Pale as ocean to the view

On a dreary sunless morn;

Victim of a love too true,

Still for her I pine forlorn.

I pine for her; yet heave a sigh
Of tender pity while I pine,

That she should view with scornful eye

A love so pure, so warm as mine.

M 2

DOVE DALE.

A DESCRIPTIVE SKETCH.*

How beautiful the scene, where winding Dove,

Her waters echoing to the cliffs above,

Pours o'er a rocky bed her limpid stream,
Foaming and sparkling in the noon tide beam.

Enchanting river! though thy scenes demand

A loftier song, a more experienc'd hand;
Yet will I strive from memory to pourtray
The awful grandeur which thy banks display.

* Written after visiting it in 1809.

Thy huge grey rocks, with verdant foliage drest,

Whose forms grotesque the wondering eye arrest; The low stone walls, the sheep-folds' simple bound; The solemn stillness which presides around,

Save when the bleating sheep, or murmuring stream,
Awake the traveller from his pleasing dream;

All, all conspire to soothe the troubl'd breast
With pensive joys, and lull the mind to rest.
From morn 'till evening on thy banks I rov'd,
The more I saw, the more the scene I lov'd;
And when behind the mountain's lofty head
The sun descended, and bright day light fled;
The solemn shades of evening spreading slow
Sublimely darken'd all the vale below;
Reluctant then I took a farewell view,

And bade a long, perhaps a last adieu;

Yet often stopt, by fond regret inclin'd,

To "cast one longing lingering look behind."

STANZAS ON WOMAN,

"O Woman! in our hours of ease,

Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade

By the light quivering aspen made."

WALTER SCOTT.

HAST thou not mark'd the smiling deep

All tranquil and serene;

When every zephyr seem'd asleep,

How lovely was the scene?

The murmuring sound of breaking waves,

The sun's resplendent beam,

Each sight, each sound the mind enslaves,

And aids the pleasing dream.

But soon, too soon the calm is past,

The pleasing scene is o'er;

And, driven before the dreadful blast,

The waves tremendous roar:

No more delighted by the view,

We strive to gain the shore;

Bid Neptune's element adieu,

And tempt the deep no more.

Hast thou not seen the blushing rose

Expand her beauties wide;

While every gale which round her blows,

With fragrance is supplied?

Attracted by the lovely sight

Such varied charms disclose,

We haste to rifle with delight

The bush whereon it grows;