LAMENT FOR JAMES, EARL OF GLENCAIRN. And thou, my last, best, only friend, That fillest an untimely tomb, Accept this tribute from the bard Thou brought from Fortune's mirkest gloom. "In Poverty's low barren vale, Thick mists obscure involve me round; "Oh! why has worth so short a date, "The bridegroom may forget the bride The monarch may forget the crown The mother may forget the child, That smiles sae sweetly on her knee; But I'll remember thee, Glencairn, And a' that thou hast done for me!" BURNS. R 137 The Mother. SHE had her children too; for Charity Each under other by degrees they grew, In numbering o'er his future Roman race, came. Nor Cybele, with half so kind an eye, Proud, shall I say, of her immortal fruit? The babe had all that infant care beguiles, The tender age was pliant to command; It turn'd to habit; and, from vices free, Goodness resolved into necessity. DRYDEN. [From "Eleonora."] On Shakespeare. HAT needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid Under a starry-pointing pyramid? Dear son of Memory, great heir of Fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a live-long monument. For whilst to the shame of slow-endeavouring art Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book Then thou our fancy of itself bereaving, MILTON. Soon as the radiance melts away, We scarce believe it shone! And we wish they ne'er may fade ;— Where music never play'd! Dreams follow dreams, through the long night-hours, Each lovelier than the last; But, ere the breath of morning-flowers, That gorgeous world flies past; And many a sweet angelic cheek, Whose smiles of love and fondness speak, Glides by us on this earth; While in a day we cannot tell Where shone the face we loved so well, In sadness, or in mirth! PROFESSOR WILSON. |