IV.

I ask nae fading flowers o' earth to deck my clay-cauld breast; A weary warld I leave behind, an' go unto my rest,

A weary warld, wherein my heart grew auld before its time, And life's sweet flowers, frae aff my breast, fell, withered in their prime.

V.

An' strike nae mournfu' harp for me, when life hath frae me fled,

A voice sae sweet aboon my rest would wake me frae the dead; An' I would sleep a soun', soun' sleep, an' never dree the pain To hear anither wake the harp I ne'er may strike again.

VI.

Then never weep when I am gane, nor sigh to hear my name, But fauld my arms upo' my breast, an' bear me to my hame; An' yonder by the wide, wide sea, oh, lay me cauld an' low, That saftly ower my gowden hair the bonnie waves may flow.

LET other bards their homage pay
To sisters, all have dubbed "divine,"
A love sincerer prompts my lay,

To hymn a less immortal Nine !
What hath my humble lyre to do

With goddesses too fine for earth, Whose simple music ever drew

Its source from spells of lowlier birth?

CAMPBELL.

II.

A wild, Æolian lute, whose strings,
By nature swayed, no sounds impart,
Save when some fitful feeling flings

Its breeze-like impulse o'er my heart;
But waking gentle echoes oft,

Where prouder strains might fail to move;
Fond brooding thoughts, and visions soft
Of fireside peace and homebred love.

III.

In years long past, when life was new,
Ere Time or Care had touched my brow,
My earliest songs were given to you;
Come back and be my Muses now!
Now that my heart is faint and worn
With many a vigil dark and long,

And I have learned those hues to mourn
Which brightened once my hopes and song.

IV.

The smiles that lit my path of yore,
And bade my lyre responsive thrill,
May imp my flagging wing once more,
May raise my drooping spirit still:
Oh, could that sunshine bring again
The high resolves my boyhood knew,
Haply, I then might wake a strain

Worthier a poet's fame and you!

V.

The buoyant pulse-ingenuous glee-
That spring-like, rich, romantic gleam,

Which tinges every thing we see,

And makes our youth one blessed dream,

A summer day, of deep delight,

When not a threatening cloud is near,

When all is beauty to the sight,

And all is music to the ear!

E

VI.

And such my life, when Hope was young,
And the bright world before me lay,
And visions of enchantment flung

Their glories on my lonely way.
Ay, such was life to me, when first

Inspired by you, my gentlest Nine! Fresh from the fount of feeling burst

The

songs that wreathed your names with mine!

VII.

Ye, too, are changed: the gamesome child,
My Muse of mirth in other days,
That bade me share her gambols wild,

And charmed me with her winning ways,

Is now a child no more; but moves
With slower step, sedater air;
With many a grace her Poet loves,

But not the smiles she used to wear.

VIII.

And ye, o'erstepping then the bound

'Twixt girlhood's bloom and woman's beauty, Whose hearts the hallowed bliss have found

Of matron love and matron duty,

Long o'er your happy circles reign,

And watch love's budding flowers unfold;

But never can you be again

The gladsome band you were of old!