"However, you still keep your eyes; "This is a shocking story, 'faith; 95 Yet there's some comfort still," says Death: "Each strives your sadness to amuse : 100 "There's none," cries he; "and if there were, I'm grown so deaf, I could not hear." "Nay then," the spectre stern rejoin'd, "These are unjustifiable yearnings: If you are Lame, and Deaf, and Blind, He said, and touch'd him with his dart;— 105 110 PIOZZI. LAMENT OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. Now Nature hangs her mantle green On every blooming tree, And spreads her sheets o' daisies white Now Phoebus cheers the crystal streams, And glads the azure skies; But naught can glad the weary wight That fast in durance lies. Now lav'rocks wake the merry morn, Aloft on dewy wing; The merle, in his noontide bower, Makes woodland echoes ring; Now blooms the lily by the bank, May rove their sweets amang; Maun lie in prison strang. I was the Queen o' bonnie France, Fu' lightly raise I in the morn, As blithe lay down at e'en: And I'm the sov'reign of Scotland, And never-ending care. But as for thee, thou false woman, larks 10 bluckbird thrush 15 brow sloe 20 among must strong Grim vengeance, yet, shall whet a sword Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of woe drops Frae woman's pitying e'e. from eyes 40 My son! my son! may kinder stars And may those pleasures gild thy reign, God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, Or turn their hearts to thee: would look 45 And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend, O! soon, to me, may summer-suns Nae mair to me the autumn winds Wave o'er the yellow corn! And in the narrow house o' death Let winter round me rave; And the next flowers that deck the spring, 55 BURNS. THE HERMIT. FAR in a wild, unknown to public view, A life so sacred, such serene repose, 5 10 His hopes no more a certain prospect boast, So, when a smooth expanse receives imprest Swift ruffling circles curl on every side, And glimmering fragments of a broken sun, To clear this doubt, to know the world by sight, 20 25 30 The morn was wasted in the pathless grass, And long and lonesome was the wild to pass; But when the southern sun had warm'd the day, A youth came posting o'er a crossing way; His raiment decent, his complexion fair, And soft in graceful ringlets waved his hair. Then near approaching, "Father, hail!” he cried ; 35 And, "Hail, my son !" the reverend Sire replied: Words follow'd words, from question answer flow'd, And talk of various kind deceived the road, Till with each other pleased, and loath to part, While in their age they differ, join in heart: Thus stands an aged elm in ivy bound, Thus youthful ivy clasps an elm around. 40 Now sunk the sun; the closing hour of day Came onward, mantled o'er with sober grey; Nature in silence bade the world repose; When near the road a stately palace rose: 45 There by the moon through ranks of trees they pass, Still made his house the wandering stranger's home:50 Then, led to rest, the day's long toil they drown, At length 't is morn, and at the dawn of day, 55 Along the wide canals the zephyrs play: And shake the neighbouring wood to banish sleep. Up rise the guests, obedient to the call; 60 An early banquet deck'd the splendid hall; 65 Then, pleased and thankful, from the porch they go; The younger guest purloin'd the glittering prize. 70 Then walks with faintness on, and looks with fear; |