ΤΟ

OH! had my fate been joined with thine,
As once this pledge appeared a token,
These follies had not then been mine,
For then my peace had not been broken.

To thee these early faults I owe,

To thee, the wise and old reproving: They know my sins, but do not know

"T was thine to break the bonds of loving.

For once my soul, like thine, was pure,
And all its rising fires could smother;
But now thy vows no more endure,
Bestowed by thee upon another.

Perhaps his peace I could destroy,
And spoil the blisses that await him;
Yet let my rival smile in joy,

For thy dear sake I cannot hate him.

Ah! since thy angel form is gone,

My heart no more can rest with any; But what is sought in thee alone, Attempts, alas! to find in many.

Then fare thee well, deceitful maid,

"T were vain and fruitless to regret thee;

Nor Hope, nor Memory yield their aid,
But Pride may teach me to forget thee.

Yet all this giddy waste of years,

This tiresome round of palling pleasures; These varied loves, these matron's fears,

These thoughtless strains to Passion's measures;

If thou wert mine, had all been hushed:
This cheek, now pale from early riot,
With Passion's hectic ne'er had flushed,
But bloomed in calm domestic quiet.

Yes, once the rural scene was sweet,
For nature seemed to smile before thee;

And once my breast abhorred deceit,

For then it beat but to adore thee.

But now I seek for other joys;

To think would drive my soul to madness;
In thoughtless throngs and empty noise
I conquer half my bosom's sadness.

Yet, even in these a thought will steal,
In spite of every vain endeavor;
And fiends might pity what I feel,

To know that thou art lost for ever.

STANZAS.

I WOULD I were a careless child,
Still dwelling in my Highland cave,
Or roaming through the dusky wild,

Or bounding o'er the dark-blue wave;
The cumbrous pomp of Saxon pride

Accords not with the free-born soul, Which loves the mountain's craggy side,

And seeks the rocks where billows roll.

Fortune! take back these cultured lands,
Take back this name of splendid sound;
I hate the touch of servile hands,

I hate the slaves that cringe around.

Place me among the rocks I love,

Which sound to Ocean's wildest roar ;

I ask but this again to rove

Through scenes my youth hath known before.

Few are my years, and yet I feel

The world was ne'er designed for me;

Ah! why do dark'ning shades conceal
The hour when man must cease to be?
Once I beheld a splendid dream,

A visionary scene of bliss:
Truth!-wherefore did thy hated beam
Awake me to a world like this?

I loved but those I loved are gone;

Had friends my early friends are fled; How cheerless feels the heart alone,

When all its former hopes are dead!
Though gay companions o'er the bowl
Dispel awhile the sense of ill;

Though pleasure stirs the maddening soul,
The heart-the heart is lonely still.

How dull! to hear the voice of those

Whom rank or chance, whom wealth or power, Have made, though neither friends nor foes, Associates of the festive hour.

Give me again a faithful few,

In years and feelings still the same, And I will fly the midnight crew, Where boist'rous joy is but a name.

And woman! lovely woman, thou,
My hope, my comforter, my all!
How cold must be my bosom now,
When e'en thy smiles begin to pall'
Without a sigh would I resign

This busy scene of splendid woe,
To make that calm contentment mine,
Which virtue knows, or seems to know.

Fain would I fly the haunts of men-
I seek to shun, not hate mankind;

My breast requires the sullen glen,

Whose gloom may suit a darkened mind.

Oh! that to me the wings were given

Which bear the turtle to her nest!

Then would I cleave the vault of heaven, To flee away, and be at rest.

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