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I saw thee smile-the sapphire's blaze
Beside thee ceas'd to shine;
That fill’d that glance of thine.
As clouds from yonder sun receive
A deep and mellow dye,
Can banish from the sky,
Their own pure joy impart;
That lightens o'er the heart.
NOW SPRING HAS CLAD THE GROVE IN
AIR.—The hopeless lover.
Now Spring has clad the grove in green,
And strew'd the lea with flowers;
Rejoice in fostering showers,
While ilka thing in nature join
Their sorrows to forego,
The weary steps of woe !
The trout within yon wimpling burn,
That glides a silver dart,
Defies the angler's art :
That wanton trout was I,
Has scorch'd my fountain dry,
The little flowret's peaceful lot,
In yonder cliff that grows, Which, save the linnet's flight, I wot,
Nae ruder visit knows, Was mine, till love has o'er me past,
And blighted a' my bloom; And now, beneath the withering blast,
My youth and joy consume.
The waken'd lavrock warbling springs
And climbs the early sky,
In rosy morning's eye;
Until the flowery snare
Made ine the tlırall of care.
O had my fate been Greenland snows,
Or Afric's burning zone,
So Peggy ne'er I'd known!
What tongue his woes can tell,
Nae kinder spirits dwell.
Nae mair we'll meet again, my love, by yon burn side,
Ne'er again the mavis' lay
Will we hail at close o' day,
Yet mem'ry oft will fondly brood, on yon burn side,
Still the walk wi' me thou'lt share,
Though thy foot can never mair
Now far remov'd from every care; 'boon yon burn side,
And if angels pity know,
Sure the tear for me will flow,
WHERE DOST THỌU BIDE.
Where dost thou bide, bless'd soul of my love ?
Is ether thy dwelling? O, whisper me where ? Wrapt in remembrance, while lonely I rove,
I gaze on bright clouds, and I fancy thee there.
Or to thy bower, while musing I go,
I think 'tis thy voice that I hear in the breeze; Softly it seems to speak peace to my woe,
And life once again for a moment can please.
Can this be frenzy? if so, 'tis so dear,
That long may the pleasing delusion be nigh; Still Ellen's voice in the breeze may I hear, Still see in bright clouds the kind beams of her eye.
O CHERUB, CONTENT.
O cherub, Content, at thy moss-cover'd shrine
I'd part with ambition, &c.
But thy presence appears from my wishes to fly,
No lustre that hangs, &c.
In the pulse of my heart I have nourish'd a care,
The noon of my youth, &c.
O cherub, Content, at thy moss-cover'd shrine,
Could I call her my own, &c.