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How ill exchang'd for riper times,
Of others, or my own!
Like linnets in the bush,
That active man engage !
Of dim-declining age!
AFTON WATER. Flow gently, sweet Afton, among the green braes, Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise; My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream. Thou stock-dove, whose echo resounds through the
glen, Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den, Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear; I charge you disturb not my slumbering fair. How lofty, sweet Afton, thy neigbbouring hills, Far mark'd with the courses of clear winding rills; There daily I wander as noon rises high, My flocks and my Mary's sweet.cot in my eye. How pleasant thy banks and green valleys below, Where wild in the woodlands the primroses blow ; There oft as mild evening weeps over the lea, The sweet-scented birk shades my Mary and me. Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides, And winds by the cot where my Mary resides! How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave, As gathering sweet flew'rets she stems thy clear wave
low gently, sweet Afton, among the green braes, Flow gently, sweet river, the theme of my lays : My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream, Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
MARY IN HEAVEN.
THOU lingʻring star, with less'ning ray,
That lov'st to greet the early morn,
My Mary from my soul was torn.
Where is thy place of blissful rest?
Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast?
Can I forget the hallow'd grove,
To live one day of parting love !
Those records dear of transports past;
All little thought we'twas our last !
O'erhung with wild woods thick’ning green;
Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene.
The birds sang love on ev'ry spray,
Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.
And fondly broods with miser care;
As streams their channels deeper wear.
My Mary, dear departed shade !
Where is thy blissful place of rest ? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid ?
Hear’st thou the groans that rend his breast!
MAN WAL MADE TO MOURN,
WHEN chill November's surly blast
Along the banks of Ayr,
Seem'd weary, worn with care;
And hoary was his hair.
Began the reverend sage;
Or youthful pleasure's rage?
To soon thou hast begun
The miseries of man.
Out-spreading far and wide,
A haughty lordling's pride;
Twice forty times return;
That man was made to inouro.
How prodigal of time!
Thy glorious youthful prime!
Licentious passions burn;
Which ten-fold force gives nature's law,
That man was made to mourn. • Look not alone on youthful prime,
Or manhood's active inight;
Supported is his right :
With cares and sorrows worn,
Show man was made to mourn. "A few seem favourites of fate,
In pleasure's lap caress'd;
Are likewise truly blest.
Are wretched and forlorn;
That man was made to mourn.
Inwoven with our frame !
Regret, remorse, and shame!
The smiles of love adorn,
Makes countless thousands mouro! • See yonder poor e'erlabour'd wight,
So abject, mean, and vile, Who begs a brother of the earth
To give him leave to toil ; And see his lordly feHow-worm
The poor petition spurn, Unmindful, though a weeping wife
And helpless offspring mourn. • If I'm design'd yon lordling's slaves
By Nature's laws design'd, Why was an independent wish
E'er planted in my mind? If not, why am I subject to
His cruelty or scorn?
Or why has man the will and pow'r
To make his fellow mourn ? “Yet, let not this too much, my son,
Disturb thy youthful breast :
Is surely not the last!
Had never, sure, been born,
To comfort those that mourn ! "O death ! the poor man's dearest friend,
The kindest and the best!
Are laid with thee at rest!
From pomp and pleasure tord;
That weary-laden mourn ?'
IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH.
Of all my hope and fear!
Perhaps I must appear!
Of life I ought to shun;
Remonstrates I have done ;
With passions wild and strong ;:
Has often led me wrong.
Or frailty stept aside,
La shades of darkness hide.