O Mary! dear departed shade! Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast! That sacred hour can I forget, Can I forget the hallow'd grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met, To live one day of parting love! Eternity will not efface, Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace! Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! Ayr gurgling kissed his pebbled shore, Still o'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes, My Mary! dear departed shade! Where is thy blissful place of rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid? Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? ELEGY ON THE LATE MISS BURNET, OF MONBODDO. LIFE ne'er exulted in so rich a prize, Thy form and mind, sweet maid, can I forget? In thee, high Heaven above was truest shown, Ye heathy wastes, immix'd with reedy fens; Princes, whose cumb'rous pride was all their worth, We saw thee shine in youth and beauty's pride, Thou left'st us darkling in a world of tears The parent's heart that nestled fond in thee, VERSES ON READING, IN A NEWSPAPER, THE DEATH OF JOHN M'LEOD, ESQ. BROTHER TO A YOUNG lady, A PARTICULAR FRIEND OF THE AUTHOR'S. SAD thy tale, thou idle page, Sweetly deck'd with pearly dew Fair on Isabella's morn The sun propitious smil'd; But, long ere noon, succeeding clouds Fate oft tears the bosom chords And so that heart was wrung, Dread Omnipotence, alone Virtue's blossoms there shall blow, SONNET ON THE DEATH OF ROBERT RIDDEL, ESQ. OF GLEN RIDDEL, APRIL, 1794. No more, ye warblers of the wood, no more, Thou young-eyed Spring, gay in thy verdant stole, More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest roar. How can ye charm, ye flow'rs, with all your dyes? Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend: How can I to the tuneful strain attend? That strain flows round th' untimely tomb where Riddel lies. Yes, pour, ye warblers, pour the notes of wo, Thee, Spring, again with joy shall others greet; Me, mem'ry of my loss will only meet. VERSES ON THE DEATH OF SIR JAMES HUNTER BLAIR. THE lamp of day, with ill-presaging glare, Dim, cloudly, sunk beneath the western wave; Th' inconstant blast howl'd thro' the darkening air, And hollow whistled in the rocky cave. Lone as I wander'd by each cliff and dell, Once the lov'd haunts of Scotia's royal train;* Th' increasing blast roar'd round the beetling rocks, The paly moon rose in the livid east, And 'mong the cliffs disclos'd a stately Form, In weeds of wo that frantic beat her breast, And mix'd her wailings with the raving storm. *The King's Park, at Holyrood-house. St. Anthony's Chapel. |