How did the mother see her daughter rise, 20 25 And healed the loss of many a buried son: The beauteous setting of a glorious day; 30 Soon Heaven, which gave, again resumed its own; And of his family he remains alone. His thoughts in her refined no more he'll trace, Or view his features softened in her face; No more in secret on her beauty gaze, 35 Or hide his gladness when he hears her praise : Mute is the tongue which pleased his soul before, Peace, gentle shade, attend thy balmy rest, 40 45 50 TO THE MEMORY OF AN OFFICER KILLED BEFORE QUEBEC'. Ан me ! what sorrow are we born to bear! When peace itself can seldom dry the tear, 5 What floods demand the dreary wastes of war! . 10 Where undistinguished ruin reigns o'er all, At once the truant and the valiant fall; Where timeless shrouds inwrap the great and brave, Inserted with the initials (J. MP.), in the Scots Magazine for October 1759, and reprinted with the name in BLACKLOCK's Collection, Vol. II. p. 134. Dear hapless youth, cut off in early bloom, 15 20 On some cold bank thy decent limbs were laid; So soon forsake us, dear lamented shade, 25 30 35 If, in the midnight hour, lamented shade, You view the place where thy remains are laid; If pale you hover o'er your secret grave, Or viewless flit o'er Hoshelega's* wave; 40 O! when my troubled soul is sunk in rest, And peaceful slumbers sooth my anxious breast, To fancy's eyes in all thy bloom appear, Once more thy own unsullied image wear; Unfold the secrets of your world to me, 45 Tell what thou art, and what I soon shall be. He comes! he comes! but O how changed of late! How much deforms the leaden hand of fate! Why do I see that generous bosom gored? 50 Why, blameless shade, that mournful aspect wear? And Heaven itself approve of Wolfe and thee. Yes, thou art blessed above the rolling sphere; "Tis for myself, not thee, I shed the tear. 55 Where shall I now such blameless friendship find, 60 65 What boots the rising sigh? in vain we weep, We, too, like him, anon must fall asleep ; 70 Life, and its sorrows too, shall soon be o'er, And the heart heave with bursting sighs no more; Death shed oblivious rest on every head, And one dull silence reign o'er all the dead. THE EARL MARISCHAL'S WELCOME ΤΟ HIS NATIVE COUNTRY. An Ode 1, attempted in the manner of Pindar. "TWAS when the full-eared harvest bow'd Beneath the merry reaper's hand; When here the plenteous sheafs were strew'd, And there the corns nod o'er the land; When on each side the loaden'd ground, Breathing her ripen'd scents, the jovial season crown'd; The arrival of their lord attend; The blythsome shepherds haste to join, Inserted with the initials (J. M.), in the Scots Magazine for September 1760; reprinted with the name in Blacklock's Collection, Vol. II. p. 170. |