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With een of bonny blue,
Should for thy favour sue,
Though blooming, fresh and fair,
For thorns, sharp thorns, are there!
Once loved poor lowland Jane,
But, ah! the faithless swain,
Thongh blooming, fresh and fair,
And thorns, sharp thorns, are there!
Though smiling is the boy,
You'll find each promised joy,
Though blooming, fresh aud fair,
'Tis for no feeble purpose their strong blast is blown, In tinselled parade, they care not to glisten .
To conquer or die, is the motto they own.
Full oft have their tartans in battle front waved; 'Twas “Scotland for ever !'' at Waterloo shouted, That ended the strife and the nations were saved.
CHARLOTTE T. S. V.' * Slogan. The war tune of the Highlanders.
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That glides along in swift decay!
But image of an autumn day!
His dawning life is scarce discerned;
His age, but sorrows hardly earned ?
Leaves hope there's yet a golden day; But Sol remains in clouds immured,
And scarce vouchsafes one cheering ray. And if the radiant god appear,
And gild with smiles the rising morn; Evening steals on, both dank and drear,
And night swift follows-dark, forlorn. So if in manhood's riper day,
Our sun should shine with lustre bright, Declining years obscure its ray,
And age leaves nought but darksome night. And is life but a fleeting shade?
And man but like an Autumn day? Man, that's so fair, so wondrous made,
Born but to blossom and decay? O no! a better hope we have!
When Autumn's gone, and Winter past, A Spring of life shall cheer the grave,
And man, immortal, rise at last. No mist shall then his morn obscure,
No clouded sun withhold its ray, No evening dank, no night endure,
But his, one bright eternal day. A. T.
Listen and you shall know:
Of artless, blooming childhood strays;
That charms the mother's tender gaze? 'Tis the bright sun of April's morn,
That rises with unsullied ray:
To wrap in shades the future day!
That mingles with a tender sigh: Light spreads the timid blush the while,
And sweetly sinks the melting eye? "Tis the bright dew-drop on the rose,
Sweet remnant of the early shower, That will its ripened leaves unclose,
And to full fragrance spread the Hower! What is that Smile-whose rapturous glow
Passion's impetuous breath inspires, Whilst Pleasure's gaudy blossoms blow,
And the eye beams with guilty fires ? 'Tis the volcano's baleful blaze,
That pours around a fatal light; Whose victim dies, that stops to gaze;
Whence safety is but found in flight!
That dawns upon the lips of wo;
And stays the tear that starts to flow? 'Tis but a veil cast o'er the beart, .
When youth's gay dreams have passed away; When joy’s faint lingering rays depart,
And the last gleams of hope decay! What is that bright, that fearful Smile,
Quick flashing o'er the brow of care, When fades each fruit of mental toil,
And nought remains to check despair ?
'Tis the wild lurid lightning's gleam,
Swift bursting from a stormy cloud; That spreads a bright destructive beam,
Then sinks into its sable shroud!
On the hoar brow of reverend age,
And nearly closed life's varied page? 'Tis the rich glowing western beam,
Bright spreading o'er the darkening skies ; That shews, by its mild parting gleam,
A cloudless, heavenly morn shall rise!
THE INQUIETUDE OF MAN. THE sun is sinking in the west,
The groves the evening zephyrs fan,
And all is calm but Man.
His longest life is but a span,
For never calm is Man.
To make him blest on reason's plan,
Still never calm is Man,
TO THE MOON. OH, lovely Goddess of the night,
As oft in pensive mood I stray
I hate the glare of day.
When thou shed'st wide thy softening ray
More pleasing far than day.
Let me my grateful homage pay,
The night as well as day. . J. R.
TO LAURA. SWEET Babe! as yet the sombre clouds of night Enwrap thy infant mind in deepest gloom; Anon shall break the morn of reason's light, And, slow advancing, every sense illume, Till all its sunlike empire it assume; Chasing old custom's cloud before its ray, Gilding the inner darkness of the tomb, Throwing o'er earthly things so bright a day, The soul shall feel their worth-and sigh to be away.
As the lone prisoner within his cell Sighs for the coming of the morning hour, Within its cell of clay the soul doth dwell, And pants to escape from its benumbing power. As sunbeams glancing thwart the captive's tower, Cheer with their light the wo-fraught heart within, So when on earth the clouds of sorrow lower, Reason's pure light unfolds a lovelier scene, Where sighs are never heard, where tears are never seen.
W. T. B.
Can a face of such loveliness countenance sin !---
And dire are the passions that rankle within! 'Tis the curse of creation :---for now as I strayed
To the vase where my favourite ranunculus stood, Lo! entwined round its root a young serpent was laid,
And the pride of my garden was seized for its food. When the parent-tree withers in summer's warm light,
How the green generation partake the decay! Though their fruit and their foliage be blushing and
bright, On a sudden they languish and fade fast away. Thus if virtue decline in the glebe of the heart,
Every blossom of purity perisheth too: For 'tis virtue alone can those rich blooms impart, * Which delight with their sweetness, and charm with their hue!