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I hae seen the grey linnet aft robb’d o' its young,
Heard the sweet-melting love-notes drap saft frae its tongue,
And the stray'd lambies bleating on bank and on brae,
But never till now was my poor heart so wae,
Tho' the wild warbling music sounds sweet through the dell,
Still I sigh in deep woe for my Mary Campbell,

I linger a' lanely by Ayr's winding stream,
Where my dear “ Highland Mary” adorn'd the sweet scene,
Where the white mantld hawthorn has shelter'd my maid,
And the wild roving echo play'd saft through the glade,
But these rural endearments increase sorrow's knell,
And mind me anew of my Mary Campbell.

Her e'e was mair bright than yon star in the sky, Health bloom'd on her cheek with the wild roses dye, Her saft bosom rose like a pure wreath of snaw, But the heart it conceal'd was the dearest of a', Ah! pale weeping sorrow has rung the death-knell, And robb’d me of joy and my Mary Campbell. most ardent reciprocal attachment, we met, by appointment, on the second Sunday of May, in a sequestred spot by the banks of Ayr, where we spent the day in taking a farewell, bcfore she should embark for the West Highlands, to arrange matters among her friends for our projected change in life." This adieu was performed with all those simple and striking ceremonials, which rustic sentiment has devised to prolong tender emotions, and to inspire awe. The lovers stood on cach side of a small purling brook; they laved their hands in its limpid stream, and holding a bible between them, pronounced their vows to be faithful to each other f. “ At thc close of Autumn following, she crossed the sea to meet me at Greenock, where she had scarce landed, when she was seized with a malignant fever, which hurried my dear girl to the grave in a few days, before I could even hear of her illness."




In vain thou call'st for a mirthful smile,

Morna, to glance o'er my cheek of woe, When the scorn that sits in thine eye the while,

Bids the dew of my sorrows flow.
Oh! fly with me swift o'er moss and brake;

Ob! fly from this lonely woodland glade ; My charger shall speed for thy lov'd sake,

And glisten for thee shall my temper'd blade.

If e'er my soul, in a playful hour,

Seem'd as entranc'd by another's wile, And hung with bliss on the magic power,

That ever lurks in a ruby smile ; Then if my frame with feeling trembld,

And wav'ring breath my bosom drew, 'Twas that the smile on her cheek resembl'd

The softest smile I've ador'd in you.



Thou must not linger, lovely one,

Within thy bower, but come away; The scowl of winter past and gone, : Now April sheds her mildest ray.

The lily, bending on its stem,

Waves graceful o'er the silver stream; Bedeck'd with many a bonny gem,

The fields glance in the morning beam.

Nurst by the genial sun and breeze,

And water'd by the kindly shower, The blossom swells upon the trees,

The briar and broom put forth their flower.

Now frisk the lambs along the lea,

Or peaceful brouze the tender blade; The nimble hares, in amorous glee,

Are sporting down the hawthorn glade.

The mingling concert of the grove,

Awakes to hail the vernal reign;
Each warbling voice, attun'd to love,

Blends in one soft harmonious strain,


* The author of this poetical effusion, was R. B. Sheridan, Esq;.-Hazlitt, in his critique on that eminent man, says, he has justly been called " a star of the first magnitude,” and indeed among the Comic writers of the last century

Nor season's day, nor fate shall prove,

More fix'd, more true than I !
Hush'd be that sigh, be dried that tear;
Cease, boding doubt, cease, anxious fear,

Dost ask how long my vows shall stay,

When all that's new is past?
How long, my Delia! can I say,

How long my life will last?
Dried be that tear, be hush'd that sigh,
At least I'll love thee till I die.

And does that thought affect thee too,

The thought of Silvio's death ;
That he, who only breathes for you,

Must yield that faithful breath?
Hush'd be that sigh, be dried that tear,
Nor let us lose our heaven while here.

he shines, “ like Hesperus among the lesser lights.” He has left four excel lent Dramas behind him, all different, or of different kinds, and all excellent in their way, viz. the School for Scandal, the Rivals, the Duenna, the Critic, His songs are not to be equalled; they have a joyous spirit of intoxication in them, and a spirit of the most melting tenderness. Sheridan was not only a dramatic writer, but a first-rate parliamentary speaker. His cha. racteristics as an orator, were manly, unperverted good sense, and keen irony. Wit, which has been thought a two-edged weapon, was by him always employed by the same side of the question-I think, on the right one. His set and more laboured speeches, were proportionably abortive, and unimpressive; but no one was equal to him in replying on the spur of the moment to pompous absurdity, and unravelling the web of flimsy sophistry. He was the last accomplished debater of the House of Commons; an ornament of private and public life; universally beloved ; a wit and a Patriot, to boot ; a poet and an honest man,” Born 1751. Died 1816,

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