When the tapers burn clear, and the goblet shines bright, I have smiled at the glance of his rapturous eye, When he sings of the valorous deeds that were done, When summer, in gaudy profusion is dress'd, But not summer's profusion alone can inspire The poem is in general beautifully descriptive of that native fire and those tender sensibilities which eminently belong to the poet's character, and which are apt to be awakened by every singular and striking occurrence. What appears, however, to have operated most upon the mind of our author, and suggested the hint for the present production is that light airiness of disposition which is so peculiar to some poets, and which exhibits all the energies of youthful imagination amid the growing infirmities of declining years. I have seen him elate when the black clouds were riven, Then say not the Bard has turned old. When the eye that expresses the warmth of his heart, When his blood shall be cold as the wint'ry wave, LXXIII. SHE'S FAIR AND FAUSE. She's fair and fause that causes my smart, I lo'ed her meikle and lang; A superficial or fastidious critic may perhaps smile at the author for affirming that "The Bard has not turned old," while at the same time he admits that his head is covered with the gray hairs of age. This seeming inconsistency, however, is explained sufficiently, and we think most happily, in the beginning of the second stanza, by the introduction of the simile: Though the casket that holds the rich jewel we prize, Yet the gem that's within may be lovely and bright, She's broken her vow, she's broken my heart, And I may e'en gae hang. A coof cam in wi' routh o' gear, Sae let the bonnie lassie gang. Whae'er ye be that woman love, Nae ferlie 'tis tho' fickle she prove, O woman, lovely woman, fair! And angel form's faun to thy share, "Twad been o'er meikle to gi'en thee mair I mean an angel mind. LXXIV. I HAVE KNOWN WHAT IT WAS TO BE HAPPY AND GAY. AIR.-"Soldier's dream." I have known what it was to be happy and gay, I have tasted of joys unassisted by art, And lavish'd my all with a prodigal waste; I ne'er lov'd but one, and she seem'd to unite For torture lies hid 'neath the fondness of bliss, For the charms of a smile, or the joys of a kiss. LXXV. MARY, THE MAID OF MONTROSE. AIR. "O tell me the way for to woo." O sweet is the calm dewy evening When nature is wooing repair, And sweet are the low notes o' echo And lovely, thrice lovely, when o'er the blue ocean, The fopling sae fine and sae airy, Is proud wi' ilk new female conquest To shine at the walk and the ball. But gie me, oh gie me, the dear calm o' nature, O what is the wale o' the warld, Gin nane o' its pleasures we prove? Gin no wi' the lassie we love? O sweet are the smiles and the dimples o' beauty, O Mary, 'tis no for thy beauty, Thy fair flowing form is the fair vernal flow'ret, The bloom o' thy cheek is the bloom o' the rose, But the charms o' her mind are the ties sae endearing, That bind me to Mary, the maid o' Montrose. |