WERE there one whose fires
True genius kindles, and fair fame inspires;
Blest with each talent and each art to please,
And born to write, converse, and live with ease:
Should such a man, too fond to rule alone,
Bear, like the Turk, no brother near the throne,
View him with scornful, yet with jealous eyes,
And hate for arts that caused himself to rise;
Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,
And, without sneering, teach the rest to sneer;
Willing to wound, and yet afraid to strike,
Just hint a fault, and hesitate dislike;
Alike reserved to blame, or to commend,
A timorous foe, and a suspicious friend;
Dreading e'en fools, by flatterers besieged,
And so obliging, that he ne'er obliged;
Like Cato, give his little senate laws,
And sit attentive to his own applause;
While wits and templars every sentence raise,
And wonder with a foolish face of praise-
Who but must laugh, if such a man there be?
Who would not weep, if Atticus were he!
POPE. [From the "Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot."]
THOU art to all lost love the best,
The only true plant found,
Wherewith young men and maids distrest,
And left of love, are crowned.
When once the lover's rose is dead,
Or laid aside forlorn;
Then willow garlands, 'bout the head,
Bedewed with tears, are worn.
When with neglect, the lover's bane,
Poor maids rewarded be,
For their love lost; their only gain
Is but a wreath from thee.
And underneath thy cooling shade,
When weary of the light,
The love-spent youth, and love-sick maid,
Come to weep out the night.
AE fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae farewell, alas! for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
Who shall say that fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me;
Dark despair around benights me.
I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy,
Naething could resist my Nancy:
But to see her was to love her;
Love but her, and love for ever.
Had we never loved sae kindly,
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met or never parted,
We had ne'er been broken-hearted.
Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure!
Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;
Ae farewell, alas! for ever!
Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
THREE days ago Lord Ronald's child
Was singing o'er the mountain-wild,
Among the sunny showers
That brought the rainbow to her sight,
And bathed her footsteps in the light
Of purple heather-flowers.
But chilly came the evening's breath-
The silent dew was cold with death-
She reached her home with pain;
And from the bed where now she lies,
With snow-white face and closed eyes,
She ne'er must rise again.
Still is she as a frame of stone,
That in its beauty lies alone,
With silence breathing from its face,
For ever in some holy place!
Chapel or aisle! on marble laid
With pale hands o'er its pale breast spread-
An image humble, meek, and low,
Of one forgotten long ago!
Soft feet are winding up the stair—
And lo! a vision passing fair!
All dressed in white-a mournful show
A band of orphan children come,
With footsteps like the falling snow,
To bear to her eternal home
The gracious Lady who looked down
With smiles on their forlorn estate-
But mercy up to heaven is gone
And left the friendless to their fate.
They pluck the honeysuckle's bloom,
That through the window fills the room
With mournful odours-and the rose
That in its innocent beauty glows,
Leaning its dewy golden head
Towards the pale face of the dead,
Weeping like a thing forsaken
Unto eyes that will not waken.
All bathed in pity's gentle showers
They place these melancholy flowers
Upon the cold white breast!
And there they lie! profoundly calm!
Ere long to fill with fading balm
A place of deeper rest!
By that fair band the bier is borne
Into the open light of morn,-
And, till the parting dirge be said,
Upon a spot of sunshine laid
Beneath a grove of trees!
Bowed and uncovered every head,
Bright-tressed youth, and hoary age
Then suddenly before the dead
Lord Ronald's gathered vassalage
Fell down upon their knees!
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