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Oh! on this far and foreign shore,
How doubly blest that song appears;

Long days and distance wafting o'er
The sweetness of departed years.

The scene around me fades away,

As at the wave of magic wand— I see the glens, and mountains grey,

And wild woods of my native land.

The summer bower, the silent stream,
The scenes of youth, are on the strain;

And peopled in my waking dream
With forms I ne'er shall see again.

As on my wanderings when a child,

That music comes at close of day, Along the dim and distant wild,

And wafts my spirit far away.

And on the heart as it distils,

Dear as the dew drop to the leaf, Oh how the rising bosom thrills

Beneath the mystic joy of grief.


So sweet—so hallowed 'tis to feel
The gentle woe that wakes thy sigh,

That e'en in heaven, methinks 'twill steal
Upon the spirit's dream of joy!

But hark !—that soothing strain is o'er,

And broken is the lovely spell;
So fades from off our native shore,

The accents of a friend's farewell.

John Malcolm, Esq.


Through many a land and clime a ranger,
With toilsome steps I've held my way,

A lonely unprotected stranger,
To all the stranger's ills a prey.

While steering thus my course precarious..

My fortune still has been to find Men's hearts and dispositions various,

But gentle woman, ever kind.

Alive to every tender feeling,

To deeds of mercy ever prone;
The wounds of pain and sorrow healing

With soft compassion's sweetest tone.

No proud delay, no dark suspicion,

Stints the free bounty of their heart; They turn not from the sad petition,

But cheerful aid at once impart.

Formed in benevolence of nature,

Obliging, modest, gay, and mild, Woman's the same endearing creature,

In courtly town and savage wild.

When parched with thirst, with hunger wasted,

Her friendly hand refreshment gave; How sweet the coarsest food has tasted,

What cordial in the simple wave!

Her courteous looks, her words caressing,

Shed comfort on the fainting soul: Woman's the stranger's general blessing,

From sultry India to the Pole!



Oh that those lips had language t Life has passed
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
Those lips are thine—thy own sweet smile I see,
The same, that oft in childhood solaced me;
Voice only fails, else, how distinct they say,
'Grieve not my child, chase all thy fears away!'
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes
(Blest be the art that can immortalize,
The art that baffles time's tyrannic claim
To quench it) here shines on me still the same.
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,

0 welcome guest, though unexpected here!
Who bidd'st me honour, with an artless song
Affectionate, a mother lost so long.

1 will obey, not willingly alone,

But gladly, as the precept were her own r
And, while that face renews my filial grief,
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief;
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,
A momentary dream, that thou art she..

My mother! when I learned that thou wast dead, Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed? Hovered thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, Wretch even then, life's journey just begun? Perhaps thou gavest me, though unseen, a kiss; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss— Ah that maternal smile! it answers—Yes. I heard the bell tolled on thy burial day, I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, And, turning from my nursery window, drew A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! But was it such ?—It was—Where thou art gone, Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, The parting sound shall pass my lips no more! Thy maidens grieved themselves at my concern, Oft gave me promise of a quick return; What ardently I wished, I long believed, And, disappointed still, was still deceived. By disappointment every day beguiled, Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, Till all my stock of infant sorrow spent, I learned at last submission to my lot, But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot.

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