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SCENES OF YOUTH.
SWEET scenes of youth, to faithful memory dear,
Even as I muse, my former life returns,
As every prospect opens on my view, I seem to live departed years anew; When, in these wilds, a jocund, sportive child, Each flower, self-sown, my heedless hours beguiled;
The wabret-leaf, that by the pathway grew,
Again I view the cairn, and moss-gray stone, Where oft at eve I wont to muse alone, And vex with curious toil mine infant eye, To count the gems that stud the nightly sky; Or think, as playful fancy wandered far, How sweet it were to dance from star to star! Again I view each rude romantic glade, Where once with tiny steps my footsteps strayed, To watch the foam-bells of the bubbling brook, Or mark the motions of the clamorous rook, Who saw her nest, close thatched with ceaseless toil, At summer eve become the woodman's spoil.
Sweet scenes ! conjoined with all that most endears The cloudless morning of my tender years; With fond regret your haunts I wander o'er, And, wandering, feel myself the child no more: Your forms, your sunny tints, are still the same; But sad the tear which lost affections claim.
AGAIN, sweet siren, breathe again
Whose melting tones of tender woe Fall soft as evening's summer dew, That bathes the pinks and harebells blue
Which in the vales of Teviot blow.
Such was the song that soothed to rest,
The Celtic warrior's parted shade;
When shipwrecked mariners are laid.
Ah! sure as Hindu legends tell,
The scenes of former life return;
Immured in mortal forms to mourn.
Or if, as ancient sages ween,
Can mingle with the mortal throng, 'Tis when from heart to heart we roll The deep-toned music of the soul,
That warbles in our Scottish song.
I hear, I hear, with awful dread,
They leave the amber fields of day:
They mingle in the magic lay.
Sweet sounds! that oft have soothed to rest
And charmed away mine infant tears:
That in the wild the traveller hears.
And thus the exiled Scotian maid,
To visit Syria's date-crowned shore,
And scenes of early youth, deplore.
Soft siren! whose enchanting strain
I bid your pleasing haunts adieu !
HOPE TRIUMPHANT IN DEATH.
UNFADING Hope! when life's last embers burn-
Then, then, the triumph and the trance begin,
0, deep enchanting prelude to repose, The dawn of bliss, the twilight of our woes ! Yet half I hear the parting spirit sigh, It is a dread and awful thing to die ! Mysterious worlds, untravelled by the sun! Where time's far-wandering tide has never run, From your unfathomed shades, and viewless spheres, A warning comes, unheard by other ears. 'Tis Heaven's commanding trumpet, long and loud, Like Sinai's thunder, pealing from the cloud ! While Nature hears, with terror-mingled trust, The shock that hurls her fabric to the dust; With mortal terrors clouds immortal bliss, And shrieks and hovers o'er the dark abyss !
Daughter of Faith, awake, arise, illume