With timely care I'll sow my little fleld, And plant my orchard with its master's hand, Nor blush to spread the hay, the hook to wield, Or range my sheaves along the sunny land. If late at dusk, while carelessly I roam, I meet a strolling kid, or bleating lamb, What joy to hear the tempest howl in vain, Or, if the sun in flaming Leo ride, What joy to wind along the cool retreat, To mingle sweet discourse with kisses sweet, Thus pleased at heart, and not with fancy's dream, Ah, foolish man, who thus of her possessed, Hers be the care of all my little train, Ah, what avails to press the stately bed, And far from her 'midst tasteless grandeur weep, By marble fountains lay the pensive head, And, while they murmur, strive in vain to sleep? Delia alone can please, and never tire, Exceed the paint of thought in true delight; With her, enjoyment wakens new desire, And equal rapture glows through every night! Beauty and worth in her alike contend, To charm the fancy, and to fix the mind; In her, my wife, my mistress, and my friend, I taste the joys of sense and reason joined. On her I'll gaze, when others' loves are o'er, Nor can that gentle breast the thought withstand. Oh, when I die my latest moments spare, Nor let thy grief with sharper torments kill, Oh, quit the room, oh, quit the deathful bed, These weeping friends will do thy mournful part: Convey the corse in melancholy state, Our name while virtue thus we tender, What though, from fortune's lavish bounty, Still shall each kind returning season Through youth and age, in love excelling, How should I love the pretty creatures, This beautiful piece first appeared in a volume of Miscellaneous Poems, published by D. Lewis. 17.6. It has been erroneously ascribed to John Gilbert Cooper (1723-1769), author of a volume of poems, and some prose works (including a Life of Socrates). + This sentiment has been expressed in similar, but more pointed language by Mr. Tennyson: Howe'er it be. it seems to me. Kind hearts are more than coronets, Lady Clara Vere de Vere. And when with envy Time transported, The Mystery of Life. By JOHN GAMBOLD, a bishop among the Moravian Brethren, who died in 1771. So many years I've seen the sun, [own, O what is life! and this dull round So many airy draughts and lines, And warm excursions of the mind, So many tender joys and woes Have on my quivering soul had power; So many human souls divine. Some oft and freely mixed with mine, In lasting bonds my heart have laid: O what is friendship! why impressed On my weak, wretched, dying breast? So many wondrous gleams of light, And gentle ardours from above, Ere long, when sovereign wisdom wills, This frame, and waft me to the dead: The Beggar. By the Rev. T. Moss, who died in 1808, minister of Brierly Pill and of Trentham, Staffordshire. He published in 1769 a small collection of miscellaneous poems. Pity the sorrows of a poor old man! Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span; Oh! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store. These tattered clothes my poverty bespeak, These hoary locks proclaim my lengthened years; Has been the channel to a stream of tears. Yon honse, erected on the rising ground, (Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor !) A pampered menial forced me from the door, Oh! take me to your hospitable dome, Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold! Short is my passage to the friendly tomb, Should I reveal the source of every grief, If soft humanity c'er touched your breast, Heaven sends misfortunes-why should we repine? A little farm was my paternal lot, Then, like the lark, I sprightly hailed the morn; My daughter-once the comfort of my age! My tender wife-sweet soother of my care! And left the world to wretchedness and me. Pity the sorrows of a poor old man! Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, These lines of the young, poet seem to have suggested a similar piece by Samuel Rogers, entitled, To Go-you may call it madness, folly: You shall not chase my gloom away; Oh, if you knew the pensive pleasure SCOTTISH POETS. Though most Scottish authors at this time-as Thomson, Mallet, &c.-composed in the English language, a few, stimulated by the success of Allan Ramsay, cultivated their native tongue. The best of these was Fergusson. The popularity of Ramsay's Tea-table Miscellany led to other collections and to new contributions to Scottish song, including The Charmer,' by J. Yair, 1749-51. In 1776 appeared Ancient and Modern Scottish Songs, Heroic Ballads,' &c. The editor of this collection was DAVID HERD (1732-1810), a native of St. Cyrus, in Kincardineshire, who was clerk to an accountant in Edinburgh. Sir Walter Scott calls Herd's collection 'the first classsical collection of Scottish Songs and Ballads.' Above fifty pieces were written down from recitation, and thus preserved by the meritorious editor. WILLIAM HAMILTON. WILLIAM HAMILTON of Bangour, a Scottish gentleman of education, rank, and accomplishments, was born of an ancient family in Ayrshire in 1704. He was the delight of the fashionable circles of his native country, and became early distinguished for his poetical talents. Struck, we may suppose, with the romance of the enterprise, Hamilton, in 1745, joined the standard of Prince Charles, and became the volunteer laureate' of the Jacobites, by celebrating the battle of Gladsmuir. On the discomfiture of the party, Hamilton succeeded in effecting his escape to France; but having many friends and admirers among the royalists at home, a pardon was procured for the rebellious poet, and he was soon restored to his native country and his paternal estate. He did not, however, live long to enjoy his good-fortune. His health had always been delicate, and a pulmonary complaint forced him to seek the warmer climate of the continent. He gradually declined, and died at Lyon in 1754, Hamilton's first and best strains were dedicated to lyrical poetry. Before he was twenty he had assisted Allan Ramsay in his 'Tea-table Miscellany.' In 1748, some person, unknown to him, collected and published his poems in Glasgow; but the first genuine and correct copy did not appear till after the author's death, in 1760, when a collection was made from his own manuscripts. The most attractive feature in his works is his pure English style, and a somewhat ornate poetical diction. He had more fancy than feeling, and in this respect his amatory songs resemble those of the courtier-poets of Charles II.'s court. Nor was he more sincere, if we may credit an anecdote related of him by Alexander Tytler in his life of Henry Home, Lord Kames. One of the ladies whom Hamilton annoyed by his perpetual compliments and solicitations, consulted Home how she should get rid of the poet, who, she was convinced, had no serious object in view. The philosopher advised her to dance with him, and shew him every mark of her kindness, as if she had resolved to favour his |