Page:Old man's wish.pdf/4



For he govern'd his passion with an absolute sway

And grew wiser and better as his strength wore away,

Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay.

At dead of night, the hour when courts,

thro' the wild maze of pleasures rove,

And Mira joins the insnaring sports

while art assumes the voice of love:

To Roslin's ruins I repair,

a solitary wretch forlorn,

Tomourn unseen, unpitied there,

my hapeless love her cruel scorn.

No sound of joy disturbs my strain;

no hind is whistling on the hill:

No herdsman winding o'er the plain;

no maiden singing by the rill

Esk, murm'ring thro’ the darksome pines,

reflects the moon’s uncertain beams;

While thro' the clouds she faintly shines,

in fancy’s eye the pale ghost gleams.

Not so the night that in thy halls,

once. Roslin, danc’d in joy along;

The owl now screams within thy walls

that echo’d mirth’s inspiring song;

Where bats now flit on dusky

Th’ empurpled feast was to flow;