Till all my bosom owned a sacred mood,
And blessed the wild delight of solitude!

Yes-all alone, I loved in days of yore
To climb the steep, and trace the sounding shore;
But better far my new delight to hail

Nature's mild face in Cartha's lovely vale!

Well pleased, I haste to view each favorite spot,The wood, the stream, the castle and the cot,And hear sweet Robin in the sheltered walk, Where Mira, Helen and Eugenia, talk!

DEATH OF MY ONLY SON.

FROM THE DANISH.

CAN mortal solace ever raise
The broken pillar of my days,

Or Fate restore a form so dear
As that which lies unconscious here?
Ah no, my Darco! latest given,
And last reclaimed gift of Heaven!
Possessing thee, I still could bless
One lingering beam of happiness!

My loved, my lost, my only care!
I vainly thought with thee to share
Thy heart's discourse, so gently kind,
And mould to worth thy pliant mind;
Nor, warned of all my future woe,
Presumed on happiness below!
But losing thee, my blooming Boy,
I cannot lose another joy;

For all that stayed my earthly trust
With thee is buried in the dust!

Nine charming years had fraught with grace Thy sprightly soul and lovely face, Where harshness had not planted fear, Nor sorrow wrung one silent tear; But frank and warm my Darco flew, To share each welcome and adieu,Each word, each step, each look to attend — My child, my pupil, and my friend! O, when his gayly-smiling talk Endeared my lonely summer walk, Or when I sat at day's decline And clasped his little hand in mine, How many woes were then forgot! How blissful seemed his father's lot! And, breathing love, my bosom said, Thus, on my dying couch when laid, Thus shall I bid thee, Darco, stand, And grasp thee with my failing hand. Cold, cold, thou pledge of future charms, As she who gave thee to my arms! My buried hopes! your grave is won, And Mary sleeps beside her son!

Now hush, my heart! afflicting Heaven,

Thy will be done, thy solace given !
For mortal hand can never raise
The broken pillar of my days,
Nor earth restore a form so dear

As that which lies unconscious here!

LAUDOHN'S ATTACK.

RISE, ye Croates, fierce and strong,
From the front, and march along!
And gather fast, ye gallant men
From Nona and from Warrasden,
Whose sunny mountains nurse a line
Generous as her fiery wine!

Hosts of Buda! hither bring
The bloody flag and eagle wing:
Ye that drink the rapid stream
Fast by walléd Salankème.
Ranks of Agria!-head and heel
Sheathed in adamantine steel -
Quit the woodlands and the boar,
Ye hunters wild, on Drava's shore;
And ye that hew her oaken wood,
Brown with lusty hardihood-
The trumpets sound, the colors fly,
And Laudohn leads to victory!

Hark! the summons loud and strong,
"Follow, soldiers! march along!"
Every baron, sword in hand,
Rides before his gallant band!
Grenadiers! that, fierce and large,
Stamp like dragons to the charge-
Foot and horseman, serf and lord,
Triumph now with one accord.
Years of triumph shall repay

Death and danger's troubled day.

O, JUDITH! had our lot been cast
In that remote and simple time
When, shepherd swains, thy fathers past
From dreary wilds and deserts vast
To Judah's happy clime;

My song upon the mountain rocks

Had echoed of thy rural charms;
And I had fed thy father's flocks,
O Judith of the raven locks!

To win thee to my arms.

Our tent, beside the murmur calm
Of Jordan's grassy-vested shore,
Had sought the shadow of the palm,
And blessed with Gilead's holy balm
Our hospitable door!

At falling night, or ruby dawn,

Or yellow moonlight's welcome cool,
With health and gladness we had drawn,
From silver fountains on the lawn,

Our pitcher brimming full.

How sweet to us at sober hours

The bird of Salem would have sung,
In orange or in almond bowers,-
Fresh with the bloom of many flowers,
Like thee forever young!

But ab, my Love! thy father's land
Presents no more a spicy bloom!
Nor fills with fruit the reaper's hand;
But wide its silent wilds expand-
A desert and a tomb.

Yet, by the good and golden hours
That dawned those rosy fields among,-

By Zion's palm-encircled towers,

By Salem's far forsaken bowers,
And long-forgotten song –

FAREWELL

TO MY SISTER, ON LEAVING EDINBURGH.

FAREWELL, Edina! pleasing name,—
Congenial to my heart!

A joyous guest to thee I came,

And mournful I depart.

And fare thee well, whose blessings seem

Heaven's blessing to portend!

Endeared by nature and esteem

My sister and my friend!