The Highlanders, and other poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

Awak'd to thought, matur'd by age,
No more those sportive toys engage,
That wont in Fancy's jocund hours
To frolic through the festal bowers.
To memory dear, though far remov'd,
Oh say, what title most approv'd
Shall greet thee in the wonted lay
That hails once more this happy day .
Then with complacent smile attend
While my true heart salutes thee friend;

208

What nobler boon have I to give?
What worthier gift canst thou receive?
Indifference proud, and cold disdain,
Avert the scornful brow in vain,
While with exulting glance I view
The chosen band that ranks with you:
Those friends that led my earliest youth
Along the peaceful paths of truth,
Who, fir'd with Virtue's charms divine,
Oft mingled sympathies with mine;
Or those who in maturer years
Awak'd at once my hopes and fears,
While anxious fondness sketch'd their way
From thought's dim dawn to mental day;
And moulded soft with patient art
And tender care the yielding heart.
But since we feel that all is vain,
Since purest pleasures end in pain,
Since all that dazzles, charms, endears,
Eludes our grasp,—or, seen through tears,
In dim perspective fades away,
What power shall animate the lay?
What Muse awake the plausive strain,
And bid my bosom glow again!
Gay fleeting visions rob'd in light,
That cheer'd my soul and charm'd my sight;
Elysian flowers, whose fragrant breath
Perfum'd with sweets the bed of death

209

The solemn thrill, the magic fire,
Wak'd by the soul-commanding lyre,
Adieu!—no more my haunts invade,
Nor come to cruel memory's aid;
For what can fancy now bestow
But darker shades to blacken woe?
Ah! why did flowers Elysian bloom,
Since cropt to wither in the tomb?
Then let us in the festive bow'r
Escape from cruel memory's pow'r;
The board where social friendship smiles,
A while the woes of life beguiles.
In vain,—for see the forms deplor'd
Like angels hover o'er the board,
And seem, with softly-melting eye,
To look compassion ere they fly.
Say, generous youth , whose brow serene,
Benignant smile, and open mien,
With candour beaming in thine eyes,
Bespoke the soul without disguise;
By honour's purest dictates taught,
With “milk of human kindness” fraught,
Say, didst thou view with gentle scorn
The crowd by selfish passions torn,
Untry'd, forsake the dubious race,
And soar to thy congenial place?

210

And She , in hardest conflicts tried,
By truth, by love, by blood allied,
Who wept with sister's tears his doom,
Too soon to fill a neighbouring tomb:
Ah! why profuse did Nature shed
Her gifts around her infant head;
With varying bloom her face adorn,
Like orient hues that deck the morn,
Shed purest lustre from her eyes,
Like radiant streams from northern skies?
At once inspiring awe and love,
Bade chasten'd graces round her move,
And native force of nobler soul
Pervade and dignify the whole;
And mild decorum's sober state
On all her looks and actions wait,
While mingled elegance and ease
Made every look and action please;
With feeling strong, with judgment clear,
Firm probity and truth sincere;
Through sorrow's clouds we saw her shine,
Those clouds that made her yours and mine!
Thus deck'd with every charm and grace,
The loveliest of a lovely race;

211

Like purest gold in fire refin'd,
And rich in all the wealth of mind,
Why did she tread the paths of pain,
And seek for long-lost rest in vain?
And why in vain did you and I
Pour the soft balm of sympathy?
With generous love the worthy youth
To whom she vowed her plighted truth,
Too fondly hop'd from future harms
To screen her in his faithful arms:
But soon he finds he grasps a shade,
And soon the transient roses fade,
And soon, dissolv'd in ambient light,
The beauteous vision quits his sight!
Yet ere she sunk to endless rest,
To soothe the anguish of his breast,
She left a tender pledge of love,
To shew how seraphs smile above.
Now mercy's cup, with blessings fraught,
Pours forth affliction's wholesome draught,—
A wholesome draught—yet drunk in vain,
If still the bitterest dregs remain,
If still with impious discontent
We murmur at the blessings lent,
Or think the fruits of Paradise
Too early ripen'd for the skies,
And wish through wintry life to view
Their slow decay and wintry hue;

212

Or, like my fond presumptuous strain,
Lament as if they liv'd in vain:
On dear lov'd Charlotte's early tomb
Then let us mourn youth's withering bloom.
There will I lay my torpid lyre,
No more to glow with lambent fire;
No more to soothe the partial ear
With strains that friendship lov'd to hear,
Unless, with nobler ardour bless'd,
Some holier transport fire my breast,
The strain exalt,—the note refine,
And raise my moral to divine!

This poem was written on an anniversary, when the Author usually sent a poetical offering to her friend.

A very near relation of the Author, who died in his 16th year.

This lady, as much esteemed for her virtue and understanding, as admired for her beauty and elegance, died about a year after her lamented kinsman. See the Nymph of the Fountain in this volume, addressed to her a few years before her death.