And must my Gilderoy depart
To bear a death of shame ?
No bosom trembles for thy doom;
No mourner wipes a tear;
The gallows' foot is all thy tomb,
The sledge is all thy bier!
Oh, Gilderoy! bethought we then
So soon, so sad, to part,
When first in Roslin's lovely glen
You triumph'd o'er my heart?
Your locks they glitter'd to the sheen,
Your hunter garb was trim;
And graceful was the ribbon green
That bound your manly limb!
Ah! little thought I to deplore
These limbs in fetters bound;
Or hear, upon thy scaffold floor,
The midnight hammer sound.
Ye cruel, cruel, that combin'd
The guiltless to pursue;
My Gilderoy was ever kind,
He could not injure you!
A long adieu! but where shall fly
Thy widow all forlorn,
When every mean and cruel eye
Regards iny woe with scorn?
Yes, they will mock thy widow's tears,
And hate thine orphan boy;
Alas! his infant beauty wears
The form of Gilderoy !
Then will I seek the dreary mound
That wraps thy mouldering clay;
And weep and linger on the ground,
And sigh my heart away.
WHEN night had thrown her mantle round, And wrapp'd from view the smile of day; I love, when all is still around,
To think of friends who are far away.
When the full moon rides fair on high,
And from the earth my feelings stray-
When falls the tear, and heaves the sigh,
I think of friends who are far away.
Or, when the brow of summer fair
Seems brighter with the smile of day,
I wish those joys serene to share,
With friends belov'd, tho' far away.
Or when, as now, stern winter drear,
Chills each sweet prospect, fair and gay,
How sweet, with fond affection, dear,
To think of friends who are far away.
For me, not absence ere can part
That true, that pure, unclouded ray
Of friendship from my tender heart,
For one belov'd, though far away.
Yet, what is absence from a friend?
"Tis but a short, a fleeting day,
When our few years on earth must end, And then we meet, far, far away.
WE PART TO MEET AGAIN.
WHEN the low heart is sad and deep,
And tears are flowing fast-
When memory bids the young heart weep
For moments that are past;
Sweet to the soul the whispering
Of hope and promise, when Fancy's soft fairy voices sing,
We part to meet again.
When radiant eyes of meaning meet,
And friendly hands are press'd;
O'er scenes like these, should fortune fling,
The severing storm, oh! then
Hope's sweet enchanting voices sing
We part to meet again.
THE VOLUNTEER.
THE soldier to the war has gone,
At freedom's and his country's call;
His father's sword he girded on,
And vanish'd from his father's hall.
Coldly at eve the moon-beam shone,
When she, his lov'd one, wander'd there.
And breath'd along his harp the tone
That bless'd her faithful volunteer.
Then sad she sung, 'perhaps some brand
May reach the heart that beats for me,
And who shall then with trembling hand,
Bathe his pale brow, and close his e'ee,-
Or who bend o'er his bleeding breast,
Kiss his pale cheek, his spirit cheer,
And sooth the noble soul to rest,
Of Henrietta's volunteer.'
The wilder'd girl thus breath'd her lay,
As dimly set the evening star,
And ere the echo's died away,
Follow'd her soldier to the war-
Resolv'd in battle's storm to ride,
'Mid flashing fire and gleaming spears, A guardian angel by the side
Öf her lov'd faithful volunteer.
THE GIPSEY'S PROPHESY.
LADY, throw back thy raven hair,
Lay thy white brow in the moonlight bare,
I will look on the stars, and look on thee,
And read the page of thy destiny.
Little thanks shall I have for my tale,
E'en in youth thy cheek will be pale;
By thy side is a red rose-tree-
One lone rose droops wither'd-so thou wilt be.
Round thy neck is a ruby chain
One of the rubies is broken in twain ;
Throw on the ground each shatter'd part,
Broken and lost they will be-like thy heart.
Mark yon star-it shone at thy birth;
Look again-it has fallen to earth;
Its glory has pass'd, like a thought, away-
So, or yet sooner, wilt thou decay.
Over yon fountain's silver fall
Is a moonlight rainbow's coronal;
Its hues of light will melt in tears-
Well may they image thy future years.
I may not read in thy hazel eyes,
For the long dark lash that over them lies; So in my art I can but see
The shadow of night on thy destiny.
I can give thee but dark revealings
Of passionate hopes and wasted feelings-
Of love that pass'd like a lava wave
Of a broken heart and an early grave!
THE BURIAL AT SEA.
No breeze was on the mirror wave-
The spangled pendant idly hung,
As in the burial of the brave,
Wide o'er the sea our requiem rung;
No 'scutcheon glittered on his breast-
No coffin cas'd his senseless clay-
No kindred heard his last request-
His prayer for one far, far away.
Slow roll'd the smoke of funeral gun,
O'er ocean's tranquil blue-
An instant veil'd the blood-red sun,
As near the wave it drew;
Then mingling with the fleecy clouds
On which the bright beam darted,
It seem'd to form a golden shroud,
For the spirit of him departed.
I mark'd the circling ripples rise,
As in the sea the body fell-
They seem'd to shake the evening skies,
Reflected in the trembling swell.
Like them his being pass'd away-
He ruffled life's broad scene
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