« 上一頁繼續 »
REPLY TO A LADY,
On her asking the cause of the Author's Melancholy at a Public Garden.
"WHY, when all is gay around
Should the clouds of care be worn?
Which meaner spirits might have fled; I could have gloried in the strife
Which promised union with the dead; Yes, to my heart have pressed the blade
Which lent its brightness to my name, Laughed at the havoc it had made,
Cried, onwards, onwards, to my fame. Oh! to this heart ye once were dear,
Even as its idols ye were cherished, Honor and fame;-an angel pair,
I prized ye, but ye both have perished. Yet had I bid adieu to those,
Though loved; though twined around my heart, I'd torn them thence, and could have rose Smiling-though writhing with the smart.
But 'tis not this which sinks the eye;
No, 'tis not this which swells the breast With such a soul-embittered sigh,
Child of the heart that ne'er can rest.
Bereft of high ambition's meed,
And thou my dearer honour stained,
But that one sweetening drop remained:
With thee I'd braved, aye, even the world,---
And pressing thee, felt not its thorn.
I love!---come death and quench this fire,
And gamed, lived high, and drove his coach and four.
Miss-fortune now contrived his hopes to dash, Caused all his trade and friends to die away, Emptied his shelves of stock, from day to day,
And left him smarting underneath the lash. Valmont passed by his shop a short time since, Not like a tradesman now, but like a prince; Philo was labouring to regain his pelf"How do ye, friend," he cries; "Not know me? how!" "I really have forgot you, Sir, I vow.”
"No wonder, Valmont, you've forgot yourself!"
U. U. L.
*The Author is no more. His death was accelerated by his ill-fated passion.
THE REDBREAST'S VISIT.
A Birth-day Melody, addressed to a young Lady, at the moment of whose birth a Redbreast flew into the chamber and remained there several hours.
TO hail the birth of beauty's flower,
To bless fair Stella's natal hour,
Round cradled beauty's couch were sung
And lays unknown to mortal tongue,
The mission past,---his opening wing 3
Yet shall this ever-welcome day
May every future Birth-day give
On receiving an Eye-shade from "The Lily of the Valley;" HER eyes of soft, ethereal blue
On mine their magic lustre threw,
And quick each throbbing pulse confessed
BURNS THE POET.
The following verses in the hand-writing of Burns, are copied from a bank note, in the possession of Mr. James F. Gracie, of Dumfries: the note is of the Bank of Scotland, and is dated so far back as the first of March, 1780.
WAE worth thy power, thou cursed leaf!
IN letters large---"This House to Let,"
Attracted once a passer-by,
GUTTLE'S god is beef and mutton,
THE lovely tints that dye the west,
FOR THE POCKET MAGAZINE.
METHOUGHT I was straying on the summit of a high romantic mountain, and never before did the works of creation beam on my eyes with such majestic grandeur! Rapt in silent extacy, I could not refrain from crying aloud, Oh, ye lovely scenes! how long shall these eyes gaze on your beauties, or this heart throb in silent adoration! Ye shall still be as fair as you now are, when I, perhaps, shall be pining in the dungeon, or lengthening out a wearisome existence, the sport of adverse fortune, or lingering disease. Could I but see the fate that awaits me, no anticipation of future woes, of uncertain sorrows, would steal from me the bliss of the present hour. Were I but aware of the impending blow, I could, like the traveller who watches the gathering clouds, and marks the rising winds, gather round me my cloak, and brave the impetuous storm. My son!" a voice exclaimed, (I started, and beheld at my side a venerable old man, whose looks inspired me with awe and veneration,) 66 my son, I have overheard thy soliloquy; the headlong ardour of youth mocks the maturity of wisdom; that which to thy creative and deluded mind seems pregnant with bliss, would bring with it woe and misery; the wise, the merciful Creator hath, in the ex
VOL. II. No. III.