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Hath she not dwelt too long

YES! there are real mourners,

I have seen Midst pain, and grief, and wrong? Then why not die ?

A fair sad girl, mild, suffering, and serene ; Why suffer again her doom of sorrow,

Attention (through the day) her duties claimed, And hopeless lie ?

And to be useful as resigned she aimed ; Why nurse the trembling dream until to-morrow? Neatly she drest, nor vainly seemed t expect Reply, reply!

Pity for grief, or pardon for neglect;

But when her wearied parents sunk to sleep, Death! Take her to thine arms,

She sought her place to meditate and weep ; In all her stainless charms !

Then to her mind was all the past displayed, And with her fly

That faithful memory brings to sorrow's aid :

For then she thought on one regretted youth, To heavenly haunts, where, clad in brightness,

Her tender trust, and his unquestioned truth ; The angels lie ! Wilt bear her there, 0 death! in all her white- In every place she wandered, where they 'd been, ness?

And sadly-sacred held the parting scene,
Reply, reply?

Where last for sea he took his leave ; that place
With double interest would she nightly trace !




Happy he sailed, and great the care she took She placed a decent stone his grave above,

That he should softly sleep and smartly look ; Neatly engraved, an offering of her love :
White was his better linen, and his check For that she wrought, for that forsook her bed,
Was made more trim than any on the deck; Awake alike to duty and the dead ;
And every comfort men at sea can know

She would have grieved, had friends presumed to
Was hers to buy, to make, and to bestow :

For he to Greenland sailed, and much she told, The least assistance, “'t was her proper care.
How he should guard against the climate's cold ; Here will she come, and on the grave will sit,
Yet saw not danger ; dangers he 'd withstood, Folding her arms, in long abstracted fit :
Nor could she trace the fever in his blood.

But if observer pass, will take her round,
His messmates smiled at flushings on his cheek, And careless seem, for she would not be found ;
And he too smiled, but seldom would he speak; Then go again, and thus her hours employ,
For now he found the danger, felt the pain, While visions please her, and while woes destroy.
With grievous symptoms he could not explain.
He called his friend, and prefaced with a sigh
A lover's message,

“Thomas, I must die ;
Would I could see my Sally, and could rest
My throbbing temples on her faithful breast, FAREWELL! but whenever you welcome the
And gazing go! if not, this trifle take,

And say, till death I wore it for her sake : That awakens the night-song of mirth in your
Yes! I must die - blow on, sweet br

sweet breeze, blow on! bower, Give me one look before my life be gone !

Then think of the friend who once welcomed it 0, give me that, and let me not despair !

too, One last fond look !-- and now repeat the And forgot his own griefs, to be happy with you. prayer.”

His griefs may return not a hope may remain
He had his wish, had more : I will not paint Of the few that have brightened his pathway of
The lovers' meeting ; she beheld him faint,

With tender fears, she took a nearer view, But he ne'er can forget the short vision that threw
Her terrors doubling as her hopes withdrew ; Its enchantment around him while lingering with
He tried to smile ; and, half succeeding, said,

you !
“ Yes! I must die" and hope forever fled.
Still, long she nursed him ; tender thoughts And still on that evening when Pleasure fills up

To the highest top sparkle each heart and each
Were interchanged, and hopes and views sublime. сир,
To her he came to die, and every day

Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright,
She took some portion of the dread away;

My soul, happy friends! will be with you that With him she prayed, to him his Bible read,

night; Soothed the faint heart, and held the aching Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your head :

She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer, And return to me, beaming all o’er with your

smiles !--
Apart she sighed ; alone, she shed the tear;
Then, as if breaking from a cloud, she gave

Too blest if it tell me that, mid the gay cheer,
Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave.

Some kind voice has murmured, “I wish he were
One day he lighter seemed, and they forgot

The care, the dread, the anguish of their lot. Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy,
A sudden brightness in his look appeared, Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot
A sudden vigor in his voice was heard ;

She had been reading in the Book of Prayer,

Which come, in the night-time of sorrow and And led him forth, and placed him in his chair.

care, Lively he seemed, and spake of all he knew,

And bring back the features which joy used to The friendly many, and the favorite few;

but then his hand she prest, Long, long be my heart with such memories filled ! And fondly whispered, “Thou must go to rest. Like the vase in which roses have once been dis“I go,” he said ; but as he spoke, she found

tilled His hand more cold, and fluttering was the You may break, you may ruin the vase, if you

will, Then gazed affrighted ; but she caught a last, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. A dying look of love, and all was past !




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I'VE wandered east, I've wandered west,

Through mony a weary way;
But never, never can forget

The luve o' life's young day !
The fire that's blawn on Beltane e'en

May weel be black gin Yule ;
But blacker fa' awaits the heart

Where first fond luve grows cule.


I AM undone : there is no living, none,
If Bertram be away.

It were all one,
That I should love a bright particular star,
And think to wed it, he is so above me :
In his bright radiance and collateral light
Must I be comforted, not in his sphere.
The ambition in my love thus plagues itself :
The hind that would be mated by the lion
Must die for love. 'Twas pretty, though a plague,
To see him ev'ry hour ; to sit and draw
His arched brows, his hawking eye, his curls,
In our heart's table, — heart too capable
Of every line and trick of his sweet favor :
But now he's gone, and my idolatrous fancy
Must sanctify his relics.

O dear, dear Jeanie Morrison,

The thochts o' bygane years Still fling their shadows ower my path,

And blind my een wi' tears : They blind my een wi' saut, saut tears,

And sair and sick I pine, As memory idly summons up

The blithe blinks o’langsyne.


’T was then we luvit ilk ither weel,

'T was then we twa did part; Sweet time---sad time! twa bairns at scule,

Twa bairns, and but ae heart ! ’T was then we sat on ae laigh bink,

To leir ilk ither lear; And tones and looks and smiles were shed,

Remembered evermair.


0, SAW ye bonnie Lesley

As she gaed o'er the border ? She 's gane, like Alexander,

To spread her conquests farther.

To see her is to love her,

And love but her forever ; For nature made her what she is,

And ne'er made sic anither!

I wonder, Jeanie, aften yet,

When sitting on that bink, Cheek touchin' cheek, loof locked in loof,

What our wee heads could think.
When baith bent doun ower ae braid page,

Wi' ae buik on our knee,
Thy lips were on thy lesson, but

My lesson was in thee.

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