, When in the lap of Peace reclined He framed his infant lays; When Fancy roved at large, nor Care Nor cold Distrust alarm'd, Nor Envy with malignant glare His simple youth had harm'd. ‹ 'Twas then, O Solitude! to thee His early vows were paid, From heart sincere, and warm, and free, |