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How poor is life, of love bereav'd!
If what we wish be but believ'd,
O, let us still be undeceivM

to Woman i—

Still, for the soul-seducing eyes!
Still, for the heart's spontaneous sighs!
The magic of the mind, that lies

in Woman.

Avaunt complaint, if charms like these
Through Youth's delightful circle please,
Though Sickness prey, or Age should seize

the Woman!

Scarcely our vernal transports past,
Pleasure's fair dawn is overcast;
Those transports, why expect to last _

in Woman i

Earth's direst plagues alight on them
Who yet arraign our Parent stem,
In Adam who the love condemn

of Woman!

Victims of misanthropic woe,

Be their's in no kind hour to know

All the dear charities that flow

• from Woman.

Around their knees no children cling, Renew'd in Age life's blooming Spring; Nor to their arms, on Love's soft wing,

haste Woman.

Long on the bed of anguish laid,
Nature's worn pulse at last decay'd,
There, may they mourn the needed aid

of Woman:

Ah, then—that bitter scene to chear,
Be no bright consolation near,
There, never drop the soothing tear

of Woman!

Such be through life his bosom's smart,
And so, unwept, from life depart
The wretch who cannot find a heart

for Woman.



Saw you the Sun obscur'd at noon, Burst through the mist, and fiercer blaze?

Saw you at eve the clouded Moon

Shine out, and shed soul-soothing rays?

Oh ! thus shall Truth's eternal beam

Consume foul Falsehood's venom'd shroud!

Thus, thus shall lovely Virtue gleam
Thro' Calumny's malignant cloud!


On the Most Noble Douglas Hamilton Douglas *, Duke of Hamilton and Brandon, 8fC. SfC. fyc.


Here lies reposed, beneath this sculptured stone,
All that remains of Princely Hamilton!
All that remains of Beauty, Strength, and Health,
Graced by high lineage, and the gifts of wealth.

Exulting Nature, when the Child was born,
Lavished her stores, the favourite to adorn,
And as the beauteous boy to Manhood sprung,
Knit every joint, and every sinew strung:
Gave grace to motion, to exertion ease,
A mien unrivalled, and a power to please.

She crowned him with Perception's brightest beam,
She bathed his heart in Friendship's sacred stream,
O'er his fine form her radiant mantle threw,
And with his strength her choicest talents grew.
Oh! gifts neglected, talents misapplied,
Favours contemned, and fortune unenjoyed—

* His Grace was born on the 24th of July, 1756, and died on t h» 1st of August, 1799.

t Author of the Ode to the Right Hon. H. Dundas, Grouse Shooting in the Highlands, after retiring from office in 1801. Poetical Register for 1801. Page 354. This Epitaph has been erroneously ascribed to other hands.

At this sad shrine the serious man may find
A striking moral to engage his mind,
And the rash Youth, who runs his wild career,
May tremble at the lesson taught him here,
While baffled Nature kneels desponding by,
And hails the shade of Douglas, with a sigh.—





While heaving billows rock that aching head,
And frequent squalls thy troubled slumbers rend:

Is not thy spirit in fond visions led
To the lone cottage, and the distant friend?

Safe from the tempest, and the whelming tide,
That shelter'd cottage stands securely low;

There Ease, and Liberty, and Peace reside,

And tranquil pleasures round spontaneous grow,

Ah! dost thou ne'er regret past happy days,
Nor give one sigh to this receding shore?

Ah! dost thou never say, in Pindar's lays,

"Those silver sands of Time shall glide no more?''


Here, safe from storms, thy tender friend is cast,
Her quiet state, from cares, from tumults free—

Save, when as now—deep howls the angry blast,
Her anxious bosom beats with fears for thee.

Then Fancy paints the frowning sky all dark,
The tempest howling thro' each tatter'd sail,

Th' exhausted mariner, the shatter'd bark,
Driven by the fury of the merc'less gale.

Methinks I hear the shrieks of deep despair,

And 'midst loud thunders crackling timbers fall,

And view thee, stedfast still, the danger dare,
Assist the weak—chear and encourage all.

But hence, dire images of wat'ry graves,

Haunt not my visions, nor my soul affright;

Paint me, sweet Fancy, clear transparent waves,
And India sun-shine ever glowing bright.

Oh! far be danger from my wand'ring friend,
With prosp'rous gales be still his canvas fraught;

His health, his safety, I to Heav'n commend,
"In all the tender luxury of thought."




Whoe'er thou art, thy master see!
He was, or is, or is to be.


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