University of Virginia Library

ANECDOTES OF WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE, IN WHICH ARE COMPRISED, SEVERAL LETTERS FROM THE LATE LORD LYTTELTON.


xlvi

[“While o'er these lawns thine eye delighted strays]

“While o'er these lawns thine eye delighted strays,
Allow a pause to hear the tale of woe;
Here stood the parent Elm in elder days,
Here o'er its Lord slow wav'd the wither'd bough.
While pale and cold his famish'd cheek full low,
On the rude turf in death's last swooning lay.
E'en now methinks his anguish'd look I see,
As by the menials taunted from the door;
Fainting he wander'd—then beneath the tree
Sunk down—sweet heaven what pangs his bosom tore,
When o'er yon lordly dome, his own no more,
He roll'd his dying eyes.—Ah! what compare
To this the lessons taught of sages hoar?
By his mad revels, by the gilded snare,
By all thy hopes of joy, oh fortune's child beware!
W. J. M.”

xlvii

[The voice of joy this happy day demands]

I

The voice of joy this happy day demands;
Resound the song, and in our God confide:
Beneath his canopy the bridegroom stands,
In all her beauty shines the lovely bride.
O may their joys still blossom, ever new,
Fair as a garden to the ravish'd view!

II

Rejoice, O youth, and if thy thoughts aspire,
To heaven's pure bliss, the sacred law revere;
The stranger's wants, the needy soul's desire
Supply, and humbly with thy neighbour bear:
So shall thy father's grateful heart rejoice,
And thy fair deeds inspire thy people's voice.

III

Sing from your bowers ye daughters of the song,
Behold the bride with star-like glory shine;
May each succeeding day still glide along
Fair as the first, begirt with grace divine:
Far from her tent may care and sorrow fly,
While she o'erjoy'd beholds her numerous progeny.

IV

Ye happy parents, shout with chearful voice,
See, o'er your son the canopy unfold;
And thou, O hoary rev'rend Sire, rejoice,
May thy glad eyes thy grandson's son behold.
The song of joy, ye youthful kindred raise,
And let the people join, the living God to praise.

xlix

ESKDALE BRAES.

By the banks of the chrystal stream'd Esk,
Where the Wauchope her yellow wave joins,
Where the lambkins on sunny braes bask,
And wild woodbine the Shepherd's bower twines.
Maria, disconsolate maid,
Oft sigh'd the still noon-tide away,
Or by moonlight all desolate stray'd,
While woeful she tun'd her love-lay;
Ah, no more from the banks of the Ewes
My Shepherd comes cheerly along,
Broomholm and the Deansbanks refuse
To echo the plaints of his song;
No more from the echoes of Ewes,
His dog fondly barking I hear,
No more the tir'd lark he persues,
And tells me his master draws near;
Ah, woe to the wars, and the pride,
That my heroes, Oh Esk, could display,
When with laurels they planted thy side,
From France and from Spain borne away.
Oh, why did their honours decoy,
My poor shepherd lad from the shore,
Ambition bewitch'd the vain boy,
And Oceans between us now roar!
Ah, methinks his pale corse floating by,
I behold on the rude billows tost;
Unburied his scatter'd bones lie,
Lie bleaching on some desert coast!

xlx

By this stream and the May-blossom'd thorn,
That first heard his love-tale, and his vows,
My pale ghost shall wander forlorn,
And the willow shall weep o'er my brows.
With the ghosts of the Waas will I wail,
In Warblaw woods join the sad throng,
To Hallow E'ens blast tell my tale,
As the spectres, ungrav'd, glide along;
Still the Ewes rolls her paly blue stream,
Old Esk still his chrystal tide pours,
Still golden the Wauchope waves gleam,
And still green, oh Broomholm, are thy bowers!
No, blasted they seem to my view,
The rivers in red floods combine!
The turtles their widow'd notes coo,
And mix their sad ditties with mine!
Discolour'd in sorrow's dim shade,
All Nature seems with me to mourn,—
Strait the village-bells merrily play'd,
And announc'd her dear Jamie's return.
The woodlands all May-blown appear,
The silver streams murmur new charms;
As smiling her Jamie drew near
And all eager sprung into her arms.