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1817.]

, my loved parent, the trial is o'er, The veil o'er thy couch of forgetfulness spread; Thy kind heart shall grieve for my follies no more, Nor the suppliant tear for thy wanderer be shed.

Long over thy head has the tempest blown fell, But riches, unknown, were unvalued by thee; In the wild wast thou born, in the wild didst thou dwell, The pupil of Nature, benevolent and free;

And never, in all her uncultured domain, Was nourished a spirit more genial and kind; Chill poverty could not thy ardour restrain, Nor cloud thy gay smile, or the glow of thy mind.

When winter-wreaths lay round our cottage so small, When fancy was ardent, and feeling was strong, O how I would long for the gloaming to fall, To sit by thy knee and attend to thy song!

The song of the field where the warrior bled; The garland of blossom dishonoured too soon; The elves of the green-wood, the ghosts of the dead, And faries that journeyed by light of the moon.

I loved thee, my parent—my highest desire Was 'neath independence to shield thy gray head; But fortune denied it—extinguished the fire— And, now thou art gone, my ambition is fled.

I loved thee!—and now thou art laid in thy grave, Thy memory I'll cherish, while memory is mine; And the boon that my tongue aye from Heaven shall crave, Shall be the last blessing that hung upon thine.

Though over thy ashes no tombstone is seen, The place shall be hallowed when ages are past; No monument tells, 'mid the wilderness green, Where the minstreless lies of the Border the last.

But over that grave will the lover of song, And the lover of goodness, stand silent and sigh; And the fays of the wild will thy requiem prolong, And shed on thy coverlet dews of the sky:

And there, from the rue and the rose's perfume, His dew-web of dawn shall the gossamer won; And there shall the daisy and violet bloom, And I'll water them all with the tears of a son.

Adieu, my loved parent! the trial is past— Again thy loved bosom my dwelling may be; And long as the name of thy darling shall last, All due be the song and the honour to thee!

How wild and dim this Life appears! One long, deep, heavy sigh! When o'er our eyes, half-clos'd in tears, The images of former years Are faintly glimmering by! And still forgotten while they go, As on the sea-beach wave on wave Dissolves at once in snow. Upon the blue and silent sky The amber clouds one moment lie, And like a dream are gone! Though beautiful the moon-beams play On the lake's bosom, bright as they, And the soul intensely loves their stay, Soon as the radiance melts away We scarce believe it shone! Heaven-airs amid the harp-strings dwell, And we wish they ne'er may fade— They cease! and the soul is a silent cell, Where music never played. Dream follows dream through the long night-hours, Each lovelier than the last— But ere the breath of morning-flowers, That gorgeous world flies past. And many a sweet angelic cheek, Whose smiles of love and kindness speak, Glides by us on this earth— While in a day we cannot tell Where shone the face we loved so well In sadness or in mirth.

landscape hath not lost its look; Still rushes on the sparkling river; Nor hath the gloominess forsook These granite crags that frown for ever, Still hangs around the shadowy wood, Whose sounds but murmur solitude: The raven's plaint, the linnet's song, The stock-dove's coo, in grief repining, In mingled echoes steal along: The setting sun is brightly shining; And clouds above, and hills below, Are brightening with his golden glow.


 * It is not meet—it is not fit—

Though Fortune all our hopes hath thwarted, While on the very stone I sit Where first we met, and last we parted,