But warm as the sun-blink that thaw'd it to weepin'!

Then come to my arms, and the bosom thou 'rt pressing
Will tell by its throbs a' there's joy in confessing,
For my lips could repeat it a thousand times over,
And the tale still seem new to thy fond-hearted lover.

WHEN I LOOK FAR DOWN ON THE VALLEY BELOW ME.[22]

When I look far down on the valley below me,
Where lowly the lot of the cottager's cast,
While the hues of the evening seem ling'ring to shew me
How calmly the sun of this life may be pass'd,
How oft have I wish'd that kind Heaven had granted
My hours in such spot to have peacefully run,
Where, if pleasures were few, they were all that I wanted,
And Contentment 's a blessing which wealth never won.

I have mingled with mankind, and far I have wander'd,
Have shared all the joys youth so madly pursues;
I have been where the bounties of Nature were squander'd
Till man became thankless and learn'd to refuse!
Yet _there_ I still found that man's innocence perish'd,
As the senses might sway or the passions command;
That the scenes where alone the soul's treasures were cherish'd,
Were the peaceful abodes of my own native land.

Then why should I leave this dear vale of my choice
And the friends of my bosom, so faithful and true,
To mix in the great world, whose jarring and noise
Must make my soul cheerless though sorrows were few?
Ah! too sweet would this life of probation be render'd,
Our feelings ebb back from Eternity's strand,
And the hopes of Elysium in vain would be tender'd,
Could we have all we wish'd in our dear native land.

FOOTNOTES:

[22] Printed, for the first time, from the author's MS.

I WILL WAKE MY HARP WHEN THE SHADES OF EVEN.[23]

I will wake my harp when the shades of even
Are closing around the dying day,
When thoughts that wear the hues of Heaven
Are weaning my heart from the world away;
And my strain will tell of a land and home
Which my wand'ring steps have left behind,
Where the hearts that throb and the feet that roam
Are free as the breath of their mountain wind.

I will wake my harp when the star of Vesper
Hath open'd its eye on the peaceful earth,
When not a leaf is heard to whisper
That a dew-drop falls, or a breeze hath birth.
And you, dear friends