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LINE S

WRITTEN ON

VISITING A SCENE IN ARGYLESHIRE.

Ar the silence of twilight's contemplative hour,

I have mus'd in a sorrowful mood,

On the wind-shaken weeds that embosom the bower, Where the home of my forefathers stood.

All ruin'd and wild is their roofless abode,

And lonely the dark raven's sheltering tree;

And travell❜d by few is the grass-cover'd road,
Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trode

To his hills that encircle the sea.

Yet, wand'ring, I found on my ruinous walk,
By the dial-stone aged and green,

One rose of the wilderness left on its stalk,

To mark where a garden had been:

Like a brotherless hermit, the last of its race,

All wild in the silence of Nature it drew

From each wandering sunbeam a lonely embrace;

For the night-weed and thorn overshadow'd the place, Where the flow'r of my forefathers grew.

Sweet bud of the wilderness! emblem of all
That remains in this desolate heart!

The fabric of bliss to its centre may fall;

But patience shall never depart!

Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal and bright, In the days of delusion by fancy combin'd,

With the vanishing phantoms of love and delight, Abandon my soul like a dream of the night,

And leave but a desart behind....

Be hush'd my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns
When the faint and the feeble deplore:

Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems

A thousand wild waves on the shore!

Through the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdain,
May thy front be unalter'd, thy courage elate!
Yea! even the name I have worshipp'd in vain
Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again;

To bear is to conquer our fate.

ODE TO WINTER.

WHEN first the fiery-mantled sun

His heavenly race began to run,

Round the earth and ocean blue

His children four the Seasons flew:

First, in green apparel dancing,

The young Spring smiled with angel grace;

Rosy Summer, next advancing,

Rush'd into her sire's embrace:

Her bright-hair'd sire, who bade her keep

For ever nearest to his smiles,

On Calpe's olive-shaded steep,

Or India's citron-cover'd isles.

More remote, and buxom brown,

The Queen of vintage bow'd before his throne;

A rich pomegranate gemm'd her crown,

A ripe sheaf bound her zone.

But howling Winter fled afar

To hills that prop the polar star;
And loves on deer-born car to ride,
With barren darkness at his side,

Round the shore where loud Lofoden
Whirls to death the roaring whale,

Round the hall where Runic Odin

Howls his war-song to the galeSave when adown the ravag'd globe

He travels on his native storm,

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