OSSIAN'S HYMN TO THE SUN. O thou whose beams the sea-girt earth array, O sun! what fountain, hid from human eyes, When gloomy darkness to thy reign resigns, And from the gates of morn thy glory shines, The conscious stars are put to sudden flight, And all the planets hide their heads in night; The Queen of heaven forsakes the etherial plain, To sink inglorious in the western main; The clouds refulgent deck thy golden throne, High in the heavens, immortal and alone! Who can abide the brightness of thy face, Or who attend thee in thy rapid race? The mountain oaks, like their own leaves, decay; Themselves, the mountains, wear with age away; The boundless main that rolls from land to land, Thy light eternal, and unspent thy flame! When tempests with their train impend on high, Darken the day, and load the labouring sky; When heaven's wide convex glows with lightnings dire, All ether flaming, and all earth on fire; When loud and long the deep-mouthed thunder rolls, Logan. COMFORT IN AFFLICTION. Oh! thou who dry'st the mourner's tear, How dark this world would be, If, when deceived and wounded here, We could not fly to thee! The friends who in our sunshine live, And he who has but tears to give, But thou wilt heal that broken heart, Their fragrance from the wounded part, When joy no longer soothes or cheers, A moment's sparkle o'er our tears, Is dimned and vanished too! Oh who would bear life's stormy doom, Did not thy wing of love Come brightly wafting through the gloom, One peace-branch from above? Then sorrow, touched by thee, grows bright With more that rapture's ray; As darkness shows us worlds of light We never saw by day. Moore. FORGET ME NOT. I culled each floweret for my fair, She said the posy pleased her well. We roamed the mead, we climbed the hill, She said she loved the sylvan bower, Her last words were, Forget me not.' Anon. THE OLD CUMBERLAND BEGGAR. I saw an aged beggar in my walk, And he was seated by the high-way side, Built at the foot of a huge hill, that they Who lead their horses down the steep rough road May thence remount at ease. The aged man Had placed his staff across the broad smooth stone That overlays the pile, and from a bag All white with flour, the dole of village dames, He drew his scraps and fragments, one by one, And scanned them with a fixed and serious look Upon the second step of that small pile, |