« FöregåendeFortsätt »
Ah! stern thy fate—in vain a Cochran's care,
Which spoiled what spoiling Hertford deigned to spare,
Where now thy altars rich in regal state,
Where knelt in homage Scotia's lovely Queen,
Encircled by the brave, the good, and great,
Demolished quite by that ignoble band,
The holy Twelve no more like seraphs stand
Yes 1 dim and desolate thy courts appear,
Where, slumbering, rest the brave untrophied dead,
Whose viewless shades in dreadful concert here
Thy priests and people time hath swept away,
The prince, the hero patriot of yore;
In wonted worship mingle here no more.
To imaged saints the knee hath ceased to bow—
Here matin orisons no more ascend In sacred homage to the Virgin now,
Nor pealing vespers in devotion blend.
Within thy rueful cells and shades profound,
By guilt, and crime, and terror circled round,
No tearless anguish lifts the wailing eye
No bleeding hearts for absolution sigh,
Nor fresh indulgence asked nor granted here.
The curtain's dropped—the theatre stands alone—
Here all is o'er, for ever past and gone,
Though now with deep reluctance and regret,
Their grave instructions can the heart forget,
How vain are volumes here the Muse to teach,
Compared with these dumb monitors, that preach
Heaven! while I wander through life's thorny
Then fare thee well, to me thrice hallowed fane!
Adieu, ye flowery glens and sylvan shades, Eve's dusky mantle now enrobes the plain,
And on the view the classic landscape fades.
THE WANDERING POOR
'ODhelp thepoor ! protect them by the way,
What bitter sorrow, hardship, and distress
From house to house, soliciting in sighs
Here from the gate chased by the mastiff's growl,
Wandering o'er mountains, through the lonely glen,
Exposed to scorching ray's of summer's sun
With tattered garments into fragments torn,
ON THE WRECK OF THE PEGASUS,
A Hull and Leith Steamer, which happened about the
OW thrice enchanting shone that fatal eve!
, What pen or pencil can its sweets portray! When Pegasus lay loading, Leith to leave,
Decked as a Nymph fair on her nuptial day,
To plough the trackless deep, old Hull to pay Her wonted visit, as for many a year,
Fraught with a cargo of the grave and gay!
The reverend father and the laurelled sage; There buoyant youth chants o'er the am'rous song,
And wave the locks dipt in the snows of age;
And there the lovers in fresh vows engage, With burning words and dream of nuptial joys;
The sportive boy and prattling girl, too, wage Their juvenile disputes o'er games and toys— All seemed to pluck the fruit that never cloys.
Bright shone the Sun, to bless them with his smile, To gild creation and the slumbering wave;