Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,
Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed here.
Could time, his flight reversed, restore the hours, When playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, The violet, the pink, and jessamine,
I pricked them into paper with a pin,
(And thou wast happier than myself the while,
Would softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile,)
Could those few pleasant hours again appear,
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here ?
I would not trust my heart-the dear delight
Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.
But no-what here we call our life is such,
So little to be loved, and thou so much,
That I should ill requite thee to constrain
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.
Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast
(The storms all weathered and the ocean cros
rossed)
Shoots into port at some well-havened isle,
Where spices breathe and brighter seasons smile;
There sits quiescent on the floods, that show
Her beauteous form reflected clear below,
While airs impregnated with incense play
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay;
So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the shore,
Where tempests never beat nor billows roar ;'
And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide
Of life long since has anchored at thy side.
But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,
Always from port withheld, always distressed-
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed,
Sails ript, seams opening wide, aud compass lost;.
And day by day some current's thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.
But oh the thought, that thou art safe, and he!
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.
My boast is not, that I deduce my birth
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth;
But higher far my proud pretensions rise—
The son of parents passed into the skies.
And now, farewell-Time unrevoked has run
His wonted course, yet what I wished is done,
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again;
To have renewed the joys that once were mine,.
Without the sin of violating thine ;
And, while the wings of fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic show of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft-
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.
Yes, thou art changed since first we met,
But think not I shall e'er regret,
Though never can my heart forget
The charms that once were thine: For, Marian, well the cause I know
That stole the lustre from thine eye, That proved thy beauty's secret foe,
And bade thy bloom and spirits fly:What laid thy health, my Marian, low, Was, anxious care of mine.
O'er my sick couch I saw thee bend,
The duteous wife, the tender friend,
And each capricious wish attend
With soft incessant care.
Then, trust me, love! that pallid face
Can boast a sweeter charm for me,
A truer, tenderer, dearer grace
Than blooming health bestowed on thee;
For these thy well-timed love I see,
And read my blessings there.
Occasioned by visiting the City and Ruins of St Andrew's.
In ancient time, near the wide ocean-strand,
A city lay, in sculptured rich attire,
Far shadowed out upon the golden sand ;-
Her rock-built castle, and cathedral spire-
Her holy monastery, where grey-haired friar
And saintly nun, to penitence and prayer
Would in the fervour of their faith retire-
Her cloistered courts, for learning to repair,
Might shew how kingly strength and wisdom flourished
there.
No consecrated groves, or rivers bright,
No lovely vallies circled it around;
But cliffs on which the eagle would alight,
And hollow caverns stretching under ground,
Within whose labyrinths of gloom profound
The water-snakes, and sea-birds dragged their prey,
Or lonely hermits secret refuge found;
Whilst far along the rocky cape there lay,
With vessels anchored deep, a wild and troubled bay.
Her stately gates beneath their arches sweep
With silver keys, in twilight's failing hour
Were peaceful closed: upon its rocky steep,
Majestically firm, her castle tower
Bore Scotland's banner, and the badge of power
Her country's cross, Saint Andrew's, there installed;
To such rank pageants then would nations cower,
Nor dream that like Jerusalem enthralled,
Their citied strength would be-so suddenly unwalled.
Then on those battlements the sun arose,
Darting its rays as from a fiery shield,
Whose blaze appalled the fiercest of their foes;
For won by blood in many a battle field,
Monarchs would there the sword and sceptre wield,
Whilst holier men, for Jesus' sake divine,
Their wretched lives in sacrifice would yield-
And clad in armour, leave their Saviour's shrine,
To tread the holy dust, and fall in Palestine.
Through the cathedral's aisle, and vaulted dome,
Then solemn orisons and anthems rung;
Above the altar, waving rich perfume
Over its golden tablet, censers swung,
And the tall tapers burning dimly flung,
A mystic light from out the sanctuary,
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