From the Black Dwarf.

1816.

CHAP. XVI.

"TWAS time and griefs That framed him thus: Time, with his fairer hand,

Offering the fortunes of his former days, The former man may make him—Bring us to him,

And chance it as it may.-Old Play.

From Old Mortality.

1816.

MAJOR BELLENDEN'S SONG.
AND what though winter will pinch severe
Through locks of grey and a cloak that's
old,

Yet keep up thy heart, bold cavalier,
For a cup of sack shall fence the cold.
For time will rust the brightest blade,
And years will break the strongest bow;
Was never wight so starkly made,
But time and years would overthrow!
Chap. xix.

VERSES FOUND IN BOTHWELL'S
POCKET-BOOK.

THY hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright,
As in that well-remember'd night,
When first thy mystic braid was wove,
And first my Agnes whisper'd love.

Since then how often hast thou press'd
The torrid zone of this wild breast,
Whose wrath and hate have sworn to
dwell

With the first sin which peopled hell.

A breast whose blood's a troubled ocean, Each throb the carthquake's wild commotion!

O, if such clime thou canst endure,

Yet keep thy hue unstain'd and pure,

What conquest o'er each erring thought
Of that fierce realm had Agnes wrought!
I had not wander'd wild and wide,
With such an angel for my guide;
Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove
me,

If she had lived, and lived to love me.

To me one savage hunting scene,
Not then this world's wild joys had been.
My sole delight the headlong race,
And frantic hurry of the chase;
To start, pursue, and bring to bay,
Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey,
Then-from the carcass turn away!
Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed,
And sooth'd each wound which pride
inflamed!

Yes, God and man might now approve me,
If thou hadst lived, and lived to love me.
Chap. xxiii.

MOTTOES

FROM OLD MORTALITY.

CHAP. XIV.

My hounds may a' rin masterless,
My hawks may fly frae tree to tree,
My lord may grip my vassal lands,
For there again maun I never be!
Old Ballad.

CHAP. XXXIV.

Sound, sound the clarion, fill the fife!
To all the sensual worla proclaim,
One crowded hour of glorious life
Is worth an age without a name.
Anonymous.

THE SEARCH AFTER HAPPI-
NESS;

OR, THE QUEST OF SULTAUN SOLIMAUN.
1817.
I.

On for a glance of that gay Muse's eye,
That lighten'd on Bandello's laughing
tale,

And twinkled with a lustre shewd and Famed mariner! whose merciless narsly,

When Giam Battista bade her vision hail!

Yet fear not, ladies, the naïve detail Given by the natives of that land canorous;

Italian license loves to leap the pale, We Britons have the fear of shame before us, And, if not wise in mirth, at least must be decorous.

rations

Drove every friend and kinsman out of

For me, I love the honest heart and warm
Of Monarch who can amble round his farm,
Or, when the toil of state no more annoys,
In chimney corner seek domestic joys-I
I love a prince will bid the bottle pass,
Exchanging with his subjects glance and
glass;

In fitting time, can, gayest of the gay,
Keep up the jest, and mingle in the lay-
Such Monarchs best our free-born hu-
mours suit,

But Despots must be stately, stern, and

mute.

Or cordial smooth for prince's palate
fitter-

Or if some Mollah had hag-rid his dreams
With Degial, Ginnistan, and such wild

themes

Belonging to the Mollah's subtle craft,

wot not-but the Sultaun never laugh'd, Scarce ate or drank, and took a melancholy, That scorn'd all remedy-profane or holy; In his long list of melancholies, mad, Or mazed, or dumb, hath Burton none so bad.*

V.

Physicians soon arrived, sage, ware, and tried,

As e'er scrawl'd jargon in a darken'd

And dull'd thy brain with labour beyond | As Doctors have, who bid their patients

Wherefore relax a space and take thy And live abroad, when sure to die at

Try we the Giaours, these men of coat | Besides, some tumours on his noddle

By land or ocean never strikes his flag-"Jean Bool!-I vas not know him—Yes, And then-a perfect walking money