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Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more. Children not thine have trod ray nursery floor; And where the gardener Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the public way, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapt In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet-capt, 'Tis now become a history little known, That once we called the pastoral house our own. Short-lived possession! but the record fair, That memory keeps of all thy kindness there, Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced A thousand other themes less deeply traced. Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid -. Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, The biscuit, or confectionary plum; The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glowed; All this, and more endearing still than all, Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall, Ne'er roughened by those cataracts and breaks, That humour interposed too often makes; All this, still legible in memory's page, And still to be so to my latest age, Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay Such honours to thee as my numbers may;

Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,

Not scorned in heaven, though little noticed 'here.

Could time, his flight reversed, restore the hours, When playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, The violet, the pink, and jessamine, I pricked them into paper with a pin, (And thou wast happier than myself the while, Would softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile, ^ Could those few pleasant hours again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here? I would not trust my heart—the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might. But no—what here we call our life is such, So little to be loved, and thou so much, That I should ill requite thee to constrain Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.

Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast (The storms all weathered and the ocean crossed) Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, Where spices breathe and brighter seasons smile; There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay; So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the shore, 'Where tempests never beat nor billows roar;'

And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide-
Of life long since has anchored at thy side.
.But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest,
Always from port withheld, always distressed—
Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-tossed,
Sails ript, seams opening wide, aud compass lost;.
And day by day some current's thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.
But oh the thought, that thou art safe, and he!
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.
My boast is not, that I deduce my birth
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth;
But higher far my proud pretensions rise—
The son of parents passed into the skies.
And now, farewell—Time unrevoked has run
His wonted course, yet what I wished is done,.
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again;
To have renewed the joys that once were mine,
Without the sin of violating thine;
And, while the wings of fancy still are free,
And I can view this mimic show of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theft—
Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.


Yes, thou art changed since first we met,
But think not I shall e'er regret,
Though never can my heart forget

The charms that once were thine:'
For, Marian, well the cause I know

That stole the lustre from thine eye, That proved thy beauty's secret foe,

And bade thy bloom and spirits fly:— What laid thy health, my Marian, low,

Was,—anxious care of mine.

O'er my sick couch I saw thee bend,
The duteous wife, the tender friend,
And each capricious wish attend

With soft incessant care.
Then, trust me, love I that pallid face

Can boast a sweeter charm for me,
A truer, tenderer, dearer grace

Than blooming health bestowed on thee; For these thy well-timed love I see,'

And read my blessings there.


Occasioned by visiting the City and Ruins of St Andrew's.

In ancient time, near the wide ocean-strand, A city lay, in sculptured rich attire, Far shadowed out upon the golden sand;— Her rock-built castle, and cathedral spire— Her holy monastery, where grey-haired friar And saintly nun, to penitence and prayer Would in the fervour of their faith retire— Her cloistered courts, for learning to repair, Might shew how kingly strength and wisdom flourished there.

, No consecrated groves, or rivers bright, No lovely vallies circled it around; But cliffs on which the eagle would alight, And hollow caverns stretching under ground, Within whose labyrinths of gloom profound The water-snakes, and sea-birds dragged their prey, Or lonely hermits secret refuge found; Whilst far along the rocky cape there lay, With vessels anchored deep, a wild and troubled bay.

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