E'en now, though lovely beams the lunar ray, Through quivering branches, on thy grave so green : No villager benighted dares to stray To that sad spot; for Fancy there has been So scar'd, as stories go, that she hath seen At midnight's silent hour, in vesture white, A shadowy wand'rer of unearthly mien, Whose hollow groans the passenger affright, And hurry through the gloom of Winter's lonely night. A POETICAL EPISTLE ΤΟ A L In life's gay morn, when pleasing dreams Of Love, and such romantic themes; With shady groves, and purling streams Delight thy sex; While hopes, and fears, and endless schemes Their minds perplex; Wilt thou, fair Anna, condescend To listen to an humble friend, Who, doom'd with ceaseless toil to wend Life's thorny way; Presumes, though fearing to offend, To frame a Lay. A simple Lay! which critic's ear, With cool disdain would surely hear; But which, address'd to friend sincere, Though quaint in style ; May gain the meed to Friendship dear, The approving smile. Not mine the lot of happier Bard, Whose loftier verse has nobly dared To emulate the high reward The wreath of Fame! Who on Parnassus' Mount hath shared A Poet's name. The noble Douglas, truly great, With Royal James, "whose will was fate,” Who left his court and regal state In form a Knight; Hope, fear, and joy, by turns create, A wild delight. But chief, fair Ellen! honour's child, Ingenuous, noble, cheerful, mild; Queen of the fairy scene so wild, And Malcolm Graeme, The gallant youth on whom she smil'd, Our interest claim. Such themes as these, my friend, could cheat The flight of time, when, pleas'd to meet, And spend an hour, alas, how fleet! Around the urn, To talk, to read, to laugh, to eat, Each in their turn. |