XXXIX. Conscious her glance met his! She thought and sigh'd, She saw unveil'd, and own'd its generous strain; Yet, (not of her ancestral honours vain) XL. And Edwin! where, where lurks the peasant lad? Clans, earldoms, wealth, and beauty, all thine own! Born the low peasant of the uncultur'd shade, 66 Thy proud inheritance"-thy harp alone! But, from the cot evolving to the throne, As, nature, men, and manners meet thy views, Through life, delight and dignity diffuse; MADRIGAL. FROM THE FRENCH OF COCQUARD. I FEEL when I see you a joy past expressing; R. A. D. STANZAS ON A FAVOURITE PLANTATION IN THE GROUNDS OF C. W. ESQ. ADDRESSED TO MISS W. BY DR. RUSSELL. I. FOLLY, or Fancy, what they will, Let fools your sweet plantation call; No matter if the sound be ill, Since what we see is beauteous all. II. The Cyprian shades, as bards have sung, But she, who makes these trees her care, Is chaster than the Delian Maid. IV. To friendship sacred be this place; STANZAS WRITTEN IN A SEAT IN THE SAME PLANTATION. BY THE SAME. 1. DORA, one day, no matter when, While sitting on this seat, was saying, "I'll live a maid; I hate these men, Their sex is ever our's betraying. "Grant me, ye powers, but this request, One female friend will bless your Dolly.' III. Young Cupid, from a neighbouring tree, Heard the grave Nymph her thoughts expressing, "And is it so, sage miss?" said he, "Then why this care display'd in dressing? IV. Why, but some coxcomb's heart to win, Why, but to take some racer in, " This coaching still to all the races ? V. Why, when a beau appears in view, Those dimpling smiles, that bosom panting? Why, in each cheek, that change of hue? Why, but I'll quickly stop your canting. VI. "I'll show the world how they're abus'd, 66 VII. Nay, never hope your tricks to hide, (Come, hold your head up, hold it higher) You stole, I saw you, from my side This dart, and threw it at yon 'squire." VIII. The Nymph, enrag'd, at Cupid's charge, IX. "Were man, young sir, what I pursue, EPIGRAM ON THE REPRESENTATION OF TIMOUR THE TARTAR. 1813. BY B. H. BROWNE, M. D. LET the Houynhnhms no longer be reckon'd a fable, Now all our great actors are brought from the stable! A NIGHT PIECE. WRITTEN IN Autumn, 1811. BY JAMES HOGG, THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD. How lonely is this wildered scene, When silence, from her vault so blue, All hail ye hills, whose towering height, Stranger of heaven, I bid thee hail! Broad pennon of the king of Heaven! Art thou the flag of woe and death No, from thy pure, pellucid beam, Fair herald of th' eternal throne ! |