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All troubles o'er, all perils passed away. .
Ah no! that Prince, omnipotent to save,
EPITAPH ON A WELL-KNOWN ONE.
PENEATH this sod a baneful viper lies,
He wore religion as a priest his gown;
Deaf to the plaints of pity and of woe,
Let midnight's pall for ever shroud his name,
FLY, ye profane; else rev’rently draw near
With awe this hallowed, melancholy spot, Scene of dull solitude and holy fear,
Inspiring dread and venerable thought.
Deep sighs the wind_hark ! its prophetic sound,
As moaning sweeps it through the distant trees, And how the lonely owlet's plaint profound
Accords distinctly with the fitful breeze.
Around, the soothing symphony to swell,
Commingle soft the murmurs of the Tweed, Sweeping each fairy bank and classic dell,
Time symbolizing in her winged speed.
Impetuous Time, who can arrest thee? None.
Wafting adown thy tide, at every turn, Our fondest hopes, and leaving thus alone
The widowed heart in sorrow but to mourn.
Here many sleep embalmed in memory dear,
O’er whom with me ecstatic fled the hours, But o'er whose blasted friendship drops the tear;
Can I forget-O never Lyonder bowers ?
Precarious, short-lived, sublunary joy,
Bright vision of to-day, to-morrow gone, Fruit which to Fancy never seems to cloy;
But realized, ah ! unalloyed by none.
Yea all, at best, how mutable and vain !
Proclaims the silent eloquence of Death, Whose dreary province is earth’s wide domain,
Writhing convulsed beneath his septic breath.
Where now distinction, honour, homage ? where
Pride, avarice, ambition, and our hate ? And where contention affluence to share,
'Mongst all these melancholy heaps of fate ?
Soon shall I be what I, alas ! deplore
My name, my years, be read by passers-by; O'er the frail stone, which tells I am no more,
Some friend may drop a tear, or heave a sigh. MY NATIVE BORDER HOME.
FOR yon heights where waves the pine, V Again there let me roam: What charms on earth can rival thine,
My native border home ?
Who would not gladly bid adieu
Betimes to toil and care-
That richly blossom there?
How sweet through blue-bells there to wade,
And see the primrose springTo hear beneath the vernal shade
The mellow warblers sing !
And give me there alone to stray,
In rapture to behold
Its magic scenes unfold.
There wafts the Tweed her pearly tide,
How soft her murmuring flow, Bathing her osier emerald side,
Where fragrant hawthorns blow