Brown woollen net-work; yet it seeks Thou hast not, to adorn thee, girl, The peeping whiteness of thy neck My arch and playful little creature, He marshals minds to Beauty's feast- Who proves, by heavenly forms on earth, How much this world of ours is worth. The only things that could be given Back, and alive-unchanged-to Heaven. SONG OF THE COLONISTS DEPARTING FOR NEW ZEALAND STEER, helmsman, till you steer our way, By stars beyond the line; We go to found a realm, one day, Like England's self to shine. CHORUS. Cheer up-cheer up-our course we'll keep, And when we've plough'd the stormy deep, A land, where beauties importune To sow but plenteous seeds, and prune Chorus.-Cheer up-cheer up, &c There, tracts uncheer'd by human words, Seclusion's wildest holds, Shall hear the lowing of our herds, And tinkling of our folds. Chorus.-Cheer up-cheer up, &c. Like rubies set in gold, shall blush Chorus.-Cheer up-cheer up, &c. Britannia's pride is in our hearts, We'll girdle earth with British arts, CHORUS. Cheer up-cheer up-our course we'll keep, With dauntless heart and hand; And when we've piough'd the stormy deep, We'll plough a smiling land. THE kiss that would make a maid's cheek flush *Wroth, as if kissing were a sin Amidst the Argus eyes and din And tell-tale glare of noon, Brings but a murmur and a blush, Beneath the modest moon. Ye days, gone-never to come back, "Twas moonlight, when my earliest love First on my bosom dropp'd her head; A moment then concentrated The bliss of years, as if the spheres Their course had faster driven, And carried Enoch-like above, A living man to Heaven. "Tis by the rolling moon we measure, The Moon's the Earth's enamor❜d bride ; To other stars she never ranges: Though, cross'd by him, sometimes she dips Her light, in short offended pride, And faints to an eclipse. The fairies revel by her sheen ; The nightingale salutes her Queen Then ye that love-by moonlight gloom That nightingales sung o'er his tomb, CORA LINN, OR THE FALLS OF THE CLYDE WRITTEN ON REVISITING IT IN 1837. THE time I saw thee, Cora, last, It was as sweet an Autumn day And Lanark's orchards all the way, Ev'n hedges, busk'd in bravery, In Cora's glen the calm how deep! The trees on loftiest hill Like statues stood, or things asleep, All motionless and still. The torrent spoke, as if his noise Bade earth be quiet round, And give his loud and lonely voice A more commanding sound. |