When winds the mountain oak assail, And lay its glories waste, Content may slumber in the vale, Thro' scenes of tumult while we roam, It hopes in time to roam no more; Ye proud, ye selfish, ye severe, The good alone have joy sincere, Great, when, amid the vale of peace, TO LADY CHARLOTTE GORDON. 117 TO THE RIGHT HON. LADY CHARLOTTE GORDON, DRESSED IN A TARTAN SCOTCH BONNET, WITH PLUMES, &C. WHY, Lady, wilt thou bind thy lovely brow With the dread semblance of that warlike helm, That nodding plume, and wreath of various glow, That grac'd the chiefs of Scotia's ancient realm? Thou knowest that virtue is of power the source, We own their empire, while we feel their force, The plumy helmet, and the martial mien, THE HERMIT. AT the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, "Ah! why, all abandon'd to darkness and wo, "Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall? "For Spring shall return, and a lover bestow, "And Sorrow no longer thy bosom inthral. "But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay, "Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn; "O soothe him, whose pleasures like thine pass away: "Full quickly they pass-but they never return. "Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky, "The Moon half extinguish'd her crescent displays : "But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high "She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. "Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue "The path that conducts thee to splendor again. "But Man's faded glory what change shall renew! "Ah fool! to exult in a glory so vain! ""Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more; "I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; "For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, "Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew. "Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn; "Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save. "But when shall Spring visit the mouldering urn! “O when shall it dawn on the night of the grave !" 'Twas thus, by the glare of false Science betray'd, That leads, to bewilder; and dazzles, to blind : My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade, 'Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. "O pity, great Father of light," then I cry'd, "Thy creature who fain would not wander from Thee; "Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride: "From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free." • And darkness and doubt are now flying away. 'No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn. So breaks on the traveller, faint, and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. • See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending, And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! • On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending, ' And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.' |