To feel the west wind cool refreshment yield, That comes soft creeping o'er the flowery field And shadow'd waters; in whose bushy side The mountain bees their fragrant treasure hide Murmuring; and sings the lonely thrush conceal'd Then, Ceremony, in thy gilded halls,
When forced and frivolous the themes arise, With bow and smile unmeaning, O! how palls At thee and thine my sense!-how oft it sighs For leisure, wood-lanes, dells, and waterfalls; And feels th' untemper'd heat of sultry skies!
THOU child of Night and Silence, balmy Sleep, Shed thy soft poppies on my aching brow! And charm to rest the thoughts of whence or how Vanish'd that prized Affection, wont to keep Each grief of mine from rankling into woe. Then stern Misfortune from her bended bow Loosed the dire strings;-and Care and anxious Dread
From my cheer'd heart on sullen pinion fled. But now, the spell dissolved, the enchantress gone, Ceaseless those cruel fiends infest my day,
And sunny hours but light them to their prey. Then welcome, midnight shades, when thy wish d boon
May in oblivious dews my eyelids steep,
Thou child of Night and Silence, balmy Sleep!
TO AN OAK BLOWN DOWN BY THE WIND.
THOU who, unmoved, hast heard the whirlwind chide
Full many a winter round thy craggy bed; And, like an earthborn giant, hast outspread Thy hundred arms and heaven's own bolt defied, Now liest along thy native mountain's side Uptorn; yet deem not that I come to shed The idle drops of pity o'er thy head, Or basely to insult thy blasted pride:
No-still 'tis thine, though fallen, imperial Oak! To teach this lesson to the wise and brave, That 'tis much better, overthrown and broke In Freedom's cause, to sink into the grave, Than, in submission to a tyrant's yoke, Like the vile reed, to bow and be a slave.
FRIENDSHIP, LOVE, AND TRUTH.
WHEN Friendship, Love, and Truth abound Among a band of brothers,
The cup of joy goes gaily round→→→→
Each shares the bliss of others: Sweet roses grace the thorny way Along this vale of sorrow;
The flowers that shed their leaves to-day Shall bloom again to morrow;
How grand in age, how fair in youth, Are holy Friendship, Love, and Truth!
On halcyon wings our moments pass, Life's cruel cares beguiling;
Old Time lays down his sithe and glass, In gay good humour smiling:
With ermine beard and forelock gray His reverend front adorning,
He looks like Winter turn'd to May, Night soften'd into morning!
How grand in age, how fair in youth, Are holy Friendship, Love, and Truth!
From those delightful fountains flow Ambrosial rills of pleasure. Can man desire, can heaven bestow A more resplendent treasure? Adorn'd with gems so richly bright, We'll form a constellation, Where every star, with modest light, Shall gild his proper station.
How grand in age, how fair in youth, Are holy Friendship, Love, and Truth!
SIR RALPH THE ROVER.
No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, The ship was still as she might be; Her sails from heaven received no motion- Her keel was steady in the ocean.
Without either sign, or sound of their shock, The waves flow'd over the Inchcape Rock; So little they rose, so little they fell, They did not move the Inchcape Bell.
The abbot of Aberbrothok
Had floated that bell on the Inchcape Rock; On the waves of the storm it floated and swung And louder and louder it warning rung.
When the rock was hid by the tempest's swell, The mariners heard the warning bell; And then they knew the perilous Rock, And bless'd the priest of Aberbrothok.
The sun in heaven shone so gay- All things were joyful on that day:
The seabirds scream'd as they sported round, And there was pleasure in their sound.
The float of the Inchcape Bell was seen, A darker speck on the ocean green; Sir Ralph the Rover walk'd his deck, And he fix'd his eye on the darker speck.
He felt the cheering power of spring, It made him whistle, it made him sing; His heart was mirthful to excess- But the Rover's mirth was wickedness.
His eye was on the bell and float- Quoth he, my men, put out the boat, And row me to the Inchcape Rock, And I'll plague the priest of Aberbrothok.
The boat is lower'd, the boatmen row, And to the Inchcape Rock they go; Sir Ralph bent over from the boat,
And cut the warning bell from the float.
Down sunk the bell with a gurgling sound;
The bubbles rose, and burst aground.
Quoth Sir Ralph, the next who comes to the Rock Will not bless the priest of Aberbrothok.
Sir Ralph the Rover sail'd away;
He scour'd the seas for many a day;
And now, grown rich with plunder'd store, He steers his course to Scotland's shore.
So thick haze o'erspreads the sky, They could not see the sun on high; The wind hath blown a gale all day; At evening it hath died away.
On the deck the Rover takes his stand; So dark it is, they see no land;
Quoth Sir Ralph, it will be lighter soon, For there is the dawn of the rising moon.
Canst hear, said one, the breakers roar? For yonder, methinks, should be the shore. Now where we are I cannot tell,
But I wish we could hear the Inchcape Bell.
They hear no sound, the swell is strong, Though the wind hath fallen they drift along, Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shockOh Christ! it is the Inchcape Rock!
Sir Ralph the Rover tore his hair; He cursed himself in his despair; The waves rush in on every side, The ship is sinking beneath the tide.
But even in his dying fear
One dreadful sound he seem'd to hear; A sound as if with the Inchcape Bell The devil below was ringing his knell.
Oн when I was a tiny boy My days and nights were full of joy, My mates were blithe and kind!" No wonder that I sometimes sigh, And dash the tear-drop from my eye, To cast a look behind!
A hoop was an eternal round Of pleasure. In those days I found
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