His Lady, ever fashionably gay, Walks much abroad, her trappings to display; And though the Largs is thirty miles from town, A Brother Mason master Gilbert's made, And such profound respect to him is paid, Who has not seen the youth imprudent fa', With prospect pleasant in life's morning daw'? And who has not heard Gib's old cronies say, That he would coup some not far distant day? That his short hour of pleasure soon would run, Like midge's flutter in the setting sun? That poverty would then perhaps restore Some folk to mind that he ance kent before, Whose turn it then would be, in haughty state, Far was it now beyond his utmost power, To ward away the unpropitious hour; And as the block, descending from the brae, Still more impetuous grows upon its way, So Gilbert's downfal seem'd to gather force, By being unretarded in its course. How changed his manners, and how changed his mien, Now trembling still if in the public seen! Regardless quite, his siller he made flee, Oft in the worst of baneful company; Till claise, and cash, and credit, all were done, One windy night, he thought the shutters clapping Stark naked up, wild raving through his sleep, Headlong he leapt, and ne'er was heard of mair! Such is the fate that will at length betide The wight, that wont take Prudence for his guide; Delusive pleasure, like a Siren coy, He finds at last, sings only to destroy. THE MANIAC MAID, A TALE. YoN maid have you witness'd, with countenance pale, ON That o'er the wild common does flee? Her sighs are augmenting the murmuring gale, Ah! passenger, doubt not the truth of these strains ;- Is Fanny, so lately the pride of these plains ;— She ever to Allen was true. To school as they went, hand in hand, by the way He often proclaimed her his wife; The villagers, smiling to see them, did say, "That they would together, on some distant day, Be joined in wedlock for life." But Ah! the wise Power that fixes the doom Of mortals, forebade it to be; An order from heaven soon blasted his bloom, The sorrow, which suddenly seiz'd on her soul, Each night, though appall'd by the wild screaming owl, Alone to the churchyard, so wild and so drear, But grief in her bosom was stronger than fear: Than life I have no other foe." |