That thro' thy soul shall gae;

The weeping blood in woman's breast
Was never known to thee;

Nor th' balm that draps on wounds of wo
Frae woman's pitying e'e.

My son! my son! may kinder stars
Upon thy fortune shine;

And may those pleasures gild thy reign,
That ne'er wad blink on mine!

God keep thee frae thy mother's faes,
Or turn their hearts to thee;

And where thou meet'st thy mother's friend,
Remember him for me!

O! soon, to me, may summer-suns
Nae mair light up the morn!
Nae mair, to me, the autumn winds
Wave o'er the yellow corn!
And, in the narrow house o' death,
Let winter round me rave!

And the next flowers that deck the spring,
Bloom on my peaceful grave!

THE LAMENT,

OCCASIONED BY THE UNFORtunate issue C T A FRIEND'S

AMOUR.

Alas! how oft does Goodness wound itself,
And sweet Affection prove the spring of wo.
HOME.

1.

O THOU pale orb, that silent shines,
While care-untroubled mortals sleep!
Thou seest a wretch that inly pines,
And wanders here to wail and weep.
With wo I nightly vigils keep,

Beneath thy wan, unwarming beam;
And mourn, in lamentation deep,
How life and love are all a dream.

II.

I joyless view thy rays adorn
The faintly-marked distant hill;
I joyless view thy trembling horn,
Reflected in the gurgling rill :
My fondly-flutt'ring heart, be still!

Thou busy pow'r, Remembrance, cease

Ah! must the agonizing thrill

For ever bar returning peace!

III.

No idly-feign'd poetic pains,

My sad love-lorn lamentings claim;
No shepherd's pipe — Arcadian strains

No fabled tortures, quaint and tame,
The plighted faith, the mutual flame,
The oft-attested Pow'rs above;
The promis'd Father's tender name;
These were the pledges of my love.

IV.

Encircled in her clasping arms,

How have the raptur'd moments flown! How have I wish'd for fortune's charms, For her dear sake, and hers alone! And must I think it! is she gone,

My secret heart's exulting boast? And does she heedless hear my groan? And is she ever, ever lost?

V.

Oh! can she bear so base a heart,
So lost to honor, lost to truth,

As from the fondest lover part,

The plighted husband of her youth? Alas! life's path may be unsmooth!

Her way may lie thro' rough distress; Then, who her pangs and pains will soothe, Her sorrows share, and make them less?

VI.

Ye winged hours that o'er us past,

Enraptur'd more, the more enjoy'd, Your dear remembrance in my breast,

My fondly-treasur'd thoughts employ'd.
That breast, how dreary now, and void,
For her too scanty once of room!

Ev'n ev'ry ray of hope destroy'd,
And not a wish to gild the gloom

The morn that warns th' approaching day,
Awakes me up to toil and wo;

I see the hours, in long array,

That I must suffer, ling'ring slow:
Full many a pang, and many a throe,
Keen recollection's direful train,
Must wring my soul, ere Phoebus, low,
Shall kiss the distant western main.

VIII.

And when my nightly couch I try,
Sore harass'd out with care and grief,
My toil-beat nerves, and tear-worn eye,
Keep watchings with the nightly thief,
Or if I slumber, Fancy, chief,

Reigns haggard-wild, in sore affright;
Ev'n day, all-bitter, brings relief,
From such a horror-breathing night.

IX.

O! thou bright queen, who o'er th' expanse
Now highest reign'st, with boundless sway
Oft has thy silent-marking glance

Observ'd us, fondly-wand'ring, stray!

The time, unheeded, sped away,

While love's luxurious pulse beat high,
Beneath thy silver-gleaming ray,

To mark the mutual kindling eye.

X.

Oh! scenes in strong remembrance set!
Scenes never, never to return !

Scenes, if in stupor I forget,

Again I feel, again I burn;

From ev'ry joy and pleasure torn,
Life's weary vale I'll wander thro';
And hopeless, comfortless, I'll mourn
A faithless woman's broken vow.

LAMENT

OF A MOTHER FOR THE DEATH OF HER ADN

TUNE-"Finlayston House."

FATE gave the word, the arrow sped,
And pierc'd my darling's heart;
And with him all the joys are fled
Life can to me impart.

By cruel hands the sapling drops,
In dust dishonor'd laid;

So fell the pride of all my hopes,
My age's future shade.

The mother linnet, in the brake,
Bewails her ravish'd young;
So I, for my lost darling's sake,
Lament the live-day long.

Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow
Now, fond, I bare my breast;
O, do thou kindly lay me low,
With him I love, at rest'