In Imitation Of Shakspeare'S "Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind."

1

Blow, blow, thou vernal gale! Thy balm will not avail To ease my aching breast; Though thou the billows smooth, Thy murmurs cannot soothe My weary soul to rest.

2

Flow, flow, thou tuneful stream! Infuse the easy dream Into the peaceful soul; But thou canst not compose The tumult of my woes, Though soft thy waters roll.

3

Blush, blush, ye fairest flowers! Beauties surpassing yours My Rosalind adorn; Nor is the Winter's blast, That lays your glories waste, So killing as her scorn.

4

Breathe, breathe, ye tender lays, That linger down the maze Of yonder winding grove; O let your soft control Bend her relenting soul To pity and to love.

5

Fade, fade, ye flowerets fair! Gales, fan no more the air! Ye streams, forget to glide; Be hush'd each vernal strain; Since nought can soothe my pain, Nor mitigate her pride.

TO LADY CHARLOTTE GORDON,

DRESSED IN A TARTAN SCOTCH BONNET, WITH PLUMES, ETC.

1

Why, lady, wilt them bind thy lovely brow With the dread semblance of that warlike helm; That nodding plume, and wreath of various glow, That graced the chiefs of Scotia's ancient realm?

2

Thou know'st that Virtue is of power the source, And all her magic to thy eyes is given; We own their empire, while we feel their force, Beaming with the benignity of heaven.

3

The plumy helmet and the martial mien Might dignify Minerva's awful charms; But more resistless far the Idalian queen-- Smiles, graces, gentleness, her only arms.

EPITAPH:

BEING PART OF AN INSCRIPTION DESIGNED FOR A MONUMENT ERECTED BY A GENTLEMAN TO THE MEMORY OF HIS LADY.

Farewell, my best beloved! whose heavenly mind Genius with virtue, strength with softness join'd; Devotion, undebased by pride or art, With meek simplicity, and joy of heart: Though sprightly, gentle; though polite, sincere; And only of thyself a judge severe: Unblamed, unequall'd in each sphere of life, The tenderest daughter, sister, parent, wife. In thee, their patroness the afflicted lost; Thy friends their pattern, ornament, and boast; And I--but ah, can words my loss declare, Or paint the extremes of transport and despair! O thou, beyond what verse or speech can tell-- My guide, my friend, my best beloved, farewell!