From heart fincere, and warm, and free, Devoted to the shade! Ah, why does Fate his steps decoy, In ftormy paths to roam, Remote from all congenial joy? O take the wanderer home!. Thy fhades, thy filence, now be mine, O while to thee the woodland pours And balmy from the bank of flowers But if fome pilgrim through the glade For he of joys divine fhall tell, That wean from earthly woe, And triumph o'er the mighty fpell For me no more the path invites No more I'll climb those toilfome heights By guileful Hope misled ; Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more For prefent pleasure foon is o'er, Ат THE HERMIT. the clofe of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the fweets of forgetfulness prove; When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill, And nought but the nightingale's fong in the grove: 'Twas thus, by the cave of a mountain afar, While a harp rung fymphonious, a Hermit began No more with himself, or with Nature at war, He thought as a fage, though he felt as a man. "Ah, why all abandon'd to darkness and woe! "Why, lone Philomela! that languishing fall? "For spring shall return, and a lover bestow, "And forrow no longer thy bofom inthrall; "But if Pity infpire thee, renew the sad lay, "Mourn, fweetest complainer; man calls thee to " mourn! "O foothe him whofe pleasures, like thine, pass away! "Full quickly they pafs-but they never return! "Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky, "The moon, half extinguish'd, her crefcent difplays: But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high "She fhone, and the planets were lost în her blaze, on, * Roll thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue "The path that conducts thee to fplendor again: "But man's faded glory what change shall renew! "Ah, fool! to exult in a glory fo 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 "Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn; [dew: "Kind Nature the embryo bloffom will fave: "But when thall fpring vifit the mouldering urn? "O when shall it dawn on the night of the grave":" 'Twas thus, by the glare of falfe fcience betray'd, "That leads to bewilder; and dazzles, to blind; "My thoughts wont to roam, from thade onward to fhade: 'Deftruction 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 duft, I relinquish my pride: "From doubt and from darkness thou only canft "free." And darkness and doubt are now flying away; No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn. So breaks on the traveller, faint and aftray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph defcending, And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom! O'er the cold cheek of Death fmiles and rofes are 'blending, And beauty iminortal awakes from the tomb.' BURNS. THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT. Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, My Gray, lov'd, my honour'd, much-respected Friend! No mercenary Bard his homage pays; The lowly train in life's fequefter'd scene, The fhort'ning winter-day is near a close; This night his weekly moil is at an end, Hoping the morn in eafe and reft to spend, [bend. And weary, o'er the moor, his courfe does hameward At length his lonely cot appears in view, Th' expectant wee-things, toddlin, ftacher through To meet their Dad, wi' flichterin noise and glee. His wee-bit ingle blinkin bonilie, His clean hearth-flane, his thrifty Wifie's fmile, The lifping infant, prattling on his knee, Does a' his weary kiaugh and care beguile, Belyve, the elder bairns come drappin in, Their eldeft hope, their Jenny, woman grown, To help her Parents dear, if they in hardship be. With joy unfeign'd, brothers and fifters meet, The Mother, wi' her needle and her theers, Gars auld claes look amaift as weel's the new; The Father mixes a' wi' admonition due... Their Master's and their Miftrefs's command, "And mind your duty, duely, morn and night! |