And Thou! who from the orient day What waits thee ?-not the approving smile Despair! I see the phantom rove, Farewell, sweet Maiden! to thy tomb And oft, as Fancy points thy bier, Nor shall the thought of Thee depart, EDINBURGH. LINES On leaving Neyland, the residence of the Rev. W. Jones, (The Author returning to London.) A GRATEFUL pilgrim's fond adieu, O thou, whose varied virtues blend, The sole nepenthe of the mind! In vain a different scene I know Demands me; and prepar'd I go, Me so may some congenial soil ST. JOHN'S COLL. OXON. T. P. STANZAS WRITTEN IN THE SPRING. RETURNING Spring, with gladsome ray, It smiles, but yet, alas, I weep! When Fate such precious boons hath lent; The lives of those who life endear, And tho' scarce competence-content. Sure when no other bliss was mine, But that which still kind Heav'n bestows; Yet then could Peace and Hope combine, To promise joy, and give repose: Then have I wander'd thro' the plain, And bless'd each flower that met my view Thought Fancy's power would ever reign, And Nature's charms be ever new. I fondly thought where Virtue dwelt That those who scorn'd me Time would melt, ་ Enchanting dreams! kind was your art, "Twas sadness sweeter far than joy. Ah! whence the change, that now alarms, She paints the scene, how different far, From that which youthful Fancy drew; Shows Joy and Prudence oft at war, Our woes increas'd, our comforts few; See in her train cold Foresight move, Shunning the rose to 'scape the thorn, And Prudence every fear approve, And Pity harden into scorn. The glowing tints of Fancy fade, Life's distant prospects charm no more. Alas! are all my hopes betray'd? Ah! what can now my bliss restore? Relentless pow'r! at length be just, Thy better skill alone impart ; Give caution-but withhold distrust, And guard-but harden not my heart. THE TEAR. TO MISS GEDDES. I TALK'D of the woes of the days that are past- How the May-morn of life was with storm overcast, Of hardships and dangers, and many a wrong, Of Treachery's snare, and Ingratitude's tongue Ah! soft form of Beauty that gladdens the soul! When thy bright-beaming eyes with benignity roll, When dark roll the clouds that o'ershadow our doom, When toils, and when dangers appear, When the storm-threat'ning waves all their terrors assume, Then the sun-beam of Hope that can break thro' the gloom, O Beauty! must shine thro' a tear. |