the daughters of men!-Down, immediately, should go fools from the high places where misbegotten chance has perked them up, and through life should they skulk, ever haunted by their native insignificance, as the body marches accompanied by its shadow.-As for a much more formidable class, the knaves, I am at a loss what to do with them: had I a world, there should not be a knave in it. But the hand that could give, I would liberally fill; and I would pour delight on the heart that could kindly forgive and generously love. Still the inequalities of life are, among men, comparatively tolerable-but there is a delicacy a tenderness, accompanying every view in which we can place lovely Woman, that are grated and shocked at the rude, capricious distinctions of fortune. Woman is the blood-royal of life: let there be slight degrees of precedency among them-but let them be ALL sacred.-Whether this last sentiment be right or wrong, I am not accountable; it is an original component feature of my mind. No.. No. CXXVII. To MRS. DUNLOP. Ellisland, 17th December, 1791. MANY thanks to you, Madam, for your good news respecting the little floweret and the mother-plant. I hope my poetic prayers have been heard, and will be answered up to the warmest sincerity of their fullest, extent; and then Mrs. Henri will find her little darling the representative of his late parent, in every thing but his abridged existence. I have just finished the following song, which, to a lady the descendant of Wallace, and many heroes of his truly illustrious line, and herself the mother of several soldiers, needs neither preface nor apology. Scene Scene-A Field of Battle-Time of the Day, Evening— the wounded and dying of the victorious Army are supposed to join in the following SONG OF DEATH. Farewell thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies, Farewell, loves and friendships; ye dear, tender ties, Thou grim king of terrors, thou life's gloomy foe, Go, teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know, Thou strik'st the poor peasant-he sinks in the dark, Thou strik'st the young hero-a glorious mark! In the field of proud honour-our swords in our hands, Our king and our country to save— While victory shines on life's last ebbing sands O, who would not die with the brave! gave rise to the fore The circumstance that going verses, was looking over, with a musical friend, M'Donald's collection of Highland airs, I was struck with one, an Isle of Skye tune, entitled VOL. II. CC entitled Oran an Aoig, or, The Song of Death, to the measure of which I have adapted my stanzas. I have of late composed two or three other little pieces, which, ere yon full-orbed moon, whose broad impudent face now stares at old mother earth all night, shall have shrunk into a modest crescent, just peeping forth at dewy dawn, I shall find an hour to transcribe for you. A Dieu je vous commende! No. No. CXXVIII. To MRS. DUNLOP. 5th January, 1792. You ou see my hurried life, Madam; I can only command starts of time: however, I am glad of one thing; since I finished the other sheet, the political blast that threatened my welfare is overblown. I have corresponded with Commissioner Graham, for the Board had made me the subject of their animadversions; and now I have the pleasure of informing you, that all is set to rights in that quarter. Now as to these informers may the devil be let loose to but hold! I was praying most fervently in my last sheet, and I must not so soon fall a swearing in this. Alas! how little do the wantonly or idly officious think what mischief they do by their malicious insinuations, indirect impertinence, or thoughtless blabbings! What a difference there is in intrinsic worth, candour, benevolence, CC 2 |