See how they wane, the proud files of the Windermere, Howard-Ah! woe to thy hopes of the day!

Hear the wide welkin rend,

While the Scots' shouts ascend,

"Elliot of Lariston, Elliot for aye!"

FAIR WAS THY BLOSSOM;

AN elegiac song on the death of a natural child, of the most consummate beauty and elegance. It was first published in THE SPY, but some of the original stanzas are omitted, as too particular.

FAIR was thy blossom, bonny flower,
That open'd like the rose in May,
Though nursed beneath the chilly shower
Of fell regret for love's decay.

How oft above thy lowly bed,

When all in silence slumber'd low,

The fond and filial tear was shed,

Thou child of love, of shame, and woe!

Fair was thy blossom, bonny flower,

Fair as the softest wreath of spring,
When late I saw thee seek the bower,

In peace thy morning hymn to sing.

Thy little foot across the lawn

Scarce from the primrose press'd the dew;

I thought the spirit of the dawn

Before me to the greenwood flew.

The fatal shaft was on the wing,

Thy spotless soul from guilt to sever;

A tear of pity wet the string,

That twang'd, and seal'd thine

I saw thee late the emblem true

eye

for ever.

Of beauty, innocence, and truth, Stand on the upmost verge in view,

'Twixt childhood and unstable youth.

But now I see thee stretch'd at rest

To break that rest shall wake no morrow

Pale as the grave-flower on thy breast,

Poor child of love, of shame, and sorrow! May thy long sleep be sound and sweet, Thy visions fraught with bliss to be! And long the daisy, emblem meet,

Shall shed its earliest tear o'er thee!

COURTING SONG;

OR the singing verses of a love ditty written in 1810, and since set to music.

THE day-beam's unco laith to part,

It lingers o'er yon summit low'ring, While I stand here with beating heart,

Behind the brier and willow cow'ring.

The gloamin' stern keeks o'er the yoke,
An' strews wi' goud the stream sae glassy;

The raven sleeps aboon the rock,

An' I wait for my bonny lassie.

That comes at eve sae saftly stealing;

The silken hue, the bonny blue,

O' nature's rich an' radiant ceiling.

The lily lea, the vernal tree,

The night-breeze o'er the broomwood creeping;

The fading day, the milky way,

The star-beam on the water sleeping.

For gin my lassie were but here,

The jewel of my earthly treasure,

I'll hear nought but her accents dear,
Whisper'd in love's delicious measure.
Although the bat, wi' velvet wing,

Wheels round our bower so dark an' grassy,

O I'll be happier than a king,

Placed by thy side, my bonny lassie!

Nae art hast thou, nae pawky wile,

The rapid flow of love impelling;

But O the love that lights thy smile,
Wad lure an angel frae his dwelling!

There is a language in thy ee,

A music in thy voice of feeling,

The mildest virgin modestye,

An' soul that dwells within revealing.