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I saw thee smile-the sapphire's blaze

Beside thee ceas'd to shine;
It could not match the living rays

That fill’d that glance of thine.

As clouds from yonder sun receive

A deep and mellow dye,
Which scarce the shade of coming eve

Can banish from the sky,
Those smiles unto the moodiest mind

Their own pure joy impart;
Their sunshine leaves a glow behind

That lightens o'er the heart.




AIR.—The hopeless lover.

Now Spring has clad the grove in green,

And strew'd the lea with flowers;
The furrow'd waving corn is seen

Rejoice in fostering showers,

While ilka thing in nature join

Their sorrows to forego,
O why thus, all alone, are mine

The weary steps of woe !

The trout within yon wimpling burn,

That glides a silver dart,
And safe beneath the shady thorn

Defies the angler's art :
My life was once that careless stream,

That wanton trout was I,
But love, with unrelenting beam,

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,
Winnowing blythe her dewy wings

In rosy morning's eye;
As little reckt I sorrow's power,

Until the flowery snare
Of witching love, in luckless hour,

Made ine the tlırall of care.

O had my fate been Greenland snows,

Or Afric's burning zone,
Wi' man and nature leagued my foes,

So Peggy ne'er I'd known!
The wretch whose doom is, “ Hope nae mair!"

What tongue his woes can tell,
Within whose bosom, save despair,

Nae kinder spirits dwell.

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Nae mair we'll meet again, my love, by yon burn side,
Nae mair we'll wander through the grove, by yon burn side,

Ne'er again the mavis' lay

Will we hail at close o' day,
For we ne'er again will stray, down by yon burn side.

Yet mem'ry oft will fondly brood, on yon burn side,
O'er haunts which we sae aft hae trod, by yon burn side,

Still the walk wi' me thou'lt share,

Though thy foot can never mair
Bend to earth the gowan fair, down by yon burn side.

Now far remov'd from every care; 'boon yon burn side,
Thou bloom'st, my love, an angel fair, 'boon yon burn side ;

And if angels pity know,

Sure the tear for me will flow,
Who must linger here below, down by yon burn side.



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, at thy moss-cover'd shrine
I'd all the gay hopes of my bosom resign,
I'd part with ambition, thy vot'ry to be,
And breathe not a sigh but to friendship and thee.

I'd part with ambition, &c.

But thy presence appears from my wishes to fly,
Like the gold-colour'd cloud on the verge of the sky;
No lustre that hangs on the green willow tree,
Is so short as the smile of thy favour to me.

No lustre that hangs, &c.

In the pulse of my heart I have nourish'd a care,
That forbids me thy sweet inspiration to share,
The noon of my youth, slow-departing, I see,
But its years, as they pass, bring no tidings of thee.

The noon of my youth, &c.

O cherub, Content, at thy moss-cover'd shrine,
I would offer my vows, if Matilda were mine ;
Could I call her my own, whom enraptur'd I see,
I would breathe not a sigh but to friendship and thee.

Could I call her my own, &c.

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