Soft as was the breath of night, All she wish'd was then to die. LXXII. SAY NOT THE BARD HAS TURNED OLD*. Tho' the winter of age wreathes her snow on his head, Yet say not the Bard has turned old. Tho' the casket that holds the rich jewel we prize, Yet the gem that's within may be lovely and bright, Then say not the Bard has turned old. We feel the greatest pleasure in being authorized to place this poem among the number of our originals. It is a production which does honour to the author, and we are only sorry to say, that his delicacy has prevented him, at least for the present, from receiving this honour by the concealment of his name. When the tapers burn clear, and the goblet shines bright, I have smiled at the glance of his rapturous eye, When he sings of the valorous deeds that were done, When summer in gaudy profusion is dress'd, But not summer's profusion alone can inspire When the wintry winds rave o'er his mountains of snow; The poem is in general beautifully descriptive of that native fire, and those tender sensibilities which eminently belong to the poet's character, and which are apt to be awakened by every singular and striking occurrence. What appears, however, to have operated most upon the mind of our author, and suggested the hint for the present production, is that light airiness of disposition which is so peculiar to some poets, and which exhibits all the energies of youthful imagination amid the growing infirmities of declining years. I have seen him elate when the black clouds were riven, Then say not the Bard has turned old. When the eye that expresses the warmth of his heart, When his blood shall be cold as the wint'ry wave, LXXIII. SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE, She's fair and fause that causes my smart, I lo'ed her meikle and lang; A superficial or fastidious critic may perhaps smile at the author for affirming that "The Bard has not turned old," while at the same time he admits that his head is covered with the gray hairs of age. This seeming inconsistency however is explained sufficiently, and we think most happily, in the beginning of the second stanza, by the introduction of the simile, Tho' the casket that holds the rich jewel we prize, Yet the gem that's within may be lovely and bright, She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart, And I may e'en gae hang. A coof cam in wi' rowth o' gear, And I hae tint my dearest dear, But woman is only warld's gear, Sae let the bonnie lassie gang. Whae'er ye be that woman love, Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove, O, woman lovely, woman fair! An angel form's faun to thy share, 'Twad been o'er meikle to gi'en thee mair, I mean an angel mind. LXXIV. I HAVE KNOWN WHAT IT WAS TO BE HAPPY AND GAY. AIR-Soldier's dream. I have known what it was to be happy and gay, K I have tasted of joys unassisted by art, I ne'er lov'd but one, and she seem'd to unite For the charms of a smile, or the joys of a kiss. LXXV. MARY, THE MAID OF MONTROSE. AIR-O tell me the way for to woo. O sweet is the calm dewy evening When nature is wooing repair, And sweet are the low notes o' echo. When dying away on the ear: And lovely, thrice lovely, when o'er the blue ocean,. Wi' my lovely Mary, the maid o' Montrose. |