XIX.

On her I'll gaze, when others loves are o'er,
And dying, prefs her with my clay-cold hand----
Thou weep'ft already, as I were no more,
Nor can that gentle breaft the thought withftand.

XX.

Oh! when I die, my latest moments spare,
Nor let thy grief with sharper torments kill,
Wound not thy cheeks, nor hurt that flowing hair,
Tho' I am dead my foul shall love thee still.

XXI.

Oh quit the room, oh quit the deathful bed,
Or thou wilt die, so tender is thy heart!

O leave me, DELIA ! ere thou fee me dead,
These weeping friends will do thy mournful part.

XXII.

Let them extended on the decent bier,
Convey the corfe in melancholy state,

Thro' all the village spread the tender tear,

While pitying maids our wond'rous loves relate.

THE

TEAR S

OF

SCOTLAN D.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR MDCCXLVI.

Mo

OURN, hapless CALEDONIA, mourn Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn! Thy fons, for valour long renown'd, Lie flaughter'd on their native ground; Thy hofpitable roofs no more, Invite the ftranger to the door; In fmoaky ruins funk they lie, The monuments of cruelty.

II.

The wretched owner fees afar
His all become the prey of war ;
Bethinks him of his babes and wife,
Then fmites his breaft, and curfes life.
Thy fwains are famish'd on the rocks,
Where once they fed their wanton flocks:
Thy ravish'd virgins fhriek in vain ;
Thy infants perish on the plain.

III.

What boots it then, in every clime,
Thro' the wide fpreading wafte of time,
Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise,
Still fhone with undiminish'd blaze ?
Thy tow'ring spirit now is broke,
Thy neck is bended to the yoke.
What foreign arms could never quell,
By civil rage, and rancour fell.

IV.

The rural pipe, and merry lay
No more fhall chear the happy day:
No focial scenes of gay delight
Beguile the dreary winter night:
No strains, but thofe of forrow flow,
And nought be heard but founds of woe;
While the pale phantoms of the flain
Glide nightly o'er the filent plain.

V.

Oh baneful caufe, oh! fatal morn,
Accurs'd to ages yet unborn!
The fons, against their fathers stood,
The parent fhed his children's blood.
Yet, when the rage of battle ceas'd,
The victor's foul was not appeas'd:
The naked and forlorn must feel
Devouring flames, and murd'ring fteel!

VI.

The pious mother doom'd to death,
Forfaken, wanders o'er the heath,
The bleak wind whistles round her head,
Her helpless orphans cry for bread,
Bereft of shelter, food, and friend,
She views the fhades of night defcend,
And ftretch'd beneath th' inclement skies,
Weeps o'er her tender babes and dies.

VII.

Whilft the warm blood bedews my veins, And unimpair'd remembrance reigns; Refentment of my country's fate,

Within my

filial breaft fhall beat; And, fpite of her infulting foe,

My fympathizing verfe fhall fhall flow, "Mourn, hapless CALEDONIA, mourn "Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn."

AN ELEG Y.

WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH YARD.

T

HE Curfeu tolls, the knell of parting day,

The lowing herd winds flowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness, and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the fight, And all the air a folemn ftillness holds; Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, Or drowsy tinklings lull the diftant folds.

Save, that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r The mopeing owl does to the moon complain Of fuch, as wand'ring near her fecret bow'r, Moleft her ancient folitary reign.

Beneath thofe rugged elms, that yew-tree's fhade, Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefather's of the hamlet fleep.

The breezy call of incenfe-breathing morn, 'The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, The cock's fhrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouze them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or bufy housewife ply her ev'ning care: No children run to lifp their fire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kifs to fhare.