Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, Thy subjects we, before thee; The hearts o' men adore thee. The deil he couldna scaith thee, Or aught that wad belang thee; And say, 'I canna wrang thee!' The powers aboon will tent thee; That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. Return again, fair Lesley, Return to Caledonie! That we may brag, we hae a lass HIGHLAND MARY. 14TH NOVEMBER, 1792. Ye banks, and braes, and streams around Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, There simmer first unfauld her robes, And there the langest tarry ; For there I took the last fareweel How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk, How rich the hawthorn's blossom, As underneath their fragrant shade I clasped her to my bosom! The golden hours, on angel wings, Wi' many a vow, and locked embrace, But O, fell death's untimely frost, That nipt my flower sae early! Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, That wraps my Highland Mary! O pale, pale now, those rosy lips, But still within my bosom's core Shall live my Highland Mary. WILLIAM LISLE 1762-1850. BOWLES made his appearance in the world of letters in 1789, by publishing a small collection of sonnets, most of which hinted of a disappointment in love. The object of his affections is said to have been a niece of Sir Samuel Romilly, whose rejection of his suit set him wandering about the Continent and writing poetry. He seems to have been quite unhappy, in a quiet way; but he finally consoled himself with a wife, for in 1797 he married Magdalene Wake, daughter of the Rev. Charles Wake, prebendary of Westminster. Bowles' sonnets were the delight and inspiration of Coleridge in his youth. "As my school finances,” he says, "did not permit me to purchase copies, I made, within less than a year and a half, more than forty transcriptions.” IN MEMORIAM. How blessed with thee the path could I have trod Of quiet life, above cold want's hard fate, In youth and beauty to thy cold death-bed; Though sometimes the unbidden tear will start, APPROACH OF SUMMER. How shall I meet thee, Summer, wont to fill My heart with gladness, when thy pleasant tide Thinking their May-tide fragrance would delight, Shall put forth their green shoots, and cheer the sight! But I shall mark their hues with sadder eyes, And weep the more for one who in the cold earth lies! ABSENCE. OCT. 26, 1791. How shall I cheat the heavy hours, of thee Deprived, of thy kind looks and converse sweet, Thou, at this hour, with tearful tenderness These thoughts beguile my sorrow for thy loss, Oft steal the sense of solitude a away. So am I sadly soothed, yet do I cast A wishful glance upon the seasons past, And think how different was the happy tide, When thou, with looks of love, wert smiling by my side. WILLIAM COWPER 1731-1800. IN 1749, Cowper entered the office of Mr. Chapman, a solicitor in Southampton Row, with whom he remained three years. His ostensible object was studying law, but his real business was giggling with his fellow clerk, Thurlow, afterwards Lord Chancellor, and making love to his cousin, Theodora Jane, a daughter of his uncle, Ashley Cowper. This young lady and her sister Harriet, the Lady Hesketh of the poet's correspondence, were in the habit of visiting their young kinsman in his chambers, and making giggle with him and his companion. At what stage of their acquaintance the unfledged barrister was first attracted to his fair cousin, we are not told, but it was probably at an early one, for young gentlemen of his age and temperament-he was a melancholy youth of eighteen-are ready to fall in love at the shortest notice. Be this as it may, he loved his cousin, and her influence over him was soon perceptible; he lost his natural bashfulness, spruced up his dress, and endeavoured to shine in conversation. When his uncle became aware of his attachment, he objected to it, basing his objection at first on Cowper's want of means. "If you marry William Cowper, what will you do?" he asked his daughter. "Do?" she answered, "why, wash all day, and ride on the great dog at night." The episode growing serious, he refused his consent, on the ground that marriage was improper between persons so nearly related. Cowper tried to overcome the objection, and continued to meet his cousin; but when he found that she deemed it her duty to obey her father, whose will was unalterable, their interviews ceased, and they never met again. Years afterwards, when his intimacy with Lady Hesketh was renewed, he said to her, "I still look back to the memory of your sister and regret her; but how strange it is, if we were to meet now we should not know each other." It is possible that they might not have known each other then, but it would not have been because his cousin had forgotten him, for she never forgot him. She kept for many a long year the poems that he wrote her in his early days, and only parted with them when she was an old woman, to one who would keep them more securely than she could do. Whether the sight of them reminded her too vividly of her youth, or Cowper's insanity and death affected her too painfully, she never told; but she sent them to a friend with directions not to open them until she was dead. She died unmarried in 1824, and they were published for the first time in 1825. I have glanced through them |