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But were I now where Allan glides,
"Twas thus my hair they bade me braid,
And my true love would meet me there.-
I only waked to sob and scream !
Sir Walter Scott.
By the Rev. Dr John Erskine on hearing an Officer swear.
Soldier so tender of thy prince's fame,
WRITTEN IN THE CASE OF A WATCH.
See, reader, here, in youth, or age, or prime,
THE POWER OF FAITH.
'Twas summer, and a Sabbath eve,
I saw a sight that made me grieve,
For in a coffin lay
Two little babes as sweet as May.
Like waxen dolls that infants dress
And in a coffin short and wide
Their mother, as a lily pale,
Sat near them on a bed,
Why loves my flower, (the sweetest flower
' Why, when the mead, the spicy vale,
For never sure was beauty born
Thus pity waked the tender thought,
And by her sweet persuasion led, To seize the hermit flower I sought, And bear her from her stony bed.—
I sought-but sudden on my ear
From thee be far the ungentle deed, The honours of the dead to spoil; Or take the sole remaining meed,
The flower that crowns their former toil!
Nor deem that flower the garden's foe, Or fond to grace the barren shade, 'Tis nature tells her to bestow
Her honours on the lonely dead!—
For this obedient zephyrs bear
Her light seed round yon turrets mold,
Nor shall thy wonder wake to see, Such desert scenes destruction crave, Oft have they been, and oft shall be Truth's, honour's, valour's, beauty's grave.
'When longs to fall that rifted spire,
As weary the insulting air,
The poet's thought, the warrior's fire,
• When that too shakes the trembling ground,
"Of them who, wrapped in earth so cold, No more the smiling day shall view, Should many a tender tale be told,
For many a tender thought is due.