Farewell. The much-lov'd tow'r, that overlooks thy stream, And the fair halls may list the owlet's scream, A home and refuge the hill-fox may know, Perhaps ev'n more than now-for dark distress Hath been no beacon to me; nor the less That the thorn pricked me. But enough of thisWhate'er my joys, my passions, or my woes, Glenlara, in my breast no conquering rival knows. And oh! that I could all thy beauties tell, Than him whose wilding lyrę awakes these lowly lays. Alas! the hand is cold and bloodless now, That erst could sweep with fire a thrilling string, And gone the minstrel, whose seraphic flow Of music it's sweet warbling notes did fling On the lone ear, while winds were listening, And ruin'd tower, and tree, and cavern riv'n, Seem'd sooth'd, by the strange cadence whisperingInspir'd M'Niel !* has sought his native heav'n! A gift how dear! but ah, how seldom giv'n! * Hector M'Niel, Esq. Author of Will and Jean, &c. The Patriot. Farewell Glenlara! yet, again farewell, 11th February, 1819. X. Y. Z. THE PATRIOT. On the field of the brave where the patriot has bled, The shades of the valiant are fled to afar, Hope brightens his visage, and watches his eye, who would not flee to the fields of the brave, Yes, years yet unnumbered shall cherish his fame, Till the cloud of eternity veils from the sight, 10th March, 1819. SCOTUS. Song EPITAPH In the Naval burying ground, Lemon-Valley, St. Helena, over the grave of the Carpenter of H. M. S. Bucephalus, who died 6th June, 1816. What though on this sequestered dell No genial flower is seen to bloom, That tolls a requiem o'er the tomb? What though no church 'mid scenes so drear, Diffuses holy influence round? The ashes of the just lie here, And consecrate the hallowed ground. W. B SONG. TUNE-"Yon Burn-side." TO MARCUS. Sin' Fortune seems to smile on thee, my ain dear Frien', Or allow sweet Hope to dwine, Whan I ken your best-wal'd wish is mine, my ain dear Frien'. Whan ithers seek the busy thrang, my ain dear Frien', We spen' the harmless hour, An' laugh at fickle Fortune's lour, my ain dear Frien'. The fause delight the wanton feels, my ain dear Frien'; Are wisdom's happier choice, An' discontent gi'ęs nae annoys, my ain dear Frien'. The sick'nin' pleasures o' the bowl, my ain dear Frien', Abuses Nature's lot, Nor kens the sweets in Frien'ship got, my ain dear Frien Song. The lover's happy wi' his lass, my ain dear Frien', Like the raptures o' the mind, In mutual Frien'ship firmly join'd, my ain dear Frien'. Then let our souls in ane unite, my ain dear Frien', And ever will remain, Till death hath burst the tender chain, my ain dear Frien BEANSBURN, 1819. ROSCIUS. Extracts from New Publications. Extracts from "Poems and Songs by the late Richard Gall. -Edin 1819. pp. 168. price 7s. 6d. In the course of last month a small volume of "Poems and Songs by the late Richard Gall," has been given to the world -This we consider an act of justice to the memory of departed genius, that thus the public may award the tribute of their admiration no longer to an unknown name. Some of his songs have been long known to us, and have obtained "a name and a remembrance" in the records of our Scottish minstrelsy, We need only mention " My only joe and dearie, O," an exquisite production, adapted to one of our finest airs; and "Farewell to Ayrshire," which has been generally ascribed to Burns. We open the volume at random and present our readers with two very fine Songs. SONG. As I came through Glendochart vale, Whare mists o'ertap the mountain gray, A wee bit lassie met my view, As cantily she held her way: But O sic love each feature bore, She made my saul wi' rapture glow! Hazlewood witch. An' aye she spak sae kind an' sweet, She's stown my thoughtless heart awa'. An' sweet the twinkle o' her een; Aboon her brow sae bonny brent, Her raven locks waved o'er her e'e, An' ilka slee bewitching glance Convey'd a dart o' love to me. O speak na o' your courtly queens, &c The lasses fair in Scotia's isle, Their beauties a' what tongue can tell? But o'er the fairest o' them a' My wee bit lassie bears the bell. O had I never mark'd her smile, Or seen the twinkle o' her e'e, It might na been my lot the day, A waefu' lade o' care to dree. O speak na o' your courtly queens, &c THE HAZLEWOOD WITCH. For mony lang year I hae heard frae my grannie, For I met a young witch, wi',twa bonny black een. I thought o' the starns in a frosty night glancing, Whan I wad hae spoken she glamoured my mou'. The Hazlewood witch wi' the bonny black een. |