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IMITATED FROM OSSIAN.

The stream with languid murmur creeps,

In Lumin's flowery vale: Beneath the dew the Lily weeps

Slow-waving to the gale.

“ Cease, restless gale!” it seems to say,

“Nor wake me with thy sighing! The honours of my vernal day

On rapid wing are flying.

« To-morrow shall the Traveller come

Who late beheld me blooming : His searching eye shall vainly roam

The dreary vale of Lumin."

With eager gaze and wetted cheek

My wonted haunts along, Thus, faithful Maiden! thou shalt seek

The Yonth of simplest song.

But I along the breeze shall roll

The voice of feeble power; And dwell, the Moon-beam of thy soul,

In Slumber's nightly hour.

1794.

THE COMPLAINT OF NINATHOMA.

How long will ye round me be swelling,

, O ye blue-tumbling waves of the sea ? Not always in caves was my dwelling,

Nor beneath the cold blast of the tree.

Through the high-sounding halls of Cathlóma

In the steps of my beauty I strayed ; The warriors beheld Ninathóma,

And they blessed the white-bosomed Maid !

A Ghost! by my cavern it darted !

In moon-beams the Spirit was drest
For lovely appear the departed
When they visit the dreams of

my

rest!

But disturbed by the tempest's commotion

Fleet the shadowy forms of delightAh cease, thou shrill blast of the Ocean!

To howl through my cavern by night.

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TO A YOUNG ASS.

ITS MOTHER BEING TETHERED NEAR IT.

Poor little Foal of an oppressed Race !
I love the languid Patience of thy face :
And oft with gentle hand I give thee bread,
And clap thy ragged Coat, and pat thy head.
But what thy dulled Spirits hath dismayed,
That never thou dost sport along the glade?
And (most unlike the nature of things young)
That earthward still thy moveless head is hung ?
Do thy prophetic Fears anticipate,
Meek Child of Misery! thy future fate?
The starving meal, and all the thousand aches
“Which patient Merit of the unworthy takes ?”
Or is thy sad heart thrilled with filial pain
To see thy wretched Mother's shortened Chain?
And, truly very piteous is her Lot-
Chained to a Log within a narrow spot,
Where the close-eaten Grass is scarcely seen,
While sweet around her waves the tempting

Green.
Poor Ass! thy master should have learnt to show
Pity—best taught by fellowship of Woe!

For much I fear me that He lives like thee,
Half famished in a land of Luxury !
How askingly its footsteps hither bend,
It seems to say, “And have I then one Friend ?”
Innocent Foal! thou poor despised Forlorn!
I hail thee Brother-spite of the fool's scorn!
And fain would take thee with me, in the Dell
Of peace and mild Equality to dwell,
Where Toil shall call the charmer Health his bride,
And Laughter tickle Plenty's ribless side!
How thou wouldst toss thy heels in gamesome play,
And frisk about, as lamb or kitten gay!
Yea! and more musically sweet to me
Thy dissonant harsh bray of joy would be,
Than warbled melodies that soothe to rest
The aching of pale Fashion’s vacant breast !

December, 1794.

TO AN INFANT.

Ah! cease thy tears and sobs, my little Life!
I did but snatch away the unclasped knife :
Some safer toy will soon arrest thine eye,
And to quick laughter change this peevish cry!
Poor stumbler on the rocky coast of woe,
Tutored by pain each source of pain to know !
Alike the foodful fruit and scorching fire
Awake thy eager grasp and young desire;
Alike the Good, the Ill offend thy sight,
And rouse the stormy sense of shrill affright!
Untaught, yet wise ! 'mid all thy brief alarms
Thou closely clingest to thy Mother's arms,
Nestling thy little face in that fond breast
Whose anxious heavings lull thee to thy rest !
Man's breathing Miniature! thou mak’st me sigh-
A Babe art thou—and such a Thing am I!
To anger rapid and as soon appeased,
For trifles mourning and by trifles pleased,
Break Friendship’s mirror with a tetchy blow,
Yet snatch what coals of fire on Pleasure's altar

glow!

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