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Like a brotherless hermit, the last of its race,
Sweet bud of the wilderness! emblem of all
But patience shall never depart....
Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal and bright
Be hush'd, my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns,
Through the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdain,
Ah, even the name I have worship'd in vain, Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again!
To bear, is to conquer our fate!
ON THE DEATH
A BELOVED AND ONLY SON.
FROM A DANISH INSCRIPTION.
Can mortal solace ever raise
Or fate restore a form so dear
As that which lies unconscious here,
Ah no, my Darco, latest given
Nor warn'd of all my future woe,
But, loosing thee, my blooming boy,
For all that stay'd 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;
To share each welcome and adieu....
Each word, each thought, each look, to 'tend,
My child, my scholar, and my friend!
Oh, when his gaily....smiling talk
Endear'd my sweet, my summer walk;
Or when I sat, at day's decline
And clasp'd his little hand in mine,
Thus shall I bid thee Darco, stand,
And grasp thee with my failing hand!
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,
Or earth restore a form so dear
As that which lies unconscious here!
THE DIRGE OF WALLACE.
They lighted a taper at the dead of night,
And chanted their holiest hymn;
But her brow and her bosom were damp with affright.... Her eye was all sleepless and dim!
And the lady of Elderslie wept for her lord,
When a death-watch beat in her lonely room, When her curtain had shook of its own accord, And the raven had flapp'd at her window board, To tell of her warrior's doom!
"Now sing ye the death song, and loudly pray
"For a night-mare rides on my strangled sleep:
"The lord of my bosom is doom'd to die;
"His valorous heart they have wounded deep,
"For Wallace of Elderslie."