LINES

WRITTEN ON VISITING A SCENE IN ARGYLESHIRE.

AT the silence of twilight's contemplative hour,

I have mus'd in a sorrowful mood,

On the wind-shaken weeds that embosom the bower,
Where the home of my forefathers stood.

All ruin'd and wild is their roofless abode,
And lonely the dark raven's sheltering tree;
And travelled by few is the grass-cover'd road,
Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trode
To his hills that encircle the sea.

Yet wandering, I found on my ruinous walk,
By the dial stone aged and green,

One rose of the wilderness left on its stalk,
To mark where a garden had been.
Like a brotherless hermit, the last of its race,
All wild in the silence of Nature, it drew,
Erom each wandering sun-beam, a lonely embrace;
For the night-weed and thorn overshadowed the place,
Where the flower of my forefathers grew.

Sweet bud of the wilderness! emblem of all
That remains in this desolate heart!

The fabric of bliss to its centre may fall;.

But patience shall never depart!

Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal and bright,

In the days of delusion by fancy combin'd,

With the vanishing phantoms of love and delight,
Abandon my soul like a dream of the night,

And leave but a desert behind.

Be hush'd, my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns
When the faint and the feeble deplore;
Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems
A thousand wild waves on the shore!

Through the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdair,
May thy front be unalter'd, thy courage elate!

Yea! even the name I have worshipp'd in vain
Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again;
To bear is to conquer our fate.

PATRIOTIC STANZAS

Composed and recited at a meeting of North Britons, in London, on Monday, the 8th of August, 1803.

OUR bosoms we'll bare to the glorious strife,

And our oath is recorded on high,

To prevail in the Cause that is dearer than life,
Or, crushed in its ruins to die.

Then rise, fellow freemen, and stretch the right hand,
And swear to prevail in your dear native land.

'Tis the home we hold sacred is laid to our trust.
God bless the green Isle of the brave!
Should a conqueror tread on our forefathers' dust,
It would raise the old dead from their grave.
Then rise, &c.

In a Briton's sweet home shall a spoiler abide,
Profaning its loves and its charms?

Shall a Frenchman insult a lov'd fair at our side?

To arms-O my Country, to arms !--

Then rise, &c.

Shall tyrants enslave us, my countrymen ?-NoTheir heads to the sword shall be given;

Let a death-bed repentance await the proud foe, And his blood be an offering to Heaven! Then rise, &c.

There, all his wild-wood scents to bring, The sweet South Wind shall wander by; And, with the music of his wing,

Delight my rustling canopy.

Come to my close and clustering bower,
Thou spirit of a milder clime!

Fresh with the dews of fruit and flower,
Of mountain heath and moory thyme.

With all thy rural echoes come,
Sweet comrade of the rosy day,
Wafting the wild bee's gentle hum,
cuckoo's plaintive roundelay.