Now at the dark wood's stately side,
Well pleas'd I met the sun again;
Here fleeting Fancy travell'd wide!

My seat was destin'd to the main :
For, many an oak lay stretch'd at length,
Whose trunks (with bark no longer sheath'd)
Had reach'd their full meridian strength
Before your father's father breath'd!

Perhaps they'll many a conflict brave,
And many a dreadful storm defy;
Then groaning o'er the adverse wave
Bring home the flag of victory.
Go, then, proud oaks! we meet no more!
Go, grace the scenes to me denied,
The white cliffs round my native shore,
And the loud ocean's swelling tide.

'Genius of the forest shades,'

Sweet, from the heights of thy domain,
When the gray ev'ning shadow fades,
To view the country's golden grain!
To view the gleaming village spire
'Midst distant groves unknown to me;
Groves, that grown bright in borrow'd fire
Bow o'er the peopled vales to thee!

Where was thy elfin train that play

Round Wake's huge oak, their favourite tree?

May a poor son of song thus say,

Why were they not reveal'd to me? Yet, smiling fairies left behind,

Affection brought you to my view;

To love and tenderness resign'd,

I sat me down and thought of you.

When morning still unclouded rose,
Refresh'd with sleep and joyous dreams,
Where fruitful fields with woodlands close,
I trac'd the birth of various streams.

From beds of clay, here creeping rills
Unseen to parent Ouse would steal;
Or, gushing from the northward hills,
Would glitter through Toves' winding dale.

But ah! ye cooling springs, farewell!
Herds, I no more your freedom share;
But long my grateful tongue shall tell
What brought your gazing stranger there.
'Genius of the forest shades,

'Lend thy power, and lend thine ear;' Let dreams still lengthen thy long glades, And bring thy peace and silence here.

SONG

FOR A HIGHLAND DROVER,

RETURNING FROM ENGLAND.

Now fare-thee-well, England; no further I'll

roam;

But follow my shadow that points the way home: Your gay southern shores shall not tempt me to stay;

For my Maggy's at home, and my children at play! 'Tis this makes my bonnet sit light on my brow, Gives my sinews their strength and my bosom its glow.

Farewell, mountaineers! my companions, adieu; Soon, many long miles when I'm sever'd from you, I shall miss your white horns on the brink of the

bourne,

And o'er the rough heaths, where you'll never

return :

But in brave English pastures you cannot complain, While your Drover speeds back to his Maggy again. O Tweed! gentle Tweed, as I pass your green

vales,

More than life, more than love my tir'd spirit inhales;

There Scotland, my darling, lies full in my view,
With her bare-footed lasses and mountains so blue:
To the mountains away; my heart bounds like
the hind;

For home is so sweet, and my Maggy so kind.
As day after day I still follow my course,
And in fancy trace back every stream to its

source,

E 2

Hope cheers me up hills, where the road lies be

fore

O'er hills just as high, and o'er tracks of wild

moor;

The keen polar star nightly rising to view;

But Maggy's my star, just as steady and true.
O ghosts of my fathers! O heroes look down!
Fix my wandering thoughts on your deeds of

renown,

For the glory of Scotland reigns warm in my breast,
And fortitude grows both from toil and from rest;
May your deeds and your worth be for ever in
view,

And may Maggy bear sons not unworthy of you.
Love, why do you urge me, so weary and poor?
I cannot step faster, I cannot do more;
I've pass'd silver Tweed; e'en the Tay flows be-
hind;

Yet fatigue I'll disdain ;-my reward I shall find;
Thou, sweet smile of innocence, thou art my prize;
And the joy that will sparkle in Maggy's blue eyes.
She'll watch to the southward;-perhaps she will
sigh,

That the way is so long and the mountains so high;

Perhaps some huge rock in the dusk she may see, And will say in her fondness, That surely is he?' Good wife you're deceiv'd; I'm still far from my hoine:

Go, sleep, my dear Maggy,-to-morrow I'll come.

A WORD

ΤΟ

TWO YOUNG LADIES.

WHEN tender rose-trees first receive
On half-expanded leaves, the shower;
Hope's gayest pictures we believe,

And anxious watch each coming flower.

Then, if beneath the genial sun

That spreads abroad the full-blown May, Two infant stems the rest out-run,

Their buds the first to meet the day

With joy their opening tints we view,
While morning's precious moments fly :
My pretty maids, 'tis thus with you,
The fond admiring gazer, I.

Preserve, sweet buds, where'er you be,
The richest gem that decks a wife-

The charm of female modesty ;
And let sweet music give it life.

Still may the favouring Muse be found:
Still circumspect the paths ye tread :
Plant moral truths in Fancy's ground;
And meet old age without a dread.

Yet, ere that comes, while yet ye quaff
The of health without a pain,

cup

I'll shake my gray hairs when you laugh, And, when you sing, be young again.