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Behind us lies a lovely field,

Before us lies a dreary waste;

We vainly wish its soil to yield

The sweets we could no longer taste! Thence, sickening at the thought, we turn, And to our griefs and follies fly:

In solitude and silence mourn,

And, pondering, heave the pensive sigh!


Scenes of my youth! ye once were dear,
Though sadly I your charms survey ;

I once was wont to linger here,

From early dawn to closing day. Scenes of my youth! pale sorrow flings A shade o'er all your beauties now, And robs the moments of their wings

That scatter pleasure as they flow. While, still to heighten every care, Reflection tells me-Such things were!


'Twas here a tender father strove

To keep my happiness in view;
I smiled beneath a mother's love,
That soft compassion ever knew:
In them the virtues all combined,

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On them I could with faith rely; To them my heart and soul were joined

By mild affection's primal tie;

They smile in heaven, exempt from care, Whilst I remember-such things were!

'Twas here, where calm and tranquil rest O'erpays the peasant for his toil, That first in blessing I was blest

With glowing friendship's open smile. My friend, far distant doomed to roam, Now braves the fury of the seas; He fled his peaceful happy home,

His little fortune to increase;

While bleeds afresh the wound of care, When I remember such things were!

'Twas here, even in this gloomy grove, I fondly gazed on Laura's charms, Who, blushing, owned a mutual love,

And sighed responsive in my arms.

Though hard the soul-conflicting strife,
Yet fate, the cruel tyrant, bore
Far from my sight the charm of life,

The lovely maid whom I adore :
'Twould ease my soul of all my care,
Could I forget that such things were !

There first I saw the morn appear
Of guiltless pleasure's shining day;
I met the dazzling brightness here,
Here marked the soft-declining ray.
Behold the skies, whose streaming light
Gave splendour to the parting sun,
Now lost in sorrow's sable night,
And all their mingled glories gone!

Till death, in pity, end my care,
I must remember-such things were


John Rannie.



Love is a holy power,
It seems not of this earth,

But in some high and heavenly bower, To have received its birth;

For pure is every thought,

And all its visions fair,

Its language with devotion fraught

Like that of saints in



Love is a holy power

It seems not of this earth,

But in some high and heavenly bower,
To have received its birth;

It purifies the heart

From stains, this world has given,

And leads it forth to dream apart
Of joys like those in heaven.-



In sooth 'tis pleasant on a summer morn,

When the bright sun ascends the orient sky,

J. S. T.

And on the mountain breezes health is borne, While we enhale it, as they murmur by; On some lone bill, in musing mood, to lie,There as we watch the day's advancing light, We learn, from it, that we but live to die— That sun will set, though shining then so bright; A few short fleeting hours, and all again is night.

II. .

Yet sunshine seldom cheers the lot of life, 'Tis all a scene of lingering pain and woe, A pilgrimage of fruitless care and strife, A tide of sorrow that does ceaseless flow; But some have thought they felt a joy below, Which to their darker hours did solace prove, Making their hearts with blissful feelings glow; And not of earth it seems, but from above It comes to cheer mankind, and mortals call it love.


That thought is vain, as love's own happiness,
For soon its sweet illusion is no more;

And fly those hopes that promised lasting bliss,—
Then, when the dream of ecstacy is o'er,

We wake, to life far sadder than before,

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