And you, and yours, will yet pe klad To trust te honest Heelant lad; HYMN TO THE EVENING STAR. WRITTEN in 1811. All the pieces which I wrote at that age have a melody in them, which, since that period, I have never been able to reach ; but they are often deficient in real stamina. ARISE, arise, thou queen of Love, Thy bed is chill'd with evening dew O, let me see thy golden breast, Thy coronal with glory fill. O, come-the evening colours fade, Soft silence broods o'er lawn and lee; And beauty in the greenwood shade, Uplifts a longing eye for thee. Thy temple be this silvan bower, Where wounded lovers kneel confest ; Thine altar-cloth the daisy flower, Thy tabernacle, beauty's breast. Be this thy dearest, holiest shrine, As slowly steals an angel's wing, Thy light pavilion down the sky; Before thee let young seraphs sing The softest love-sick melody. And here, on thy beloved shrine, Where fragrant flowers of incense glow, Pure as that heavenly breast of thine, And fairer than the virgin snow ;— Here will I worship with delight, And pay the vows I made to thee, Until thy mild and modest light Is cradled on the heaving sea. OHON-A-RIGH! A HUMBLE petition from the Ettrick Shepherd to his late loved sovereign, King George IV., to restore the titles of the last remnants of the brave defenders of the rights of their ancient dynasty. OHON-a-righ! Ohon-a-righ! There's nought but alteration; The men that strove Our throne to move, And overturn the nation, Are a' come round, Wi' wit profound, To those they branded sairly An' show more might For George's right Than e'er they did for Charlie |